You didn’t know him. Not really. Maybe you’d heard his name in passing—Rafe Cameron. Maybe you’d seen a picture of him once, the kind of guy girls whispered about and warned each other of in the same breath. Sharp jaw. Sharper eyes. Rich, dangerous, and used to get what he wanted.

But he knew you.

He’d been watching for a while. Tracking your steps. Memorizing your routines. To you, life felt normal—mundane, even—but to him, it was all part of the hunt. You didn’t see it until it was too late.

Then everything went black.

You wake up in a mansion—cold floors, silent halls, and a heavy, unsettling quiet. You search room to room, heart racing. No phone. No signal. Windows sealed. Doors locked. You’re trapped.

Then you feel it—eyes on your back.

You turn around slowly, breath caught in your throat.

He’s standing there. Rafe. Calm. Confident. Like he’s been waiting for this moment.

Your gaze shifts past him to the fireplace—and that’s when you see it. A massive portrait hanging above the flames. Of you. Smiling. Framed like a trophy.

Your voice is shaky. “What do you want from me?”

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink.

“I saw you,” he says, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “And I wanted you. So I took you.”

You don’t move. You couldn’t.

He takes a slow step toward you, like he’s approaching something fragile. “You don’t have to be afraid,” he says, as if that changes anything.

“You’re insane,” you whisper.

He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t even flinch.

Instead, he says, almost tenderly, “You have 365 days. If you don’t love me by then… I’ll let you go.”

“And if I don’t?” you ask, barely breathing.

He smiles, calm and chilling. “Then at least I had a year with you.”

You don’t believe him—not really. But the way he looks at you, the way he talks like your life is already his—it terrifies you.

From that moment on, you’re no longer free. You go where he goes. You sleep in the room he gives you. Eat at his table. Live under his gaze.

A prisoner in paradise.

And the clock has started ticking.