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He made me miss my coffee run when he murdered those two men in an alley.
Now he brings it to me in bed every morning. So… that’s where I’m at.
MARGOT
I was just trying to be helpful. A hot stranger left his credit card behind at the café.
I followed him outside to return it. To do a good deed.
I didn’t mean to overhear his phone call.
I definitely didn’t mean to hear phrases like “cut out his tongue” and “shoot on sight.”
And I absolutely didn’t mean to witness a double homicide.
Which, to be fair, could’ve arguably been self-defense.
Now, I’m in his house. Wearing his clothes. Sleeping in his bed.
Eating dinner with him every night like a married couple.
And don’t even get me started on his ridiculous claim:
He says I’m his.
That I belong to him.
He calls it our bed and our home.
He’s a psychopathic killer hiding behind custom suits.
I should be afraid. I should be trying to escape.
But with every heated gaze and tempting touch…
It’s starting to feel less like captive and more like choice.
And that terrifies me more than he ever could.
MATTHIAS
She followed me. I didn’t even know. She walked straight into my world,
tripping over a dumpster trying to get away, begging for her freedom.
God, I love when she begs.
Really, it’s her fault I took her.
What was I supposed to do? Let her go?
She saw too much. I didn’t have a choice.
Now she’s in my house.
Infiltrating every room.
Filling it with her laughter, her mess, her sass,
and her ridiculously named lazy, oversized excuse for a guard dog.
They’ve moved in like they belong here.
And somehow… they’re consuming my mind.
She doesn’t know it yet.
But she was mine the second those big, beautiful eyes locked with mine
as she swore her innocent intentions.
I won’t let her go.
Because I keep what’s mine
