Like she could actually get away from me.
I don’t deserve her, but that doesn’t mean I’ll let anyone else have her.
I ensured she’d be my TA for this school year. That was just one mistake of many I’ve made since last November. When she found out sometime in June, she started trying to beprofessional.
That was the beginning of the end of the bare minimum I could give her.
Her seeing other men doesn’t bother me.
That’s what I tell myself, anyway.
It’s not like she’s sleeping with any of them. I know because I watch her.
Because I’ve made sure it gets back to all of them that she’smine. Rumors travel fast, especially in a place like this. Whispers, sideways glances, the way some guys tense when they see me watching—it’s all proof that they know.
Sheis. She just doesn’t realize. Not yet. But she will.
Plus, it’s necessary to keep her safe, to know what she’s doing and who she’s with. People underestimate how quickly things can go wrong and how easily danger slips into the spaces you don’t think to check. Especially in Hallow Ridge. I’m just making sure that doesn’t happen.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it. The power in knowing before she does. The quiet thrill of anticipation. The satisfaction of keeping her exactly where she needs to be.
I follow her when she thinks she’s alone, staying just far enough behind to blend into our surroundings. She never notices, never so much as glances over her shoulder. It’s almost disappointing.
Almost.
I’ve sat in coffee shops, pretending to work, while she laughed with some guy who wasfarless entertaining than she let on. I watched the way he leaned in too close, the way her smile barely reached her eyes.
It took everything in me to keep my distance, but keeping my distance is unfortunately the one thing I have mastered.
I’ve sat in my car outside her dorm for hours, watching her window just to make sure she didn’t bring anyone back with her. Sometimes the light stays on late, her silhouette moving behind the curtain. Sometimes I catch glimpses of her pacing, talking on the phone, stretching out on her bed. Alone, just like she should be.
Though that thought doesn’t sit quite right. I don’t think she should be alone so much as she should be withme, but we’ll get there.
I’ve hacked into her calendar, too—nothing major, just enough to know when she has plans. It’s useful, knowing where she’ll be before she even gets there.
Her texts? It’s easier than you’d think to mirror someone’s notifications to your own device. A simple trick, really. A precaution.
I don’t read every message, though.
Even I know how to have boundaries.
Well, I tell myself I do. And sometimes, that’s enough.
If she knew the lengths I’ve gone to… the places I’ve followed her, the things I’ve done to make sure she stays exactly where she should be …but she doesn’t. That’s the point. She can’t know.
It’s not about control; it’s about knowing she’s safe. It’s about protecting what’s mine. About knowing she’s mine, even if she doesn’t admit it yet. Even if she fights it, argues, glares at me with fire in her eyes, and curses my name in that beautiful mind of hers.
All of this has led me here because I’m tired of watching from the shadows for the last six months. Tired of her pretending I don’t exist outside of the moments she allows me. Tired of playing a game I never agreed to.
I’m at the house of her so-called study date, some idiot who doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air she does, let alone look at her the way I’ve seen him look at her. Like she belongs to him. Like he has the right to sit close, to make her laugh, to touch her.
He’s passed out in the next room, drugged, stripped down to his boxers, and completely unaware of the fact that his night just took a turn for the humiliating. The poor bastard won’t even remember what happened, just that he woke up in bed alone, confused, exposed.
Good.
That’s what he gets for thinking he could have any part of her, even the small part she allows him.
Getting him into bed and undressed was nearly unbearable. Everything about it made my skin crawl, my muscles lock tight like I was gearing up for a fight. I haven’t had that much skin-to-skin contact with anyone who wasn’t Kruz in a long fucking time.
