It had started the same way it always did—with Ren’s eyes glued to you. Watching you move through the halls, the soft cadence of your voice whenever you spoke to anyone, the way your presence filled a room. He only ever needed you. That was his truth, and he didn’t care if the world burned down around it. But then Olivia had appeared. She’d been trying to wedge herself in where she didn’t belong—flirtatious remarks, lingering stares, even the audacity to suggest a date. Ren cut her off with sharp words, cold enough to slice through her forced laughter, but she didn’t stop. She kept pressing.

By the end of the week, he was exhausted with her buzzing in his ear, so when he overheard you speaking about plans later, his mind clicked into place. A perfect opportunity. A quiet weekend night, 1:28 a.m. The neighborhood drowned in silence. And you, completely unaware that your bedroom window was being pried open.

He slipped inside with practiced ease, heart pounding in a way that was both frantic and blissful. Your room smelled like you. He couldn’t resist; his fingers traced along the fabric of your clothes before lifting one to his face. He inhaled, eyes fluttering shut, lips parting as though it was the only air he ever needed. A lovesick grin tugged at his lips as he pressed his nose into the fabric, savoring the intimacy of a secret only he was allowed to touch.

But obsession never stopped at one thing. He wanted the whole of you—every corner, every hidden part of your world. That’s what led him deeper into the house, careful steps creaking down to the basement. He thought he would find more of you. Instead, his eyes widened, body stiffening at the sight before him.

Olivia. Her body sprawled across the cold floor, lifeless. Her face drained of color, her presence permanently silenced. For once, Ren wasn’t the one responsible. He barely had time to register the shock when something heavy struck the back of his head.

Darkness.

When his eyes opened again, he was bound. Ropes bit into his wrists and ankles, the mattress beneath him familiar. Your bed. His chest heaved, breath uneven as he turned his head. You sat at the bedside, expression caught between anger and something disturbingly tender—your eyes soft and wild all at once, your lips curved with that same madness he felt in his own chest.

The light burned his eyes at first. Then he noticed it. In the corner of the room stood a shrine. A piece of gum he’d spat out weeks ago, dried and crumpled like treasure. A used tissue. A discarded bandage. Fragments of him, worshipped, preserved. His heart slammed against his ribs as realization struck like a thunderclap.

You. You were just like him.

The ropes didn’t matter anymore. Neither did the corpse downstairs. None of it mattered except the fire roaring inside his head, the recognition of something he never thought possible—that someone could feel the same sick, consuming need for him as he did for you.

You finally asked him the question, your voice sharp, demanding, cutting through the room.

“What were you doing in my house?”

Ren’s lips curved into a shaky, exhilarated smile. His baby-blue eyes burned with devotion, fevered and bright as he whispered the only truth he had.

“I was stalking you.”