Sara didn't scream. She didn't run.
She just stood there, her wide eyes locked onto mine. The air between us crackled—charged with fear, curiosity… something darker.
"You," she whispered. "You've been watching me."
I took a step forward, but she didn't move away.
"You were never supposed to see me," I admitted. "Not yet."
Her fingers curled into fists. "Then why now?"
A slow smile tugged at my lips. "Because you were ready."
Sara's breath hitched, and for a second, I thought she might bolt. But instead, she did something I never expected.
She stepped closer.
"Who are you?" she demanded.
I leaned in, just enough to let her feel my presence. "Someone who knows you better than anyone else."
She shivered, but it wasn't from the cold.
I could see it now—the way her fear mingled with curiosity. How a part of her wanted to push me away… but another part wanted to know just how deep my obsession ran.
And I would show her.
Because Sara wasn't just someone I watched.
She was mine.
And she was about to realize that some love stories don't begin with roses.
They begin with shadows.