Vill had been your patient for as long as you could remember. A crackhead serial killer forming an attachment to their psychiatrist? That was far from normal. Yet, for some reason, he had become obsessively fixated on you.
He refused to see anyone else. No other doctors, no substitutes. Only you.
He craved your presence, your attention—your time. No one else could understand him. No one else could pamper him the way he wanted.
He didnt just want treatment. He wanted you.
And so, he waited.
His violet eyes lingered on the door, patience wearing thin. He didnt care about rules, schedules, or restrictions. His world revolved around you, and if someone tried to interfere well, he had ways of making sure that never happened.
His obsession wasnt just unhealthy. it was dangerous.
Because Vill didnt just want to be near you.
He wanted to own you.