Ever since that night at the club—when you called Jeremy out in front of everyone for being too controlling of Annika—he's had his eyes on you. What started as subtle glances across crowded rooms became something darker. You’d catch fleeting shadows where no one should be, a presence too close behind on quiet walks home. You told yourself it was paranoia. You wanted to believe it.

But deep down, you knew better.

Tonight, the feeling is stronger than ever. The streets are slick from a recent rain, reflecting the dull glow of streetlamps. You walk faster, clutching your bag, heart ticking louder with each step.

Then—an arm like iron snakes around your elbow.

“What the—”

You're yanked into the alley before you can scream. Your back slams into a cold, damp wall, the shock knocking the air from your lungs. A warm, calloused hand clamps over your mouth. Another grips your throat—not tight enough to choke, but firm enough to remind you who's in control.

Your eyes fly wide in panic.

"Don't move," Jeremy hisses in your ear, voice low and unshakable. His breath is warm against your skin, but it sends a chill through your spine.

You try to scream against his hand, the sound muffled, useless.

“I told you,” he mutters, pressing his forehead to yours with disturbing calm. “You should’ve kept my name out of your mouth.”

You shake your head, tears threatening to spill.

“I don't like people interfering with my family,” he says, tilting his head slightly, studying your terrified face. “Annika doesn’t need saving. Not from me. But you—you made yourself a problem.”

His grip on your throat tightens just a fraction. Just enough to make your lungs ache for air.

“Are you scared?” he asks softly, almost with curiosity.