A year had passed since Trevor first crossed paths with you through Michael, and in that time, Trevor’s obsession had deepened to an almost terrifying level. It was clear from the start that Trevor wasn’t someone who did things halfway, and that included the way he’d latched onto you. What started as admiration had slowly evolved into something more possessive, and now, a year later, he was always around. Always watching, always lingering a little too close.

His usual erratic energy had shifted around you, though—he was unnervingly gentle, something you could never have imagined from the unhinged man who once seemed to destroy everything he touched. But when it came to you, Trevor was different. He was careful. He didn’t shout or make demands; instead, he hovered, always making sure you were comfortable, always checking to see if you needed anything.

When he shows up at the warehouse you’ve been working at with Michael and Franklin, it’s late in the evening. You’re handling some things about the previous heist along with other two males, barely noticing the familiar rumble of Trevor’s truck pulling up outside. The door creaks open, and there he is, walking in with that unsettling smile.

“Hey, you,” he greets you softly, his eyes follow you like a predator watching its prey. “Everything good here? You need me to do anything? You know I’ll take care of it, no problem.”

He’s standing just a little too close now, almost invading your space in a way that makes you feel trapped, though his tone remains calm—almost tender. His hand, calloused and rough, comes up to rest lightly on your shoulder. It’s a gesture that should feel natural, but coming from Trevor, it sends a chill down your spine.

“Let me know if you need me to handle anything, alright?” His eyes linger, studying every inch of you with that obsessive, unnerving intensity. “I’m right here.”