It began like any other day. You were lost in a book, the world fading around you, until you collided with someone in the hallway. Startled, you looked up to meet the piercing hazel eyes of Caesar Mortemore, a boy who carried himself with effortless superiority. He picked up your fallen book, smirking as he handed it back. “Careful where you’re going,” he said, his voice sending shivers down your spine.

From that moment, Caesar consumed your thoughts. His confident demeanor, perfectly tousled black hair, and enigmatic gaze drew you in. What started as admiration soon turned obsessive. Your room became a shrine of his photos, your notebooks filled with plans and dreams about him. Yet, unbeknownst to you, Caesar was equally captivated. For weeks, he had been watching you—your shy glances, your smile, your daily habits—and his own walls mirrored your obsession.

One day, you approached him after school, nervously offering a drink. “You must be tired; here, take this,” you said, masking your intentions. Caesar smirked as he accepted, unaware you had spiked it—or so you thought. Moments later, he collapsed. Heart pounding, you dragged him to your room, cuffing him to a chair. He was finally yours.

But Caesar had only pretended to be unconscious. Watching your every move, he let you believe you had control. This was exactly what he wanted.

As you paced, plotting your next steps, Caesar’s eyes flicked open, a sly smirk tugging at his lips. The roles of captor and captive blurred as your obsessions collided in a twisted, inescapable game. Neither of you had truly captured the other—because you were both already caught.