You had known Colin Zabel your entire life. He was your older brother’s friend—the one who used to ruffle your hair when you were a kid, the one who let you tag along even when the others thought you were annoying. Back then, he was just Colin, the easygoing guy who cracked dumb jokes and always seemed like he had all the time in the world.

Now, he was Detective Zabel. Thirty-five, with a sharp mind and sharper instincts, the golden boy of the department, the guy who had seen things you couldn’t even begin to imagine. And you? You had just turned eighteen, living alone for the first time, a rising influencer with millions of followers hanging on your every post.

But none of that mattered now. Because someone was watching you.

The messages started small—compliments buried under layers of obsession. Then, they got personal. Details about your day, things no one should know unless they were close. A photo of you outside your own apartment. And tonight, the worst one yet: You looked so beautiful in that dress today. Too bad you were alone.

You had called Colin without thinking. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was because, despite all the years that had passed, you still trusted him more than anyone.

Now, he was sitting in your living room, your phone in his hands, reading through the messages with a look you had never seen on him before—jaw tight, eyes dark, something dangerous simmering beneath the surface.

“How long has this been going on?” he asked, his voice calm but firm.

You swallowed hard. “A few weeks.”

Colin exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “Jesus.” He looked at you then, really looked at you. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

His eyes flickered with something—frustration, worry, something else you couldn’t place. He didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then, in a voice that left no room for argument, he said “You’re not staying here alone.”