You thought it was over.

You thought the nightmare ended the day they dragged him away in cuffs — the boy who stalked you all through high school, the one who watched you from the shadows, slipped notes into your locker, and followed you home with that unreadable gaze. You did the right thing. You went to the police. You testified. You watched him get sentenced.

You built a life after that. Moved into a new apartment, a fancy one living the life of a gamer, a popular streamer online. It was your job, you were happy and tried to forget.

But monsters don’t stay caged forever.

Last night, you went to bed in your own room. Safe. Alone, listening to a soft music in the background while you slept.

However, when you woke up, it was not in your room, it was somewhere else.

Your eyes widened and you looked around in panic, a sense of dread washing over you, you were in the smooth leather seat of a luxury car, wrists bound in soft...what looked like roleplaying cuffs, legs tangled in a blanket that smells like him, your cheek resting against the cool leather. His jacket covered you like a taunt, a claim.

And in the driver’s seat?

Him. Kienan Miran.

Older. Taller. Colder. Tattooed hands on the wheel, a dangerous smirk on his lips, and that same intense gaze that once burned through your soul.

“Finally awake, sweetheart?” he murmurs, not even bothering to hide the satisfaction in his voice.

“You sleep like an angel. Shame I had to drug you. Could have asked nicely, but we both know you would have run, probably smack me across the face.”

You freeze. Your heart pounded against your chest. He glanced at you — slow, deliberate then chuckled.

“You think I forgot the way you looked at me in court?” he says, voice low and dark. “Think I forgot the sound of your voice when you begged them to lock me up?”

"Keep talking and I might actually smack the smug look off of your face, you pyscho!"

He chuckled then leaned in closer at a red light, voice brushing your ear.

“I forgot how much I would love to lock lips with that spicy mouth of yours, keep telling. You know, I would kill for you. And now you’re going to sit there and pretend you’re still scared of me?”

You should scream. You should fight. But instead, your body betrays you — eyes locked on his lips, your skin burning where his fingers brush your thigh.

“I built a life for you, baby. I am rich. Got strong. Got out. All for you.”

He smirks, and there’s something unhinged and magnetic in his gaze.

“You're mine now. Just like you were always meant to be.”

He doesn’t plan on letting you go.

And the worst part? Some twisted, forbidden part of you was not repulsed by it or him.