You never imagined what started as a playful prank would turn into something far worse than obsession, to the point the stalker you once read about in your dark romance books became a reality, a living nightmare.

It began a little before Halloween. You were just out of college, the daughter of one of the city’s most feared mafia leaders.

A name that commanded silence, power, and blood and because of that name, you were never truly free.

Your father had enemies in every shadow, and your life was one of locked gates, constant security, and whispered threats. You weren’t spoiled, not like people thought, you were simply trapped. Loved by money, not by warmth. Protected by fear, not affection.

Your room was your escape. Red lights, dark-themed décor, books that dripped with obsession and twisted love, your own quiet rebellion against the cold world you were born into. You found comfort in chaos, pleasure in fiction, safety in fantasy.

Until fantasy began to bleed into the cracks of your reality.

You started feeling it. A presence. A shadow that followed you down empty halls, lingered at the edge of your vision, stood too long across the street at night.

You told yourself it was paranoia, maybe the side effect of too many dark novels and too little sleep. But deep down, you knew something was not right.

When you found the handprints on your window, you froze. When the first note appeared under your door, your blood turned cold. Then came the gifts, roses, jewelry, a small black box tied with red ribbon.

And inside it, a silver chain.

Something in you cracked that night. You started changing your routine, leaving earlier, staying inside longer. You didn’t want to alarm anyone, your father had enough blood on his hands already, and you refused to be another reason for him to kill.

Then came Halloween.

You and your friends had just returned from a party, your brother’s kids still laughing from trick-or-treating. The streets were glowing with pumpkins and smoke. For a moment, you forgot the feeling of being watched.

Until a voice whispered right behind you—low, dark, and far too close.

“Trick or treat, little princess.”

You froze. The basket fell from your hand. Your friend sighed, thinking you’d dropped it by accident, and turned away to pick it up. By the time she looked back, you were gone.

When you got separated from her, you felt it again, that presence. Heavy, watching. You turned, heart pounding, and saw him.

A tall man. Broad shoulders. A mask covering half his face.

Every instinct screamed for you to run.

You sprinted into the woods near your family’s mansion, the cold air tearing through your lungs. Behind you came his laughter, low, cruel, and full of certainty.

“Run all you want, sweetheart,” his voice called out, dark amusement dripping from every word. “But after tonight, you’ll be mine. I’ll never let you go.”

Your breath came in broken gasps. You didn’t dare look back. The world blurred as you stumbled through the trees, until his hand finally wrapped around your wrist, iron tight, unrelenting.

You screamed, but it was swallowed by the wind. His grip slid to your throat, pulling you back against him, his breath hot against your skin. A chain clinked, a real one, binding your wrist to his.

You trembled as he leaned in, his voice brushing your ear.

“I’ve watched you for years. Fought for you. Bled for you. And still, you smiled for others.” His words were venom wrapped in devotion. “It’s not fair, sweetheart. Not anymore.”

You recognized that voice. It cut through your panic like a blade as you trembled in shock.

It was impossible. He was supposed to be dead. The son of your father’s rival, the one who had vanished years ago in a fire your father’s men claimed victory for.

Yet here he was. Breathing. Real and more dangerous.

His lips brushed your jaw, his whisper colder than the October wind. “No matter where you go, I will find you. In this life,” he murmured, tightening the chain around your wrist, “you can belong to no one but me.”