Stalked By My Boyfriends Best Friend

"I'm not yours!" I snap, my eyes narrowing into slits as I glare at him.

A wicked grin curls on his lips. "Oh, but you are, little deer. How can you even begin to deny it?" He leans in closer, his breath hot against my neck as he drags his nose along my skin, inhaling deeply. "You let me touch you. Now, you. Are. Mine."

I shake my head vigorously, my voice trembling as I stammer, "I... I wasn't awake. I didn't know it was you. I thought it was him!" The words spill out, more an attempt to convince myself than to sway him.

His dark, sinister laugh reverberates as he presses closer, pinning me against the wall, his body a cage around mine. "Yet your eyes were fixed on his face, weren't they, little deer? Even as you came so hard around my fingers."

He's right. My heart pounds as I recall the moment, my gaze locked on Justin, terrified he would wake and discover us.

Luna thought she had everything she wanted—a loving relationship with her boyfriend, Justin, and a life that felt secure. But everything changed in a single, haunting night. For years, Luna had been living under the shadow of a mysterious stalker, someone who invaded her apartment, left unsettlingly sweet gifts, and even stole her clothing. She never imagined that the danger was closer than she could have ever suspected.

After a night of partying, Luna drifts off to sleep between Justin and his best friend, Dante. But what she doesn't know is that Dante, the man she trusted, is the very stalker who has been obsessing over her for years. And now, with her so close, his twisted desires are becoming impossible to resist.

Meeting Her

Dante’s POV

1 year earlier

I sit in the dark office, glaring at the phone. The silence feels suffocating, but I prefer it that way. I’m hiding, and I know it. Today, of all days, I’ve told everyone to handle things on their own. No one dares ask for my help—they know better than to cross me on this date.

At least, I thought they did.

The knock on the door makes me groan.

“What?” I snap, my voice harsher than I intend.

The door creaks open, and Callum steps in with his usual calm, carrying a small box.

“I know what today is, Dante. But I also know you,” he says, placing the box on the desk between us.

“I don’t need to see it,” I mutter, staring at the darkened room. “I trust he’s dead and handled.”

Callum nods. “He’s done. As for the woman—Sasha’s looking after her. Doctor’s stitched her up, but she’s causing a scene. Refuses to work here.”

Of course. I let out a deep sigh.

“Tell Sasha to send her in,” I say, flicking on the light, the sudden brightness making me squint.

Callum nods and turns to leave, but stops at the door. “Justin’s been calling. Says you didn’t show last night. He’s expecting you tonight.”

I clench my jaw. “You know last night was impossible with what went down. This takes priority. Justin’s ‘fun’ can wait.”

“Just passing the message, boss,” he says with a shrug, heading out.

The room feels colder when I’m alone again. I glance at the phone, tempted to turn it on, but I don’t. Not yet.

Moments later, there’s another knock. Sasha steps in, leading a girl I had expected to jump at the chance to work here. “Mr. Ainsley, this is Pixie,” she says, stepping aside.

Pixie’s eyes flick to me, wide with uncertainty, like a rabbit ready to bolt. Her dark hair is cleaner now, and she’s wearing joggers and a vest, but the bruises and cuts still mar her skin. She’s been through hell, and it shows.

“It’s safe. I just want to talk,” I tell her, softening my voice. She hesitates, but finally takes the seat across from me. Sasha closes the door quietly behind her.

“You’re refusing to stay and work here. Why?” I ask, genuinely puzzled. After what she went through, I thought she’d be eager for the safety we offered.

Pixie straightens, but there’s defiance in her voice. “I work for myself, on the streets. I make my own rules, do what I want, when I want.”

I nod, taking it in. “I’m sure Sasha explained that you’d have the same freedom here. The money from drinks and the club covers everything else. You keep what you earn. So, the real reason?”

She hesitates, her guard slipping. I lean forward, sensing the truth buried deep beneath her bravado.

“You got lucky last night,” I say quietly, but firmly. “That guy could’ve killed you. How do you know next time won’t be worse?”

Her lip trembles, and tears well up in her eyes. She tries to hold it together, but I see it—the fear. And beneath the fresh bruises, I notice the older ones.

“Who is it?” I ask, my voice lowering. It’s not just about survival for her—someone else is pulling the strings.

Her breath catches, and she shakes her head, refusing to answer. “It’s... it’s not someone I can name. I’m sorry. Thank you for what you’ve done, but I have... other things to consider,” she says, her voice laced with fear.

“Like what?” I press. “What’s more important than your own safety?”

She meets my eyes, and her answer shocks me. “My son!” she shouts, her voice raw and desperate.

That changes everything. I sit back, processing. A child complicates things, but not in a way that can’t be handled.

“You’re in the hospital right now,” I say, formulating a plan on the fly. “That’s your story. Stay here tonight. Tomorrow morning, you lead us to whoever’s holding you down. We’ll get your son and bring you both back here. Safe.”

She opens her mouth to argue, but I cut her off, raising a hand. “Think about him. This is your chance to get out, to keep both of you safe. Whoever’s controlling you, they won’t touch you again. I swear it.”

Pixie hesitates, torn between her fear and the promise of freedom. Finally, she gives a reluctant nod, standing to leave. But before she reaches the door, she turns back.

“People say you sell women. That you’re a pimp, taking their money. Clearly, that’s not true. But why do you care? About us, we're seen as nothing, hookers, lower than lower?” Her voice is quieter now, almost vulnerable.

I sigh, leaning back in my chair. “It’s personal,” I say, not offering more. “The men here, they’re not watching to make sure you’re working. They’re here to protect you. To make sure no one touches you without your consent. If you get an uneasy feeling from anyone, tell them straight away.”

She nods slowly, understanding more than I expected. Without another word, she leaves the office, and I’m left with the silence again.

This time, I pick up the phone, turn it on, and walk out. There’s still more work to be done.

I step out of the car, taking a deep breath before heading into Justin’s place. He’s someone I’ve known since we were kids, a constant in my life. While our worlds couldn’t be more different—me running clubs that cater to dark desires behind closed doors, and him working in promotion, surrounded by bright lights and clean-cut office types—we’ve always been close. Still, I don’t understand why he’s been riding me so hard, hounding me like I didn’t have bigger problems to deal with.

Last night was his birthday, and I was supposed to be there. But then I got the call. The deputy, or “Deputy Prick” as I like to call him, told me about a woman who’d been beaten badly, left on the street. For a moment, I was paralyzed with fear, thinking it was one of my girls. But no—it was someone from the street, someone who wasn’t under my protection yet. He suggested I offer her a place, and that was that. Justin’s birthday quickly became a distant memory.

As I walk into his place, the party is already in full swing. People are everywhere, laughing, drinking, the usual scene. Suddenly, someone stumbles into me, and without thinking, I reach out and steady her.

And that’s when I see her.

For a split second, the world around me vanishes. Dark hair falls in waves around her flushed face, and her blue eyes lock onto mine. It’s like I’ve been hit by a truck. My chest tightens, heat surging through me. Who the hell is she?

Women don’t get a reaction from me—hell, nothing does these days. I’m numb inside, dead even. But her? She’s got me on fire with just one look. I can’t tear my eyes away as she regains her balance, straightening up.

Then, Justin’s arm pulls her back from me, snapping me out of the trance.

“Luna,” Justin says with a grin, holding her close. “This is Dante, an old friend.”

I’m still staring at her, speechless, as he introduces us.

“Dante?” she asks, her eyes narrowing in recognition. “As in the Heaven and Hell Club?”

I nod, and her gaze shifts. Her eyes fill with disgust, and the hit is sharp, unexpected. Damn. I’ve never cared what anyone thinks of me—not in this life, not with the shit I deal with daily. But her? For some reason, her opinion cuts deep, and I hate that it does.

I rub my face, trying to shake it off, but all I can smell is her. That brief contact, her scent still clings to me, driving me insane.

“So you two are friends, right?” I ask, forcing my voice to sound normal. Justin laughs, pulling Luna in closer and planting a kiss on her lips.

Shit. This is bad. Really fucking bad.

I can’t stay here. Pulling out my phone, I head for the door, hitting Jamie’s number. He answers on the second ring.

“Dante. Everything okay?”

I walk out into the night, breathing in the cool air, trying to clear my head. “I think I’ve got another obsession,” I mutter.

There’s a pause on the other end before Jamie, my long-suffering counselor, speaks. “You know how to handle those.”

“Yeah, but this one is... different. It’s a person,” I admit, my voice trailing off. This is uncharted territory. My obsessions have always been things I could manage—work, control, power. I know how to compartmentalize them, how to distance myself. But her? I don’t know how to shake this feeling.

“Same rules apply, Dante,” Jamie says in his calm, measured tone. “Keep your distance. If you feel it pulling you in, redirect. Focus elsewhere.”

I nod, even though I know it’s useless. This is different. This obsession isn’t something I can just walk away from.

Hanging up, I take a deep breath and step back into the party. It’s foolish to go back in, but I’m drawn to her. I can’t stop myself. I stand at the edge of the room, watching her move. She’s dancing now, lost in the music, completely unaware of the storm she’s kicked up inside me.

She hates me, I can see it in her eyes. But I’m obsessed with her.

How the fuck is this supposed to work?

His Friend

Luna’s POV

1 year earlier

I watch Justin from across the room, my thoughts swirling. This whole relationship came out of nowhere. We met just yesterday at the club—I was celebrating my birthday, and so was he. Today, we went on a real date, and I learned more about him. He’s sweet, thoughtful, and nothing like the men I usually fall for.

My past is littered with bad boys—leather jackets, tattoos, men who practically wear their rebellion on their skin. But Justin? He’s the opposite of all that. His curly hair looks effortlessly messy, and his beard is short, neatly trimmed, giving him a relaxed, almost carefree vibe. His jawline is sharp, his deep brown eyes warm, inviting. He doesn’t have the sculpted body of someone who spends hours in the gym, but he’s not out of shape either. He’s just... normal. And normal is exactly what I need after being burned so many times.

I smile softly and make my way toward the kitchen, my heels clicking against the floor. But then, my heel slips, and before I know it, I’m falling forward, crashing right into someone.

I glance up, an apology on my lips, but the words never make it out. Instead, I’m caught—trapped, really—by a pair of dark green eyes. The air between us seems to thicken, and my breath hitches. Everything about this man screams dominance, danger, and something I should definitely stay away from. His dark brown hair, almost black, is perfectly styled to the side, giving him a sharp, intense look. He steadies me with one hand, and I can’t tear my eyes away from him.

He smirks, just a small curve of his lips, but it’s enough to make me melt. What the hell is wrong with me? I don’t even know this guy, but my body is reacting like it’s forgotten every ounce of common sense.

Before I can process it, Justin pulls me back, breaking the spell. His arm wraps around me protectively, and I blink, suddenly aware of the room again. The stranger’s gaze flickers to Justin, then back to me, and I swear my heart is pounding so loudly it’s a wonder no one else can hear it.

“Luna,” Justin says, smiling as if nothing’s amiss. “This is Dante, an old friend.”

Dante. The name sends a chill through me, instantly quenching the spark that had ignited just moments ago.

“Dante?” I repeat, my voice sharper than intended. “As in the Dante? Heaven and Hell Club?”

Justin nods, oblivious, but my eyes narrow. I know exactly who Dante is. I’ve been to the Heaven part of the club—it’s just like any other, loud music, dancing, drinks. But the Hell part? That’s a different story. The rumors are everywhere, and if even half of them are true, this man profits from women. Selling them, using them. Men like him are everything I despise.

I glare at him, my disgust barely concealed. Rob, my ex, used to spend too much time at Dante’s club. It was his playground for cheating, and Dante’s place gave him the perfect cover. Now I’m face-to-face with the man behind it all, and every instinct tells me to run. How can Justin even be friends with someone like this?

“So you two are friends?” Dante asks, his voice smooth, but I hear the edge beneath it.

Justin just laughs, pulling me close and pressing his lips to mine in a kiss that’s more for show than anything else. I let him, hoping Dante gets the message—this isn’t happening. Not now, not ever.

When the kiss ends and I open my eyes, Dante is already gone. I exhale slowly, trying to shake off the weird energy he left behind.

“I don’t like him,” I mutter to Justin, the tension still coiling in my stomach.

Justin chuckles, brushing it off. “He’s an alright guy. We hang out a lot outside of work.”

Of course, Justin doesn’t see it. He doesn’t care about the darker side of Dante, the part of him that exploits women and runs a club filled with secrets. I fight the urge to roll my eyes, pushing the thoughts out of my mind. Tonight is supposed to be fun, not a deep dive into my past traumas or the kind of men I’ve sworn off.

But as the party goes on, I can feel Dante’s eyes on me, watching me, and it’s making my skin crawl. He’s observing me like I’m something to be inspected, to be priced, and I hate it. He’s probably wondering how much I’d be worth, trying to figure out if I’d ever end up in his club. The thought makes my blood boil. I’m not for sale.

I turn away from him, refusing to let him see my face anymore. I focus on Justin, on the music, on enjoying the party. But deep down, I know this isn’t over. Not with Dante watching me the way he is. I’ll just have to make sure he knows exactly who he’s dealing with.

6 months Later

Justin’s grip tightens on my hip as he leans down, trailing kisses along my neck. I tilt my head, a soft moan escaping as his lips brush against the sensitive skin. It feels good, grounding, pulling me away from the storm of thoughts that’s been building.

“I’m waiting,” Dante grumbles, his voice cutting through the moment from outside the car.

I press closer to Justin on purpose, and he groans in response. It’s petty, but I don’t care. Dante’s presence has been grating on me more and more lately, and he’s always there, lurking in the background like a shadow I can’t escape.

Justin pulls back with a smile. “I’ll come by after work, yeah?” He whispers, his lips grazing mine in a light kiss.

“Don’t bring Dante,” I murmur, trying to make it a joke but I'm deadly serious.

He laughs, like it’s some inside joke I’m not in on. It’s not funny, though. With a sigh, I slip out of the car and watch them drive off together. When Justin first mentioned that he and Dante were friends, it didn’t seem like an issue. But now? They’re practically inseparable. Whenever they aren't working, Dante’s always tagging along, like some unwanted third wheel. Last night I stayed at Justin's but Dante was there, I'm not sure if he stayed or went home, I gave up and went to bed.

It feels like Justin’s been trying to force some kind of bond between us, but there’s no way I could ever get along with Dante. Just yesterday, I heard about another woman found dead on the streets, brutalized and discarded. And somehow, in my mind, that ties back to Dante’s world—the seedy underbelly of his business. I push the thought away as I unlock my apartment door.

Stepping inside, I scoop up the letters that have piled on the floor and head to the kitchen. As I sit down, I start flicking through the usual bills and junk mail. Then, I spot one—no return address, just my own scrawled across the front. Strange.

I open it, and my fingers freeze. A small card falls out, embossed with a heart and a simple message inside:

I’m coming, Little Deer.

Attached to the card is a necklace—delicate, with a pair of antlers at its center. It’s beautiful, but something about it feels off, like a warning wrapped in a gift.

Taking out my phone, I call Justin. He picks up almost immediately, his voice warm. “Miss me already?”

“Always do,” I say, chuckling. But my voice turns serious. “Did you send me something in the mail?”

“Like what?” he asks, distracted.

“A card with a heart, the words ‘I’m coming, Little Deer,’ and a necklace with antlers.” I swallow hard, waiting.

There’s a pause. “Not from me. Does it have a name on it or anything? Full name, first name?”

I glance at the envelope again. “No sender. Just my address, no name.”

“It’s probably just a mistake, babe. Wrong address,” he says, sounding casual. His words should be reassuring, but they’re not. This isn't the first thing I have got that's unusual.

“Justin...” I stop, feeling the air grow cold around me as I turn the card over. “There’s a picture of me. Asleep. Stapled to the back of the card. It’s one you posted online,” I whisper.

The line goes silent for a beat too long. “Okay, I’m coming over. Don’t worry, I’ll be there soon.”

When Justin arrives, he’s not alone. Dante is with him. My stomach drops at the sight of him, but I keep it together. Justin walks over, taking the card and necklace from my hands, inspecting them. He glances at the back of the card, where the picture of me sleeping is still stapled.

“Is this everything that came?” he asks, his voice level.

I nod, hugging myself, feeling the unease creep deeper into my bones. “Yes. Why?”

He shrugs, tossing the card and necklace onto the table like they mean nothing. “Ignore it. Whoever it is will get bored.”

I stare at him, incredulous. “You said that last week when someone sent a box of chocolates. And when rose petals were posted through my door. I don’t like it, Justin.”

His expression hardens. “And I told you not to freak out. You’re getting gifts from some random guy. Why should I care instead of getting pissed off?”

I shrink back, shocked by the coldness in his voice.

“Justin, man, that’s a little harsh,” Dante cuts in, giving him a nudge.

Justin sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Sorry. It’s probably nothing. Some idiot sending you shit. It’s not like he’s stalking you in the middle of the night.” He leans in, kissing my forehead. “I need to get to work. Don’t worry.”

I nod, but the unease doesn’t go away. He and Dante leave, and as soon as the door closes behind them, the apartment feels impossibly empty. The silence presses in, and I can’t shake the feeling that something’s terribly wrong. Justin had brushed it off, but I can’t. Not when things have been off between us since the rose petals. Now, after this? It feels like he’s pulling further away.

I glance at the card again, the necklace gleaming under the kitchen light. The image of myself, sleeping, stapled to the back makes my skin crawl. I grab the items, walk to the bin, and throw them out.

He’s right. I need to forget it. But deep down, I know this isn’t over.

The Call

Luna’s POV

Present Time

I throw the bag to the floor and collapse into the chair, but before I can even think about relaxing, my whole body goes rigid. There it is again. That smell. My nostrils flare as I sniff the air, searching for its source. It’s faint, but it lingers every time I come home. What the hell is that? It’s not foul, not exactly unpleasant, but the mystery of it unsettles me. There’s no reason for it to be here. No explanation.

I lean back, trying to shake it off, but my eyes drift toward the window. A chill races up my spine. Standing up slowly, I walk over, each step heavier than the last. And then I see it.

“What the actual fuck?”

My hands tremble as I reach for my phone, my fingers fumbling over the screen until I hit his name.

“Hey babes,” Justin mumbles casually, his voice dripping with nonchalance.

“Justin, can you come over? There’s a weird fucking heart drawn on my window—outside!” My voice pitches, panic creeping in despite my efforts to sound calm.

He laughs. He actually laughs.

“Is there anything that suggests this person’s trying to hurt you?” he asks, sounding more amused than concerned.

“Are you kidding me? Justin! Someone’s been here! That’s the point!” I snap, frustration boiling over. How can he be so dismissive?

“Babes, it’s outside. Chill. I’ll swing by later, okay?”

Fine. I guess I don’t have much choice.

“Whatever,” I whisper, feeling my stomach twist.

“Just keep the door locked. You’ll be fine.” His words hang in the air as the line clicks dead.

Fine? He thinks this is fine? I sigh, defeated, and drag myself to the bathroom. Everyone thinks this is a joke. Funny. Cute, even. But it’s not. It’s been months of this shit—small, creepy gifts sent to my doorstep. What started as innocent gestures like chocolates turned darker. The last gift? Rope. Actual rope.

But no, to Justin, it’s all hilarious. I strip down, stepping into the bath, the warm water rising around me as I try to push the unease out of my mind. Six months. Six fucking months of this, and still, the police say there’s nothing they can do. “It’s not threatening,” they say. There are no signs of forced entry, no clear danger—until my little stalker takes it up a notch, I just have to live with it.

The water covers my face as I sink deeper, holding my breath, trying to drown out my thoughts. But then—there it is. A muffled sound. My head shoots up, water dripping down my face as I glance toward the door. It’s cracked open.

“Justin?” I call, my voice barely more than a whisper. Silence. Did I leave it open? My mind races, but I can’t remember. Everything feels blurry, unreal. I step out of the tub, the air cold against my wet skin as I wrap the towel around myself and venture out. My heart pounds, eyes scanning every corner of the room.

Nothing.

Maybe I left it open. Maybe it was just the wind. But the dread gnawing at my insides tells me otherwise. I let out a shaky breath and walk back to the bath, hanging the towel up before sliding back in. I try to relax, reaching for the shampoo, but my hand freezes. It’s not where I left it.

The bottle is lying on the floor.

That was the sound.

I laugh, a weak, hollow sound, my nerves frayed. I must’ve knocked it over earlier. Stupid. Washing my hair, I sink into the bath again, trying to push the paranoia away. I reach for my book, careful not to get the pages wet, and begin to read, slowly losing myself in the story. The heart on the window, the gifts, the stalker—everything fades into the background for a brief, blissful moment.

Then my phone rings.

Without thinking, I answer it. “Yes?”

Silence.

“Justin? Is this you?” I ask, my heart starting to race again. The silence stretches on, punctuated only by a low, heavy breathing on the other end. My body stiffens, every muscle tensing. “Hello?” I whisper, my voice shaking. The breathing deepens, a grunt slipping through the line.

“Luna,” a rough voice growls. It’s raw, primal.

I drop the phone in the bath, panic surging through me. “Fuck!” I fumble to retrieve it, water sloshing everywhere. “You fucking asshole!” I scream into the dead phone, my voice trembling. Grabbing a towel, I wrap myself up and rush out of the bathroom, my pulse hammering in my ears. Grabbing the hairdryer, I try to salvage the phone, my mind racing, replaying that dark voice in my head. He’s never spoken before. Never. And the way he groaned... it was like he was doing far more than just talking to me.

I feel sick. I can’t do this anymore. I want to move. I want to disappear. Whoever this is, they’re not going to stop, and I’m trapped in this nightmare, waiting for it to get worse. How long have I been sitting here, drying my phone? My legs have gone numb.

Suddenly, the door clicks open.

“What are you doing?” Justin strolls in, utterly unbothered, a smirk on his face. Dante follows close behind. Of course. Just what I need. “Babes?” Justin’s grin widens as he takes in the sight of me, towel-clad and frantic.

“He called me, Justin! While I was in the bath!”

“Okay... and what did he say?” Justin asks, sitting down casually, like we’re talking about the weather. Dante takes a seat too, his eyes roaming over me, making my skin crawl.

“He said my name,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.

Justin laughs, loud and careless. “You’re freaking out over someone saying your name?”

“Are you serious? He’s been watching me, Justin! I dropped my phone in the bath because of him!”

“Yeah, but all he did was say your name. Chill out.” Justin leans back, laughing even harder.

Dante chuckles darkly. “That’s how it starts, you know. Small gifts, whispers, your name on the phone. Then, one night, you wake up, and he’s sitting at the foot of your bed. Watching you sleep.”

I glare at him, my stomach knotting. “Thanks, Dante. Thanks a lot.”

He just grins, his eyes glinting. “You’re welcome, little deer.”

Little deer. That nickname freezes me to the spot, and Justin bursts out laughing again.

“Yeah, if your eyes get any wider, I’d be worried they’ll pop right out of your head,” Justin teases, his grin infuriating.

“Fuck you both,” I mutter, storming back to the bathroom, but the pit in my stomach only deepens.

Watching Her

Dante’s POV

Call me crazy, but she’s mine. I’ve known that from the moment I saw her. Justin was just... quicker that night, but he doesn’t really understand what he has. Not like I do. She’s everything. Perfect. And soon, she’ll understand that she belongs to me—she just needs time. Time to come to terms with what’s inevitable.

I let myself into her apartment, the key cold in my hand. I had it copied one night while she was fast asleep at Justin’s. That night had been perfect—watching her sleep so peacefully, so unaware that I was already laying the groundwork. Already taking what was mine. The thought of it makes my heart race. I remember every detail of the first time I laid eyes on her. If I had just gone out that night instead of Justin, things would be different. She’d already be mine. But I’m patient. I can wait.

Stepping into her small apartment, I look around. It’s barely more than a studio. The kitchen, living room, bedroom, all crammed together in one open space. There’s a bathroom and a small closet, but that’s it. Modest. Just like her.

I smile, my eyes falling on the heart I drew on the window earlier. A little reminder for her, something to make her think of me when she walks in. But now, now that I’m inside, the place reeks of him. Justin. He stayed here last night. My stomach turns with disgust. The thought of him touching her, breathing in her space... I pull a small bottle from my pocket and spray it into the air. A perfect combination. It's her perfume and mine mixed. It’ll get rid of his stench.

I move toward her bed and sit down on the edge, the mattress sagging slightly under my weight. The drawer next to the bed catches my attention. I reach for the handle, my fingers curling around it as I pull it open. Things have moved. She’s been in here. My lips curl into a smile. She’s used something recently, and I wonder... was it after he left? Probably. I’ve seen her on those mornings, sneaking her hand under the covers as soon as the door shuts behind him. It’s like she’s trying to cleanse herself of his touch, trying to feel something real.

She won't do that with me, she won't need to.

I pull out one of her toys, my heart pounding as I run my tongue along it. The taste of her is immediate, unmistakable. She really should clean these things better, but I’m glad she doesn’t. She is mine. She just doesn’t realize it yet.

My hand closes around a small nightie on the beg. I bring it to my face, but it reeks of him. Disgusted, I throw it aside, getting up to rummage through the laundry hamper. I find what I’m looking for—a pair of her workout shorts. I bring them to my nose, inhaling deeply. Her scent floods my senses. Pure. Addictive. It makes my head spin, and I can’t help but smile. Soon, I’ll be able to smell her all day, every day. Soon, this place will be mine too.

I lie back on her bed, the fabric of her shorts pressed against my face as I breathe her in. My mind races with thoughts of her—how she’ll look when she finally gives in, when she realizes what we could be. All I need is one touch. If I can just touch her once, she’ll be mine forever. That’s all it will take. She won’t be able to resist.

The thought makes my body react instantly. My cock hardens as I imagine it, her beneath me, begging me to never stop. My hand moves down, freeing myself as I keep her scent pressed against my face. It doesn’t take long—I don’t have time for that. It’s quick, rough, and all I can think about is how close I am to finally making her mine.

I groan as I cum, my hips bucking as I press the shorts harder to my face, my tongue darting out to taste the fabric. The thought of her not knowing, of me doing this without her even realizing... it’s intoxicating. Soon. Soon she’ll know exactly who she belongs to.

I get up, still holding her shorts, glancing around the room. My cum drips down my hand, and I move toward the bathroom to clean up. But then, an idea. I grab the shampoo, and stop. A new sick, twisted idea.

I walk to the kitchen, opening the fridge. My eyes scan the contents until they land on what I’m looking for—her yogurt. Every morning, she makes a little snack for herself with yogurt, fruit, and oats. I pop the lid off and stare at it, my heart racing. Am I really going to do this?

Yes. Yes, I am.

My obsession has already gone this far. This... this is just another step. A way to mark her, to make her mine in a way she’ll never understand. My cock twitches at the thought as I wipe the cum from my hand and mix it into the yogurt.

I smile to myself, leaning against the counter. My Little Deer has no idea how close I am. How I’m slowly closing in on her. But when I finally have her, when I claim her, it will be perfect. She’ll resist at first, but in the end? She’ll beg me for more.

A few hours later, I’m parked outside her apartment, watching as she walks in. I can almost hear her thoughts, see the confusion on her face when she notices the heart on her window. I smile. I’m supposed to meet Justin here soon, but first, I want to watch her. I pull out my phone, ready to check the camera I’ve hidden in her bathroom, but then I notice something.

Fuck.

The bottle. I still had the shampoo bottle in the kitchen! Rookie mistake. I must’ve been so caught up in my plan that I brought it out with me and left it in the kitchen.

I unlock the door quietly and slip back inside. Moving quickly but carefully. Grabbing the bottle, I approach the bathroom, holding my breath. She’s in there. I can hear the water sloshing as she moves.

Grasping the handle, I pull it down, and open the door. The door is cracked just enough for me to see her, completely submerged in the tub, her body relaxed, vulnerable.

God, I want to step inside. I want to reach out and touch her, to feel her skin under my fingers. But the bathroom is too small, and she’d see me before I could get close enough. So instead, I crouch down and roll the bottle across the floor.

I don’t stick around to see what happens next. I turn and rush out, adrenaline pumping through my veins. Back in my car, I sit, waiting, and watch the bathroom on the camera. And then I call her.

Hearing her voice on the phone, the fear laced in her words—it’s like a drug. I need it. Six months. Six long months I’ve been planning, scheming, getting closer and closer to her. And soon, so soon, she’ll be mine.

I promise.

Watching

Dante’s POV

I watch with a smirk as Luna storms into the bathroom, the door slamming hard enough to rattle the cheap frame. A photo on the wall falls, shattering into a mess of glass shards on the floor. Justin doesn’t even flinch, barely acknowledging the chaos as he sprawls lazily on the chair.

“Think you’re in deep shit now,” I chuckle, not bothering to hide the satisfaction in my voice. Every fight they have just inches me closer to her. The more she pulls away from him, the easier it’ll be to pull her into my arms where she belongs.

Justin grins, unfazed, and walks over to the fridge, pulling out two beers. He tosses one to me, settling back down as though he hadn’t just pissed off the woman he’s supposed to care about. “It’s all good, man. Trust me, tonight’s gonna be even more fun,” he says with a cocky grin.

His words send a cold wave of jealousy through me. Fun? Fun? The thought of him touching her again makes my blood boil. My grip tightens around the bottle, and I have to fight the urge to smash it against the wall and use the broken shards to slice his neck. He doesn’t deserve her. Not her body, not her smile, not a single breath she takes. He’s careless, oblivious to how fucking precious she is.

I take a long swig, forcing the bitterness down my throat instead of the snarl that’s threatening to rip from my mouth. “You should pick that up,” I say, nodding towards the glass scattered across the floor.

Justin glances at it and shrugs. “She will,” he says dismissively, like she’s some kind of maid. My fists clench beneath the table. He doesn’t care if she steps out of the bathroom and cuts her feet open. He doesn’t care about anything that happens to her.

I care.

“Anyway, you’re sticking around this weekend, right? Party’s gonna be wild,” Justin says, stretching his arms behind his head as though his whole life is one big joke.

“Yeah, I’ll be here,” I reply, my voice low, the dark edge of obsession slipping in. Of course, I’ll be here. I wouldn’t miss any chance to watch her, to be near her, to get closer to making her mine. It’s only a matter of time.

The bathroom door opens, and I hear a soft hiss. My head snaps up, and there she is—Luna, standing barefoot on the cold tile, wincing as she steps right into the shards of broken glass. My heart clenches, the impulse to rush to her, to scoop her into my arms and carry her away from the danger, nearly overtaking me. But I hold back. Not now. Not with Justin here.

“Stupid fucking glass,” she mutters under her breath, carefully lifting her foot to check for cuts. My eyes follow the motion, my breath catching at the sight of her bare leg. My imagination runs wild, picturing her wrapping that leg around me, her body pressed so close to mine...

I must have dazed out because the next thing I know, Justin kicks me in the leg.

“Hey, you good? I asked if you can swing by tomorrow. You’re not working, so can you check if anyone comes by?” he asks, completely oblivious to the raging thoughts in my head.

“Yeah, sure thing,” I say, barely paying attention to him. More time near her. More chances to watch. I glance toward Luna, who’s now sitting at the table, eating yogurt and flipping through one of her books.

My heart races when I see her lift the spoon to her lips. She has no idea. None at all. I watch her savor the yogurt, a small smile on her face as she reads, probably getting lost in some filthy fantasy. God, I love her books. Justin always rolls his eyes at them, but I’ve been sneaking in here long enough to read them all.

I’ve seen her read the dirtiest scenes, her cheeks flushed, her body reacting to the words on the page. Does Justin even know what kind of fantasies she has? How deep and twisted they are? Probably not. He’s too fucking blind.

She places the empty yogurt pot down, and my smile widens. Some people might find what I did disgusting. But knowing that she just ate it, completely unaware, makes my cock twitch. The thought of her carrying a part of me inside her, even in such a twisted way, sends a jolt of pleasure through me. I’ll have to watch her tonight.

Yes, I’ll watch her sleep, just like I’ve done before.

I sit for hours, quietly watching her, waiting for the night to come. Every little moan, every soft breath she takes in her sleep is like music to me. But that’s not enough anymore. I don’t just want to watch her from across the room. I need more. I need to be closer. To touch her, to feel her warmth beneath my hands as she sleeps.

Tomorrow night. Tomorrow I’ll make my move.

Justin keeps talking, oblivious to the fact that I’m not really listening. My attention is on Luna, every inch of her body, the way she moves, the way she drapes her legs across his lap, practically begging for attention. I wait, wondering if he’ll finally notice, if he’ll touch her the way she wants.

But no. He barely reacts. How the fuck can he be this useless?

If she were mine, I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off her. I’d trace every inch of her skin, memorize every curve, every detail of her body. Instead, she’s stuck with this idiot who doesn’t even realize how lucky he is.

Hours pass, and I can see her frustration building. Every subtle movement, every shift in her body is her silently screaming for his attention, and he’s too dumb to notice. If she were mine, I wouldn’t let her go a second without feeling how much I crave her. I would be buried so deep in her, even with him in the fucking room.

Finally, she huffs in frustration, slamming her book down. She’s practically throwing herself at him, but it’s only now that he bothers to notice.

Justin turns to her, and she leans forward, whispering something in his ear. Now he finally touches her, his hand sliding along her leg. Too little, too fucking late.

“Getting late. We’re gonna sleep. You should head out,” Justin says, standing up as though he hasn’t just wasted the entire night ignoring her.

I grit my teeth, biting back the urge to argue. I’m supposed to leave? After watching this pathetic display? But I nod, forcing myself to play it cool. “Yeah, I’ll catch you tomorrow,” I mutter, heading out the door.

But I don’t leave.

I get in my car and park just a little down the street, watching the lights flicker in her apartment. Is he fucking her? The thought makes my blood boil. I don’t usually spy this late if he's there, but tonight I can’t resist. The way she was acting all night, so desperate for his attention... I need to know what’s happening.

I walk to the window, peering through the blinds. It’s been only a few minutes, but the sight that greets me fills me with rage.

He’s already fucking her. Already? There’s no build-up, no passion. Just quick, meaningless movements. I lean closer, my eyes locked on her face. Justin can’t see it, but I can. I see the slow roll of her eyes, the disappointment etched into every feature as he pulls back using her for his own release.

He’s useless. Fucking useless. He’s not giving her what she needs, and I can see it in the way her body tenses, how her face tightens with frustration. Is this why she’s always so quick to play with herself after he leaves? To chase the pleasure he’s too incompetent to give her?

She looks towards me, and I move away from the window, my heart pounding with fury and anticipation. This has to end. Tomorrow, I’ll make my move. Tomorrow, she’ll be in my arms. Maybe not conscious, maybe not willing. But she’ll be mine.

Soon, Little Deer. Soon.