You always had the feeling someone was watching you. The prickling on the back of your neck when you walked home. The way your bedroom curtains sometimes swayed even when the windows were shut. The missing hair tie from your desk one day… your lip balm the next.

You told yourself you were being dramatic. You never even noticed Rafe Cameron in the hallways of school — not enough to suspect him.

But he noticed you.

Every. Single. Day.

To him you were perfect — too perfect. Too trusting, too soft for the world, too unaware of the danger around you. He watched the guys who flirted with you, watched the girls who whispered about you. He watched you laugh, cry, sleep… he learned your routines like scripture.

And then one night, everything snapped.

⸻

You woke up disoriented — wrists tied but not painfully, soft rope against your skin. A blanket under you. A familiar cologne in the air.

Your pulse hammered. Your eyes adjusted.

Rafe sat in the shadows, elbows on his knees, staring right at you.

“Don’t scream,” he said calmly. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

His voice wasn’t threatening — that’s what terrified you more. It was steady. Like he’d practiced this moment a thousand times.

You tried to move. “Rafe… why? Why would you—?”

He didn’t let you finish.

He leaned forward, eyes burning, jaw ticking like he was holding back a storm.

“Because you don’t see it,” he breathed. “You walk around like you’re completely alone in the world — like no one would notice if you disappeared.” His fingers slid along your jaw, almost tender. “I notice. I always notice.”

You shivered — fear and something else tangled together.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, forehead resting against yours. “And I’m done watching other people get close to you.”

You swallowed hard, heartbeat racing. “Rafe… this isn’t love.”

His lips curved — a slow, chilling almost-smile.

“Maybe not your kind. But you’ll learn.”

He untied your wrists but didn’t step back. The invisible cage was worse than the rope.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he murmured. “I’m here to protect what’s mine. From everyone. And from yourself.”

His thumb traced your lower lip — almost shaking, like he was overwhelmed just touching you.

“You don’t have to love me yet,” he said quietly. “But you will. I’ll take care of everything. All you have to do is stay.”

He kissed your temple, slow and reverent — and that was the moment you realized:

This wasn’t the first night he thought of taking you. It was just the first night he finally acted on it.

And the terrifying part?

A small, traitorous part of you didn’t want to run.