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 8
CHAPTER EIGHT:
I don't have an issue with marriage. I have an issue with Thalia claiming she has a husband.
"I've got to give it to her, Don. She's relentless." Damien's smirk appears as he checks his side mirror, prompting me to do the same.
A brown Dodge Durango trails us, one car behind.
My lips curve upward. Her persistence is admirable.
Since age ten to now thirty-one, all I've known is kill or be killed. Each day bloody boring. I find new ways to entertain myself: leaving them crippled for hours, giving them weapons to end me. None ever could.
My latest game: keeping someone alive for revenge after a mass killing. Watch them plan my death. End them when they show their claws. They think they're in power, but all the while, they're just my source of entertainment.
Like Thalia Easton.
"Lose her at the next intersection."
Damien nods and I tune him out with AirPods-Thalia's, actually. After she fainted, keeping her alive was instinctive. Could've called 911 like Damien suggested, but the thought of her shock seeing me when she woke up won. After the in-house doctor confirmed she's fine, just PTSD symptoms.
I searched her bag for medication or anything she uses tp keep herself alive. Can't have her die before killing me now, would we?
She had none.
So I took her AirPods as a souvenir instead. My would-be killer has exquisite taste in overpriced electronics.
"Lost her."
Satisfaction curls through me at the thought of her frustration.
I've been watching her for over four years now, well enough to know she has anger issues, and I've come to admire how her gray eyes glisten when she crinkles her face in rage. The quick retaliation she displays-sometimes hitting the person, other times whatever object is nearby. Most times, she digs her nails into her palms, attempting control and failing beautifully sometimes.
Her lack of control pleases me immensely.
I increase the sound to drown out Damien's incoming lecture.
The one he's been repeating for three weeks
"You're playing a dangerous game."
Speak of the devil.
Now he thinks I'm insane for making Thalia my PA. I humor him, though.
"It's not a nice game if it ends quickly brother." he glares
"And there's nothing dangerous about entertaining a wet kitten."
Damien's response is to jolt the steering wheel hard right without warning.
The abrupt turn sends me sideways. My skull thuds against the passenger window with an aching crack. Stars explode behind my eyelids.
"What the bloody hell!" I press my palm against the throbbing spot. On God, if he didn't mean so much to me, I'd smash his head through this window.
"She threatened Jerol two weeks ago to tell her our shipment plans." Ignoring my outburst, Damien launches into his prepared speech. "Before winning against me on Friday, she slashed four of our tires.
Four! Then played against us like she's innocent."
My lip curve up at the image of Friday's play. After the death of her family, it was just a mindless monitoring during her high school year. Intrigued to see what a bratty violent kid will do.
Then she got interesting by training under her high school badboy- Vaughn.
"She's not afraid of you, Carlos. That's not the kind of person you hire as your PA."
His worry is becoming nauseating. Everything he finds concerning about her is precisely what keeps me entertained.
The mystery of her next move, discovering her plans before she executes them-it ignites something in me I haven't felt in years.
"She's still a pawn, no matter what. Keep your enemy close and all that..."
THUD!
This time he yanks the wheel left with the energy of a man who's decided vehicular assault is valid communication.
My shoulder slams into the door panel. I taste copper where I've bitten my tongue.
Then an abrupt stop that throws me forward against my seatbelt.
"WHAT THE HELL, BROTHER!"
Like the lunatic he is, he ignores me, staring straight ahead with white knuckles gripping the wheel.
"Did you lose your sight or your limbs?!"
One more of this bullshit and I'll forget he helped me break free from Zara.
"Neither, Terrius!" He only uses my surname when he's furious.
"You lost your damn mind! She's destroying you, and you're burying yourself deeper!"
His voice matches my earlier volume, coated with frustration and my favorite weapon: fear. But I don't appreciate it from him. He looks genuinely scared.
"It's just Thalia. A twenty-three-year-old girl with only six years of fighting experience." The calmness I want to project isn't working. His frustration is infuriating me.
"Just Thalia." Damien's laugh is sharp and humorless.
"Right. 'Just' the woman who slashed our tires, threatened Jerol with his own intestines for information, who blurred the cameras in the apartment you built for her"
"It's for surprise. Future evidence" He glares at me
"To proof I've been watching her too"
He shakes his head then continues
"She carved 'Fuck You' into your windowsill with what I can only assume was her lipstick and sheer spite."
"It was a waterproof lipstick. Dark red. Post violence makeup."
We watched it together and it makes her more interesting. That she could plan such on the spot
"A water...-" Damien closes his eyes briefly, and suck in a breath.
"Carlos."
"Have fun Damien. She's just a wet kitten"
"Don." he looks comical. Nose red and flared. Eyes straight forward with hands gripping the wheels like he assumes It's my neck.
"Love of my life in occasionally violent way." he continues
"You're describing someone who won't hesitate to stab you like a feral cat!"
"She's more precise with her cuts."
"What?"
"If she stabs me, it will be precise"
He presses brake so fast I'd have hit my head, but I'm better prepared.
Never letting him drive again
"HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT?!"
He thunders, eyes glued on me with hands that flair in the air.
Silence stretches between us.
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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.