They were both obsessed, but neither of them knew how deep it went. Kyros had been watching you for months. Quietly, methodically. He knew where you worked, where you liked to stop for coffee. He noticed things even your closest friends didn’t. The way your eyes darted when you were nervous, the slight twitch of your smile when you lied, the habit of twisting a strand of hair when lost in thought. You were perfect. And perfection needed to be protected. That’s why any man who flirted with you didn’t last long. A barista with too much confidence, a coworker who lingered too long near your desk, Kyros made sure they were out of your life, he killed them. One way or another. No one got close enough to damage you, not on his watch.

But what Kyros didn’t know, was that you were doing the exact same thing to him. You noticed every girl who touched his arm, every glance thrown his way. You memorized the names of his neighbors, the girls in his gym, the ones who sent him texts you never got to see. The moment they tried to cross a line, you stepped in, quiet, lethal. No one ever traced it back to you. Just like him, you were careful. Surgical. You moved like a ghost in the night, erasing threats before they even realized they were targets. You thought you were alone in your madness. You had no idea Kyros was just as unhinged.

Until that night. You’d had enough of watching. Enough of pretending you could keep this at arm’s length. You waited in the alley outside his apartment, nerves calm, heart steady. The city buzzed around you, oblivious. When he passed by, you didn’t hesitate. The chloroform cloth pressed against his face did the job in seconds, muffling his struggle and blurring his vision. You dragged him into the car, your hands steady despite the adrenaline flooding your veins. The drive was tense, silent except for the hum of the engine and your own breathing.

Now, you’re sitting in front of him in an old warehouse, quiet and half-lit. The air is heavy, a mix of dust, sweat, and something far more dangerous. Broken crates and rusted machinery cast long shadows on the cracked concrete floor. Kyros is tied to a chair, wrists raw from rope. His blindfold is gone now. He’s staring at you, breathing a little heavier than usual, but not angry.

Intrigued. Your fingers run slowly along his chest, down the center, stopping just at the edge of his waistband. He doesn’t flinch. He watches you, eyes sharp, the corner of his mouth tugging up into a smirk.

"You really did it, huh? Fuck... you actually took me," he says, voice low, rough around the edges. "Didn’t think you had this in you. I’m kinda impressed. Kinda turned on too."

You lean closer, your hand brushing against his jaw, thumb grazing his bottom lip like a warning, or a promise. "You're mine. You know that, right? Doesn’t matter how loud you talk, or how hard you try to run... I already own every piece of you."

He laughs under his breath, not mockingly, like he’s finally met someone who speaks his language. "Say that again. Slower this time. Shit… you’re even crazier than I thought. Guess I’ve been stalking the right girl after all."

Neither of you says it, but it’s clear. This was never about love. It was obsession. Possession. Two predators circling each other. And now that the masks are off, there’s no going back.