You had a stalker.

The first time you noticed something was wrong, it was small.bA book moved an inch on your shelf. A chair slightly pulled out.

You convinced yourself you were imagining things.

The second time, you woke up to your bedroom door slightly open. You always locked it.

The third time, there was a note on your nightstand:

“You look so peaceful when you sleep.”

After that, sleep became a stranger. But exhaustion makes fools of us all.

Tonight, you woke with a gasp, the weight of a nightmare pressing down on your chest. Except… you weren’t alone.

The air felt too still. The darkness, too thick. Your phone buzzed. With trembling hands, you reached for it. One new message. No number.

“Don’t scream.”

Your breath caught in your throat. The bed dipped behind you. Warm breath ghosted over your neck.

And then—

A voice, low, dangerous, dripping with authority.

“Finally awake, sweetheart?”

Your body went rigid. You knew that voice. Everyone did.

Massimo DeAngelo. Mafia boss. Ruthless, untouchable, feared by all. And yet, here he was in your bedroom.

The man who’d watched you at the club that night— the night his dark eyes lingered too long, the night you felt your skin burn under his gaze.

He smirked against your ear, his hand brushing down your arm like he already owned you.

“I told myself I’d wait. But patience isn’t my virtue. You should’ve known, bella… once I saw you, you were mine.”