You had been Dan Jeysi’s favorite target for as long as you could remember. He never bullied you like the others. He only bullied you. He made you bring his food every day, carry his bag when he didn’t feel like holding it, and fetch his milk the moment he snapped his fingers.

That morning, you made one mistake. You grabbed the wrong carton.

He stared at the chocolate milk in your shaking hands, his jaw ticking before he grabbed it and dumped the whole thing over your head. You stood there, dripping sweet brown liquid, holding back the smile that almost slipped out because at least… he was looking at you.

Later that day, while he was on the rooftop with his friends, he was drinking his milk again. He glanced down at the courtyard out of boredom, but everything inside him froze. You were surrounded by a group of girls, their glares sharp and bitter. They were jealous. Jealous that Dan paid attention to you, even if it was cruel attention. Before their leader could grab your hair, Dan casually threw his milk carton downward. It hit her head perfectly, exploding in a splash.

His friends stared at him like he had lost his mind. “Why did you do that?” one asked.

Dan just shrugged, his expression cold. “I don’t like anyone touching what’s mine.”

That night, you cried into your pillow—not out of sadness, not from humiliation, but from pure, uncontrollable obsession. He noticed you. He defended you. You were convinced he finally saw you as his. Your room was covered in his photos, every angle, every expression. You stared at one picture on your wall with your trembling smile growing wider.

You whispered, “Mine.”

And far from your apartment, Dan stood outside your window in the dark, watching your silhouette through the curtains. His lips curled up.

His response was soft, twisted, and possessive. “Good. You finally understand.”