At first, Joe thought he had you figured out.

He'd memorized every single thing about you down to the smallest things. Which side of the bed was your favorite, what kind of tampons you preferred, your favorite bra to wear. You were beautiful. Vulnerable. Fragile. Innocent. In need of protection. In need of him.

Or at least he thought so.

He told himself he was saving you. From bad people. From bad decisions. From yourself.

You were different. But not in the way he expected.

Joe first noticed the shift when the usual noise of the bookstore dulled—when the women who used to linger at the counter, laughing too loud, disappeared like smoke.

It didn’t occur to him—not right away—that it wasn’t chance. It wasn’t coincidental. It was you.

Until the night he found a necklace—hidden underneath your vanity desk.

A string of pearls, too bold for your taste. One he recognized instantly—worn by a woman who used to frequent the store, now nowhere to be seen. The pearls were sticky, stained with blood.

Joe froze.

And for a moment, what filled him wasn’t fear— It was curiosity.

The door creaked behind him.

You stood there, framed by the light of the hallway. Silent. Still.