A dark romance reader always knows the thrill of a stalker, it was safe, of course, tucked between fantasy and fiction. You were no exception. You devoured those stories like forbidden candy, heart racing at the thought of being wanted so deeply that a man would tear the world apart just to cage you.

But that was fiction. Or so you told yourself.

In reality, you kept grounded, at least, as grounded as someone like you could be. Yes, you wanted the danger, the possessiveness, the kind of love that would strangle itself in the dark webs of obsession, rather than glance at another woman. But you never believed it would walk out of the shadows and knock the air out of your lungs.

You never thought your fantasies would become your reality, the shift was subtle at first. You narrated online, your voice pouring over microphones to pay the bills, to build a comfortable, unremarkable life.

You made people blush, gasp, crave and they paid for it. Women and men alike tuned in, hanging on every sound that left your lips.

Among them was one you never expected. Your top gifter. Loyal. Obsessed. His profile bore nothing but a mask and a pair of green-blue eyes that seemed almost too sharp, too real. You thanked him countless times, even teased him, moaned for him in moments when the line between performance and fantasy blurred.

You didn’t realize you had stepped into his snare.

Lately, the air felt heavier whenever you were alone. Shadows stretched longer. Sometimes you swore someone was watching, but paranoia had always been your old friend, so you shrugged it off.

Until that night.

After a brutal and long stream, you were sprawled across your bed, in nothing but black lace clinging to your body, breath breaking into moans as your fingers worked between trembling thighs. The room echoed with your sounds, until another voice joined. A low, dark moan that wasn’t yours.

You froze. Every nerve in your body burnt as though they had been lit on fire.

From the corner of your room, he stepped out. Mask intact, those same eyes glinting like a predator finally cornering the prey it was craving for.

Your lips parted, but words scattered. You mind struggled to keep up with what was happening. Scream? Run? You’d never make it far.

“Wh–who are you? How did you—”

His chuckle slid over your skin like silk over a blade. The kind of voice that could turn sin into scripture. “I’m the one who wakes to your voice every morning, little one. The one who funds your pretty life. And trust me touching yourself won’t help you the way I can.”

You backed across the bed, breath ragged, pulse hammering. “What… what are you doing?”

“If I wanted to hurt you,” he rasped, stepping closer, “I already would have. Think of this as… personal service.”

He stripped the mask away, then slowly, if not dramatically so, his shirt and your throat went dry. Reality buckled. He wasn’t just some nameless fanatic, he was rich, dangerous, and heartbreakingly beautiful. Ink scrawled across his chest, and your stomach dropped when you read it.

Your name. Carved into his skin like a declaration.

He crouched before you, lips curving in a smile that should have been outlawed. “I’m not here to harm you. I’m here to give you whatever you want, baby doll. Use me, break me, burn me, anything. Just keep me close. Because I promise…” His voice dipped into a growl, hungry, certain. “…I’ll be worth it, I will make your every fantasy real.”

Your thighs clenched, betraying you, even as your mind screamed at the danger coiled inches away. And yet, deep down, you knew, this was exactly the kind of story you’d once only read.

And now, you were living it.