BECOMING HIS OBSESSION
WARNING: This is a STALKER xSTALKER DARK ROMANCE. MUTUAL OBSESSION with DUAL POV.
SYNOPSIS
CARLOS:
Will she wake up if I wrap her hand around my length? My vision tunnels and I move closer to her spread legs, fisting my cock faster. My balls engorge & heart tighten
I throw my head back when the wave hit me & my cum spills onto her inner thigh. I watch it soak into the center of her cunt.
She stirs but doesn't wake. Instead a beautiful word slip from her full lips
"Carlos... " Did she just...
"Thinking of your prey, pretty doll?"
THALIA: "He won't do it"
That's what I thought, but as I watch the man I'm meant to kill, behead a woman without blinking,staring straight at me. I knew, I'm after a monster.
TRIGGER WARNINGS
BOTH:
Stalking
Surveillance
Wet dreams
Graphic violence
Weapons
Threats
Privacy|Home invasion
MMC
Somnophilia
Voyeurism
FMC
Murder
Poisoning
Gory murder board
Questionable morals.
Chapters
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Chapter 1
𝑻𝑯𝑨𝑳𝑰𝑨 𝑷𝑶𝑽
I shoot him in the exact same spot I stabbed him seconds ago.
"Yo yoooou" He stammers, pointing at me as I watch life leave him
"For my parents"
The crack of the suppressed pistol reverberates through the lounge as I watch Carlos's blood pool on the tiled floor. The same way he decorated the walls of my home six years ago.
One last time, my bullet digs a hole on his forehead
"For my brother" his lifeless body splatters blood on my red Louboutin heels-the one I've been saving for this exact moment.
When I finally murder the Don of Viper Lane.
Not yet. But soon.
"Who taught you how to be this good, nena?"
Damien's voice pulls me out of the murderous daydream. Carlos's best friend and right hand questions me.
Instead, I smile at an accomplished mission seated eight feet away: Carlos
His gaze has been on me for twenty minutes now, observing as I dismantle one of his men at chess.
About to be two now.
"Checkmate"
Damien hisses as I kick down his king.
"You're bad for these men's pockets." Vera hands over my winnings.
"It has been a bad play"
Damien teases, gripping my hand with a smile that I return.
I hug the cash to my chest, playing up my victory while others clamor for one more round.
"Please one round Thalia"
"If you find a better player, you know where to find me." I yell to the room, releasing my hair from its bun, letting it fall around my shoulders.
His gaze still burns & I give in to look.
Legs wide apart, back against the cushions of a two-seater sofa, occupying space like he owns it. Cigarette smoke circles him like incense burned around an idol.
The murmurs and shuffling of the lounge fade out. All I feel is venom.
Anger hammers against my ribs. My nails dig crescents into my palms. Pain. Focus. Not yet. Not here. Not like this.
I take three steps toward the exit. Three steps toward fresh air and freedom, until a wall of muscle blocks my path.
Orio. One of Carlos's enforcers-useful for breaking bones and issuing threats when Greg, the primary bodyguard, isn't around. I've cataloged every one of Carlos's men I can identify. Orio ranks bottom for intelligence but top for blind obedience.
"Did I..." I blink thrice and let timidness creep into my voice, "forget something?"
Young and scared-that's what they expect from a young woman facing down a man quadruple her size.
"My boss wants to see you." His voice scrapes like gravel and cigarettes.
I raise my brows at him.
"NOW." He barks, squaring his shoulders.
On paper and to strangers, I look like a regular bratty girl. Tonight, I look the part. I might as well use it.
"If your boss wants to see me," I begin, gripping my purse tighter, feeling the weight of the scissors inside
"he should act like a man and approach me himself. Not send an underling."
Orio's nostrils flare. His hand twitches toward the gun I know he keeps in his waistband.
Come to me Carlos, I'm not like the men that stutter at your presence or the women that beg for your attention
"For the meantime, I'm uninterested." I duck under his outstretched arm.
"Play with me."
Three words. A direct command. No elaboration, no asking. Just the absolute expectation of obedience.
The voice is deep and smooth, like honeyed whiskey laced with boredom and authority. It makes every hair on my body stand at attention, sending ice racing through my veins.
I turn slowly, pulse pounding in my ears as I face him: Carlos Terrius, Don of Viper Lane.
Six years of preparation should have made this easier.
My heart slams against my ribs, trying to escape. Or warn me.
This is him. This is the man. All I need is for him to want me for a quick fuck in his home, his hotel, his office-anywhere I can plant the cameras buried in my bag. Learn his routine enough to destroy him
"MOVE."
Orio's order cuts through my thoughts.
I lift my head to properly look at Carlos.
He's more commanding in person than through my camera lenses. Six-foot-three of lean muscle and controlled violence in an impeccably tailored black suit. Dark hair falls across his forehead-longer than modern, shorter than rebellious.
But it's his eyes that pin me in place. Deep and dark beneath thick brows, set in clean-shaven olive skin. He must have shaved since I last captured him on film.
Dead eyes on a thirty-one-year-old face, fixed on me with an intensity that makes my stomach drop.
"So you're the incapable boss who sends others to do his work?"
The words escape before I can stop them. Sharp. Edged with the bitterness that belongs to the seventeen-year-old girl he destroyed, not the calculated weapon I've become.
His eyes narrow.
"Excuse me?"
And this is where I die. Two of his men approach me with steps that promise bloodshed
"You heard me." I commit to the grave I'm digging. Take me to the dungeon you punish me. Get me into your world.
Carlos raises one hand. They freeze instantly.
"Well-trained dogs," I mutter.
His jaw ticks. He heard me.
Carlos doesn't explode as expected. Instead, he bows his head, a dark smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he twirls an archaic-looking silver ring on his index finger.
A dry chuckle escapes him, and my throat goes dry.
"I was hoping I misheard," he murmurs to the floor, the ring catching the dim light of the lounge.
"Something a coward would do."
I retort, and he draws in a breath.
When he looks up, his eyes are pure darkness. Amusement vanished from his expression
Hands in pocket, He moves. Three strides of purposeful, predatory rage
"What a very brave way to invite a deep painful death."
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9.7
"Say you're mateless, Laia. No matter what you feel during the Ceremony, don't say a word," he whispered squeezing my bicep so tight I thought he'd leave bruise marks.
I was stupid to hope.
Years of secretly dreaming that Alphason Cael would be my mate and choose me, even while Lysandra clung to his side.
All those fantasies shatter the night of the Moon Ceremony when I am forced to lie about fate tying us together. Mateless... that's what I am to the world now.
All I want is to get my little brother and leave this damned pack forever, until one reckless kiss from Cael binds me to a new kind of doom.
For my sin, Lysandra demands a price: steal the ancient Moon Relic from the Faceless Pack, or lose my brother's freedom. She feeds me lies about helping us disappear, about covering my university costs.
Cael just stands there as the masked warriors of the most dangerous pack escort me onto the ship that will take me straight to Alpha Damon, the notorious leader of the Faceless Pack.
How am I supposed to steal from a man whose very name is shrouded in mystery and menace? A masked Alpha who watches me with burning restraint. Every damn time we're near each other, his nostrils flare and all his muscles tense as if he's holding himself back. Sometimes he fails, sometimes I feel the ghost of his touch on the tips of my hair when he thinks I am not looking.
And sometimes... I wonder if I'll survive being near him, seeing the pain in the depths of his eyes. I need to get out and leave Alpha Damon as a distant memory.
7.4
"You can't escape me, Aurora. You are mine!"
The Alpha King's roar echoed through the palace walls.
But Aurora just tightened her grip on the blade hidden beneath her cloak.
She would never-never-give herself to the monster who murdered her father.
Even if the Moon Goddess cursed her to be his mate.
***
Aurora Regalia once had everything-a loving father, a prosperous pack, and a future that glittered with promise. Her father, the king, even chose her a mate: Logan Charming. Powerful. Charismatic. Cursed.
She thought he was her destiny.
Then she watched him tear her father's head from his shoulders.
One night. One betrayal. Her entire family, slaughtered. Her pack, reduced to ashes.
Aurora jumped off a cliff that night-not to die, but to survive. To become something her enemies would never see coming.
An assassin. A ghost. A blade wrapped in silk.
For years, she trained in the shadows, fueled by one single purpose: revenge. Blood for blood. She would make Logan Charming suffer the way she had suffered. She would carve his heart out and feel nothing.
But fate had a cruel sense of humor.
The Moon Goddess looked down at her shattered daughter and laughed.
Because the man who destroyed her life?
The monster who wore her father's blood on his hands?
He was her fated mate.
Now Aurora stands at a crossroads she never asked for. Every instinct screams for vengeance. Every fiber of her being recoils at the bond pulling her toward him.
But Logan? He doesn't care about her hatred. He doesn't care about her blade.
"You can run, little mate," he whispers, crimson eyes gleaming in the dark. "But I will always find you."
And when he does?
He won't just cage her body.
He'll claim her soul.
7.0
Five years. Four hundred million dollars. And the wedding dress was never mine.
I found out on a Tuesday—a C-list actress draped in my custom Vera Wang, hanging off my fiancé's arm. Six months of French lace. Six meters of Italian silk. Every stitch a promise I had made to myself: someone finally chose me for me.
He locked the doors of that boutique. Froze my cards. Threatened my friends. Told the world I was just a delusional former assistant who didn't know her place.
The internet called me crazy, a liar, a desperate woman who couldn't take a hint. His name trended everywhere. My accounts got suspended before I could say a word.
What he never knew: his empire ran on my capital. His patents were mine. His executive assistant had been feeding me evidence for months—emails, recordings, a paper trail of fraud stretching back years.
I dialed the encrypted phone. A voice said, "I've waited five years."
"Then wait three more days," I said. "I'm going to tear his head off."
8.4
When Emma Walsh catches her boyfriend cheating just days before their holiday getaway, she's left heartbroken, homeless and jobless. Stranded in New York City with nothing but her luggage, she wanders into a bar where one reckless night with a brooding stranger changes everything. Liam O'Connor, an emotionally guarded man who is a brilliant lawyer and a single father, had promised his mother that he would return with his girlfriend. With Christmas fast approaching, he needs a fake girlfriend to survive the holidays back home. And Emma needs a fresh start with a little revenge. The deal is simple: fake smiles, pretend love with no real feelings. But when Emma meets his adorable daughter, bonds with his mother, who is warm-hearted, and starts to notice the cracks in Liam's cold exterior, the difference between real and fake starts to blur. Especially when his ex returns and secrets from the past threaten to uncover everything.
Can two broken hearts find something good under the mistletoe?
8.7
To the world, I was Delia Fitzgerald, the spoiled, vacuous daughter of the South's wealthiest family. But behind the practiced pout and expensive stilettos, I was a sleeper agent, a shadow trained for war.
The mask cracked the night my fiancé, Ansel Gibson, dumped me in the rain. He didn't just break the engagement; he recoiled in physical disgust, claiming that the very sight of me made him physically ill.
When I returned home, I expected my father to be furious about the failed business merger. Instead, I found him paralyzed by a primal terror I had never seen. It wasn't about the money; it was about a "blood debt" and a mysterious parchment that held our family's lives in the balance.
"You will go to the Gibsons and beg for forgiveness," my father rasped, his hands shaking uncontrollably. "If this contract is broken, there will be blood."
My own brothers, men who usually ruled the city, could only watch in grim silence. I realized then that I wasn't a daughter to them-I was currency, a lamb being led to the slaughter to pay for a secret I didn't even know existed.
I didn't understand why the Gibsons were so obsessed with me, or why Killian Gibson-the family's true monster-was suddenly tracking my every move with a predatory smile. He traced the callouses on my hands, marks from thousands of rounds of gunfire that no debutante should have, and whispered that he wanted me where he could see me.
If they wanted a pawn, they picked the wrong girl. I decided to stop running and walked straight into the lion's den, accepting a job as Killian's "Chief Special Assistant."
I was going to find that parchment and tear their world apart from the inside. The game had officially begun, and this time, the "Baby Girl" was the one holding the knife.
7.9
Content Warning :
This story is not safe.
It's addictive, explicit, and threaded with triggers that bite.
It drags you through obsession, trauma, and the kind of desire that hurts as much as it heals.
If you can't handle morally grey men, broken women, or the thin line between love and ruin, stop here.
If you can... keep reading.
I thought monsters only lived in the dark, until I was framed for a murder I didn't commit and dragged into a world that felt darker than any nightmare.
Where he was.
Where he's always been.
Watching me.
He doesn't love. He claims what's his and destroys anyone who touches it.
I tried to run from the shadow that haunts me, but somehow, every time, I end up running straight back to him.
He's danger wrapped in devotion.
My curse. My obsession. My undoing.
I should fear him. And I do.
But fear doesn't stop the pulse between my thighs.
Or the way my heart betrays me when he whispers my name like a threat and a prayer.
They call it madness.
I call it survival.
Because in his darkness, I stopped being hunted.
I became the desire.
He's the shadow I was meant to run from, but the one who left his hunger burning deep inside me.