pairing : salesman x reader
warnings : mentions of blood, violence, guns, stalking, manipulation
summary : “You can run all you want,” he said softly, his fingers brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “But you’ll always end up right where I want you.” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper, “Because you’re mine, Y/N. And I always take care of what’s mine.”
[obsession] /əbˈsɛʃn/ : an idea or thought that continually preoccupies or intrudes on a person's mind
Life has a special way of pulling a full 180° in the blink of an eye—a truth few dare to believe, yet most dismiss without a second thought.
You weren't one of those who believed in the unpredictable twists of life, as you didn’t consider yourself 'special' enough like the protagonists in movies. Your world revolved around university, and your side jobs after class, providing you with the only sense of reality and moments of social interaction. You were always sort of a loner, as people tended to drift in and out of your life with little permanence.
In your early teenage years, this left a deep impact, especially as you watched other girls surrounded by close friends and romantic relationships, while you spent most of your time alone. It weighed heavily on you for a long time, but over the years, you grew to understand that you didn’t need anyone to be happy—at least, not in the way you once thought. You learned to simply keep moving forward with life.
Winter was your favourite season as you found the streets covered in snow, only lightened by the old street lamps, oddly comforting and peaceful. For this exact reason, late classes never bothered, as your walk home with music in your ears while you observed the snow slowly falling from the sky, felt like a reward.
While everyone was still busy talking after class, you didn't waste a second before picking up your things from your desk and leaving the building, the cold yet fresh air hitting you in the face. After quickly adjusting your bag, you put in your earphones in and tightened your scarf before heading home.
It was the most carefree moment of your day, just you and your music.
Or at least, that's how it used to be.
You would feel it whenever you’re walking down the familiar path, the air would suddenly start to feel colder and you’d instinctively quicken your pace. The sensation was back each evening—an eerie feeling crawling up your spine, as if someone unseen was watching your every step since you stepped outside university to the very last step in front of your house.
It began weeks ago but with time you simply convinced yourself you were paranoid especially since each time you glanced over your shoulder, you were met with an empty street. Though, the uneasy shiver constintently lingered in your head.
You sighed at the new sign in front of you on the pavement. The town’s mayor suddenly had the magnificent idea to reconstruct the street's surfaces, which resulted in blocked streets. You turned to your side and eyed the little, barely lightened alleyway in the corner, which seemed like the only fast option for you to get home.
After concluding that the distance through the alleyway should only take you approximately seven minutes, you took a deep breath and left the main street.
Your eyes were glued to the time on your phone which indicated that three minutes has already passed. The relief instantly turned into fear when a sudden sound of footsteps echoed through the alleyway.
At first, you convinced yourself it was your paranoia once again however your blood ran cold when you heard some low chatters as well.
Without a second to loose, you broke into a sprint, each one of your instincts screaming to get away. To your misfortune, the footsteps behind you quickened almost immediately.
Before you could make it to the next turn, you felt someone harshly pull you back, the strength sending you flying on the hard and cold floor. You winced at the sudden pain across your wrist. After a few seconds, you finally looked up just to be face to face with two older men, staring down at you with the creepiest grin you’ve ever seen.
“We knew this alleyway would come in handy someday.” One of them sneered, the other one nodding along.
“That’s a whole jackpot, man.” The smaller one spoke up, eyeing you up and down.
You sat slumped against the wall, your breath uneven. The two men stood a few feet away, their conversation hushed, but the clinking of a glass bottle and the rustling of a sheet drew your attention. Your eyes darted to the white cloth in the man’s hand, already soaked with a liquid that darkened its edges. Your pulse quickened. Your gaze flicked to your left, catching the glint of an empty beer bottle half-hidden in the shadows.
In one desperate motion, you pushed yourself up and lunged for the bottle. The sudden movement startled them, but only for a second. You grabbed the bottle, your fingers trembling as you smashed it against the brick wall. Glass shards rained around you, one nicking your palm, but you barely felt the sting.
You spun to face them, holding the improvised weapon out, your knuckles white, your breathing ragged.
The two men froze for a beat, their expressions unreadable. Then one of them smirked, slow and deliberate, as though your act of defiance was nothing more than an amusing spectacle. The other stepped forward slightly, tilting his head, curiosity flickering in his dark eyes.
"Bold," the first man said, his voice like gravel. "But you won’t use it."
Your grip tightened, the jagged glass shaking in your hand. You raised it higher, her eyes blazing. “Try me.”
Blood dripped down your wrist now, pooling at your fingertips. The pain should have registered, but it didn’t. All you could feel was the rush of adrenaline and the desperate need to survive.
The second man chuckled, low and humorless. "You’re going to hurt yourself more than us with that thing." He took another step, as though testing your resolve.
“I said don’t come any closer!” You barked, your voice rising to a frantic pitch. Your vision blurred at the edges, panic threatening to consume you, but you forced herself to stand your ground.
Then, a slow, deliberate sound cut through the tension.
Your body stiffened, and you instinctively glanced over your shoulder, though you didn’t dare take her eyes completely off the two men. From the shadows at the far end of the alley came the silhouette of another figure. The dim light barely outlined his form, but there was something about the confident way he moved that made the air feel heavier.
The men froze, their smugness faltering.
The figure stepped closer, his polished shoes clicking softly against the concrete. As he passed into the cone of light from a flickering streetlamp, you saw him fully: tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in an impeccably tailored suit that fit him like it cost more than your rent.
In one hand, he carried a sleek leather briefcase, but it wasn’t his appearance that sent a chill down your spine—it was the weight of his gaze. He looked at you first, his eyes briefly flicking down to the blood dripping from your hand. Something sharp and dangerous flashed across his expression.
Then his gaze shifted to the two men. His eyes hardened, turning into something deadly.
"You know," he said, his voice low and smooth, yet carrying an undercurrent of menace, "I was not going to let you go easily but,” He took another step forward, unhurried, the lamplight catching the faintest sheen of his cufflinks. “the fact you wasted even a drop of her blood, that, gentlemen, is unforgivable and only leads me to believe you need to pay the highest price for it.” He tilted his head, his jaw tightening.
The smirk on one of the men’s faces disappeared entirely. "Look, we didn’t—"
"Don’t." The man’s voice cut through the air like a blade. He placed his briefcase down on the ground with a deliberate click, straightening as he slid his hands into his pockets. "Save your excuses. I’m not interested."
Your breath hitched as you tightened your grip on the broken bottle, your gaze flicking between the three men. Despite the man in the suit not even looking at you now, you felt the weight of his protection like a shield— and it scared you just as much as it comforted you.
One of the men took a step back, his bravado cracking. "Who the hell are you?" he snapped, though his voice wavered.
The suited man’s lips curled into a humorless smile. "Oh, you’ll find out soon enough."
His gaze flicked to you again, softer this time but still heavy with something unreadable. "Drop the bottle, little one," he said quietly. "You don’t need it anymore."
You hesitated, your chest rising and falling in shallow gasps. But something in his voice, steady and commanding, made your fingers loosen slightly on the jagged glass.
The suited man turned his attention back to the two men, loosening his cuffs as he turned his attention to the two men. “Let’s make this quick, shall we?”
One of the men sneered and lunged first, but it was a mistake. The suited man moved with startling precision, sidestepping with ease before landing a sharp blow to the man’s jaw. The thug crumpled to the ground instantly.
The second man hesitated but swung wildly, aiming for his head. The suited man ducked, his movements fluid and controlled. His fist connected with the man’s ribs, and with a single upward jab to his temple, the second thug dropped like a marionette with its strings cut.
The suited man adjusted his tie and hair as if nothing had happened, his calm demeanor almost unnerving. He stepped over the unconscious bodies, his polished shoes clicking against the concrete as he approached you.
Your grip on the broken bottle tightened again, but before you could say anything, he held up a hand.
“Careful,” he said softly, his eyes flicking to the blood on your hand. “You’re already hurt.”
Your heart pounded, your legs trembling beneath you. You wanted to ask who he was, what he wanted—but the words caught in your throat.
As if sensing your hesitation, he offered you a small, disarming smile. “I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, his tone far too casual. “But if I don’t do this, you’ll miss all the fun.”
Your brows furrowed. “What—”
You didn’t even see him move. One moment he was standing in front of you, and the next, you felt a sharp sting at the side of your neck. Your hand flew up instinctively, fingers brushing against a small syringe he’d already pulled away.
Your vision blurred, the alley tilting around her. “What... did you do?” You managed, your voice slurring as your legs gave way.
Your vision darkened, your consciousness slipping away. The last thing you felt was his steady hands cradling you as if you were something fragile.
And then, there was nothing.
A sharp pounding in your skull dragged you back to consciousness. Groaning, you tried to reach up to massage your temple, but your arms wouldn’t move. Panic shot through you as you became fully aware—your wrists were tightly bound to a cold metal chair.
Your eyes snapped open, taking in your surroundings. Dim light. An unfamiliar room. And then your breath hitched.
A few meters ahead of you, the two men who had cornered you in the alley sat slumped in chairs, directly across from each other. They were conscious but visibly shaken, their hands fidgeting nervously as they avoided looking at each other.
Your heart raced as you scanned the room. The polished figure of the man in the suit stepped into view, the faint clack of his expensive shoes echoing in the otherwise silent room. He carried the same briefcase from earlier, but now it was open on a nearby table, its contents hidden from your angle.
“Ah, you’re awake.” His voice was smooth, casual, as if he were greeting an old friend. He turned to you with a smile that made your stomach churn.
Your throat tightened as you yanked at the bindings on your wrists, the rough rope biting into your skin. “Let me go!” You shouted, but your voice cracked, fear taking over.
The suited man ignored you. Instead, he turned to the two men, his expression darkening. “Now, gentlemen, here’s how it works. You’ll play a few rounds of rock-paper-scissors.” His tone was almost cheerful, as if he were explaining a board game. “The loser, unfortunately for them, will take a turn in a nice little game of Russian roulette.”
The two men looked at him in wide-eyed horror. “You’re insane,” one of them spat, though his voice quivered. The man in the suit only chuckled. “Oh, that’s rich coming from someone who thought harassing a woman in an alley was perfectly sane.”
Your heart dropped. Your stomach churned as you yanked harder at the restraints, desperate to get free. “Stop this!” You screamed, your voice raw with panic.
The man’s cold eyes flicked to you. He walked over slowly, tilting his head as if examining you. “We’ll talk later, love. Let me take care of these two first.” he said softly, as if speaking to a child.
“No ! Let me out of here !” Your scream grew louder, shrill and desperate. You weren’t going to let this happen.
The suited man sighed, pulling something from the table behind you. When he turned back, a roll of silver duct tape was in his hand. “You’re really quite loud,” he remarked with a faint smirk “when I say we’ll talk later, we will talk later.” Before you could react, he firmly pressed a strip of tape over your mouth.
You screamed against it, the sound muffled now, as tears began to blur your vision. “There we go,” he said calmly, crouching to your eye level. “Much better. Don’t worry—you’re not the one playing.” He reached out to brush a stray tear from your cheek, his touch gentle in a way that made your stomach twist.
Standing again, he turned back to the two men, his fingers brushed over the revolver, spinning the cylinder slowly, the soft metallic clicks echoing through the room. His voice, smooth and unhurried, cut through the tension.
“You know,” he began, his eyes flicking to you for a fleeting moment before focusing back on the two men, “I’ve been watching her for weeks now. Quiet, diligent, always walking home alone late at night. Completely unaware of the world around her.”
He smiled faintly, almost wistfully. “She never notices the things I do. The way the streetlights flicker just a little too long on that one corner she passes every day. The way her steps quicken when she hears a noise but then slow again because she convinces herself there’s nothing there.” He chuckled softly, the sound devoid of warmth. “So trusting of the silence.”
You froze, your heart pounding wildly in your chest. You thrashed against the ropes, your muffled cries filling the room as you stared at him in wide-eyed disbelief.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that, Y/N,” he said, tilting his head as he glanced at you. “It’s not as sinister as it sounds.” He gestured vaguely with one hand. “I simply… admired you from afar. I like to keep things orderly, you see. Controlled.”
He turned back to the two men, his smile fading as his expression darkened. “But you two… you ruined everything.” His tone sharpened, dripping with venom. “I had an organized, peaceful plan in place. No harm, no mess. But no. You just had to interfere with your disgusting little game, didn’t you?”
The two men exchanged frantic glances, their fear mounting with every word.
The suited man leaned forward, his gaze piercing. “I was patient. I waited. I followed her, yes, but not with ill intent. I was protecting her. Watching over her. Ensuring no harm came to her.” His voice dipped, colder now. “And then you two decided to drag her into your filthy, selfish world. For what? A moment of power? A sick thrill?”
He straightened, running a hand along the lapel of his suit, his calm exterior returning as if he hadn’t just confessed to weeks of stalking. “And if that wasn’t bad enough,” he continued, his tone now bitter, “you made her hurt herself in the process. Her blood is on your hands.” His eyes flicked to your bandaged palm, and for a brief moment, something unreadable flashed across his face.
He exhaled sharply, as if regaining control of his emotions. “You crossed a line, and now you’ll pay for it.”
He turned the revolver over in his hands, spinning the cylinder again. “Still, I’m a fair man,” he said lightly, his eerie composure returning. “I’m giving you a chance to fight for your lives. Call it... a game of fate.”
He stepped back, gesturing for them to begin. “Alright gentlemen, Rock-paper-scissors. Let’s see which one of you Fate favors tonight.”
You thrashed against the chair, your muffled screams filling the room as the two men looked at each other, their hands trembling.
“Come on now,” he said to the two men, his voice calm but icy. “You don’t want to keep me waiting.”
The two men exchanged panicked glances, their hands trembling as they raised them for the first round of rock-paper-scissors. Their fear was palpable, almost suffocating, but your attention wavered.
Your breath came in ragged gasps as you struggled against the ropes, your heart hammering in your chest. Your mind was still reeling from his words.
You had felt it. The chill in the air when you walked home late at night, that unsettling sensation of eyes on you. But you had convinced yourself it was nothing—paranoia, the unease of being alone in the dark. Empty streets.
But now, hearing him speak of it so casually, the pieces of the puzzle clicked into place. It was him.
The man in the suit. The one who had saved you, but not because he was some white knight. He had been stalking you. Watching you. Waiting.
Terror gripped you like icy fingers around your throat, the thought of being watched so intimately, without tour knowledge, like a puppet on strings. The idea that you had been under his control all this time, and you hadn’t even known it.
But something else—a feeling you didn’t want to admit—slithered into your thoughts. You had always been alone. Always. No family to speak of. No friends who cared enough to check in. No one who looked out for you.
It had always been you against the world, and the world had never been kind. No one ever stepped in when you were vulnerable. No one ever protected you. You had learned to fend for herself, to be cold and distant, to push people away before they could disappoint you.
As twisted and sick as it was, this man had done something you had never experienced in her life: he had protected you— in a sick way but still saved you.
His twisted sense of justice, his obsession with keeping you safe—however horrifying it was—was still protection. He was about to punish the men who had tried to hurt you, and in some sick way, he had kept you alive when no one else would.
Your mind recoiled from the realization, the very thought of feeling something in response to him made you sick to your stomach. But deep inside, beneath the fear, a small part of you couldn’t shake the strange, unsettling gratitude that bubbled up.
Your fists clenched in fury, torn between disgust and something you couldn’t quite name. No, you thought fiercely. This is wrong. He’s not saving me. He’s controlling me.
But then your thoughts returned to the dark alley, to the coldness of the men’s eyes, to the knife-edge of danger. And to him. The suited man. The one who had stepped in, the one who had acted.
As much as you hated to admit it, as much as it disgusted you to feel this, there was a part of you that wanted that. Wanted someone to care. Wanted someone to fight for you.
And you weren’t sure how to feel about that.
The room got suffocatingly silent except for the shallow, uneven breaths of the two men. Their trembling hands hovered in front of them, shaking as they raised them for the next round of rock-paper-scissors.
“Rock... paper... scissors.”
One man threw rock, the other paper.
The loser flinched, his face pale as the suited man reached for the revolver and casually pointed it at his temple, a hint of amusement in his sharp, dark eyes.
The empty chamber echoed louder than any gunshot. The man slumped forward, relief flooding his features as he gasped for air.
The suited man’s expression didn’t change. “Next round.”
The second round came and went.
“Rock... paper... scissors.”
The other man lost this time.
The suited man sighed, his gaze dropping to the watch on his wrist. “How... tedious,” he muttered.
“Rock... paper... scissors.”
Again, nothing. No gunshots, no blood, just the hollow sound of the revolver’s empty chamber.
You felt your heart pounding so hard it was like it would burst out of your chest. Every click was both a relief and a fresh torment, prolonging the nightmare.
The suited man straightened, his shoulders rolling as if to shake off his growing irritation. He turned toward the men, the smile that had been faintly lingering on his lips finally disappearing.
“This is growing dull,” he said, his voice cold and detached. He stepped closer to the table, placing one hand on the revolver. “It seems fate isn’t in the mood to entertain me tonight. So, let’s... spice things up.”
The two men froze, their fear amplifying as the suited man began calmly sliding bullets into the chambers of the revolver.
“One,” he said softly, pushing the first bullet into place.
Your stomach churned violently.
The suited man didn’t even look at you, his focus entirely on the gun.
He stopped after the fifth bullet, snapping the cylinder back into place with a sharp click. He lifted the revolver and spun it lazily, the sound of the bullets shifting inside somehow more horrifying than the silence.
“There,” he said, his tone almost cheerful as he set the gun back on the table. “Now the rules have changed. The odds of survival aren’t five out of six anymore. They’re one out of six.”
The two men stared at him, their terror now paralyzing.
“Shall we continue?” he asked lightly, though the faint boredom in his tone made it clear he was no longer asking.
“Rock... paper... scissors.”
The loser was trembling so badly while his sobs filled the room as he felt the gun pressed against his temple.
Your entire being screamed for him to stop, to refuse, but the suited man pulled the trigger.
The deafening bang shattered the air.
You froze as the man slumped in his chair, his lifeless body sagging forward. Blood sprayed across the room, staining the floor in violent red streaks.
The suited man didn’t even flinch. He adjusted his cufflinks as if nothing had happened, his gaze slowly turning toward you.
The suited man tilted his head, studying your reaction with mild curiosity. “Hmm,” he said softly, almost to himself. “I thought that might quiet you.”
He moved toward you with calm, measured steps, and your heart pounded harder with each one.
“You’ll understand soon,” he murmured as he crouched to meet your terrified gaze. His voice was low, almost soothing, but his eyes were sharp, unrelenting. “This is justice. This is control. And in time, you’ll come to see how necessary it is.”
His expression was unreadable, though a faint smile played at the corners of his mouth.
He reached for the duct tape covering your lips. “Let’s take this off, shall we?”
He peeled the tape away carefully, almost gently, as if he didn’t want to hurt you. You gasped as the air hit your chapped lips, your breathing ragged and panicked. You jerked your head away from his touch, your eyes burning with tears and fear.
But the suited man didn’t seem bothered by your reaction. Instead, he smiled softly, reaching out to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. The unexpected tenderness in the gesture made you flinch.
“You’ve been so brave,” he said quietly, his voice soothing yet chilling. “But I can see the fear in your eyes. Don’t worry. I’m here now. I’ll help you.”
You stared at him, her throat dry. “Please… please stop this,” you whispered, your voice trembling.
His smile widened, but there was no warmth in it. “Oh, my dear. It’s already begun.”
Before you could react, he stepped behind you, his hands gripping the back of your chair. The scrape of wood against the floor sent shivers down your spine as he pushed you closer to the remaining man. Your heart pounded wildly, your breaths coming faster.
The man in front of you was shaking, tears streaming down his face as he muttered desperate prayers under his breath. He wouldn’t even meet your eyes, too consumed by his own terror.
Something cold and heavy was pressed into your hand as the ropes on one of your wrists was loosened.
Your fingers instinctively curled around it, but it wasn’t until the suited man’s hands covered yours that you realized what it was. A gun.
“No,” you choked out, trying to pull your hand away. “No, I can’t—”
“Shhh.” His voice was soft, almost tender, as he leaned closer. You could feel his breath against your ear. “You can. And you will.”
He guided your hand, forcing the gun to point directly at the man’s head. His fingers were firm over yours, his grip unyielding.
“Do you know what they would have done to you?” he whispered, his tone darkening.
You froze, her breath hitching.
“They would’ve dragged you to some filthy basement,” he continued, his voice like poison dripping into your ears. “Used you. Hurt you. Made you beg for mercy they would never give. You know that, don’t you?”
Tears spilled down your cheeks as you shook your head, your voice cracking. “Stop—please, stop—”
“And then,” he went on, his voice cold and calm, “they’d toss you aside like garbage when they were done. You wouldn’t have survived the night.”
His words twisted in your mind, planting seeds of fear and rage. You hated him for saying it, hated the sickening truth of it, but you couldn’t stop herself from imagining it. The alley. The men. The terror.
“No one would’ve come for you,” he said softly. “No one but me.”
Your breaths came in shallow gasps. Your hands were trembling so hard that the gun wavered, but the suited man’s firm grip steadied it, keeping it aimed at the man’s head.
“I’ve already done the hard part for you,” he murmured. “Now, all you have to do is pull the trigger. Take your revenge.”
“I can’t…” You whispered, shaking her head. “I can’t do it…”
His expression hardened, his patience wearing thin. “Do you think mercy will save him? Do you think letting him go will make him a better person? He won’t stop, Y/N. Men like him never stop.”
The man in the chair sobbed harder, his voice hoarse with fear. “Please, I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I’ll leave her alone, I swear—”
“Do you hear that?” the suited man hissed, his voice venomous. “Pathetic. He’s begging for his life, just like he would’ve made you beg for yours.”
Your vision blurred with tears. You shook your head again, but your resolve was crumbling. The suited man’s voice was relentless, worming its way into your mind, drowning out everything else.
“I can’t…” you whispered again, her voice barely audible.
“Don't make me wait, Y/N.” he said sharply, his tone now commanding. His grip on your hand tightened.
Before you could react, he pressed down on your finger, forcing it against the trigger.
The gunshot echoed like thunder in the room.
You screamed, the sound ripping from your throat as the man’s lifeless body slumped in the chair. Blood splattered across the floor and your face, the metallic scent filling the air.
The gun slipped from your hand, clattering to the ground as you trembled violently. Your chest heaved with sobs, your mind reeling.
The suited man straightened behind you, his expression calm and composed, as if nothing had happened.
“Bravo,” the suited man said, his voice slicing through your spiraling thoughts. He clapped his hands together slowly, deliberately, as if you’d just performed a flawless symphony. “You’ve taken your first step toward understanding. I’m so proud of you.”
He walked around to stand in front of you, crouching down to meet your tear-streaked gaze. “You did well, my dear. And don’t worry—I’ll take care of everything.” he said softly, brushing his fingers along your cheek.
You couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. You could only stare at him, your entire body trembling with shock and horror.
His fingers gently tilted your chin up so you couldn’t avoid his piercing gaze. His smile was soft, almost tender, but there was something unrelenting in his eyes. “You’re shaking,” he said softly, “That’s natural. The first time is always the hardest. But you did it, my dear. You stood up for yourself. You took control.”
He sighed, as if sensing your silence was not out of gratitude but out of pure, unfiltered shock. Straightening to his full height, his hands moved to the ropes binding you to the chair.
“I’m going to untie you now,” he said casually, as if you were discussing nothing more than an evening stroll. “But listen to me carefully, Y/N.”
His voice hardened, his tone dropping to something sharp and dangerous.
Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding violently in your chest.
“I’ll warn you once,” he said in a low, icy whisper. “Not twice.”
The tension in the room was suffocating as he loosened the knots, and you felt the pressure on your wrists and ankles ease. The moment the ropes fell away, your instincts screamed at you to move.
The second you were free, you bolted, ignoring the ache in your limbs and the burn in your lungs. You didn’t care where you were going—you just needed to get away from him.
The building was old and labyrinthine, the narrow hallways dimly lit by flickering bulbs. Door after door lined the walls, but every knob you twisted refused to budge. Your breaths came in panicked gasps as you stumbled forward, adrenaline fueling your desperate escape.
Finally, at the end of the hallway, you saw it: a door different from the others. It was larger, its frame sturdier, and unlike the others, it didn’t have the peeling paint or rusted hinges. It had to lead somewhere.
You sprinted toward it, your heart hammering in your chest. Your fingers barely brushed the doorknob when—
You were slammed against the door with enough force to knock the breath out of you. A startled cry escaped your lips as you felt a firm hand on your shoulder, spinning you around. Your back pressed hard against the cold surface, and you were face to face with him once more.
The suited man loomed over you, his expression calm but his eyes blazing with a dangerous intensity. His hands rested on either side of you, boxing you in.
“I told you not to run,” he said softly, his voice calm but carrying a sharp edge that sent shivers down your spine.
Your chest heaved as you stared up at him, your pulse racing. “Please—” you gasped, your voice breaking. “Just let me go!”
He tilted his head slightly, studying you with that same unsettling, calculated gaze. Then he smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
“Go?” he echoed, his tone almost amused. “After everything we’ve been through tonight? After I’ve gone to such lengths to teach you an important lesson?”
Your hands trembled at your sides, your fight-or-flight instincts screaming for you to keep struggling, to push him away, to do something. But his presence was overwhelming, suffocating, and your body felt rooted to the spot.
“You can run all you want,” he said softly, his fingers brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “But you’ll always end up right where I want you.”
He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper, “Because you’re mine, Y/N. And I always take care of what’s mine.”
“There’s no running away anymore,” he continued quietly, his tone final, as if it were a simple statement of fact.
Your lips trembled, your voice breaking as you finally managed to speak. “W-Why me?”
He paused, tilting his head slightly, as if your question intrigued him.
“What do you mean, why you?” he asked softly, a hint of amusement in his voice.
Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, your fear bubbling into frustration. “Why are you doing this? Why did you—why did you choose me?”
For a moment, he didn’t answer. He simply studied you, his piercing gaze roaming your face as if searching for something. Then, slowly, a faint smile tugged at his lips.
“Do you remember the day you fell?” he asked, his voice smooth and quiet, as if he were recalling a fond memory.
You blinked, your mind reeling. “What?”
“In the park,” he continued, his tone almost gentle now. “A man running past knocked you down. You fell hard—scraped your hands, tore your jeans.” He chuckled softly, almost nostalgically. “You looked so startled. Like you couldn’t believe the world could be that cruel to you.”
Your heart sank as the memory surfaced in your mind. You remembered it vividly now—a busy afternoon at the park, the sting of gravel biting into your palms, the burn of embarrassment as strangers walked past without a second glance. But one person had stopped.
“You…” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “You were there.”
He nodded, his smile widening. “I was.”
“And when I did,” he said, leaning in closer, “I saw something in you. Something different. Something I liked.”
Your chest tightened, your breath catching in your throat. “What… what did you see?”
His eyes darkened, his expression soft yet deeply unsettling. “You looked… lost. Like you didn’t belong anywhere. Like you didn’t even expect someone to help you. And I thought to myself, ‘She’s perfect.’”
Your stomach churned, dread coiling tightly around your chest. “That’s it?” she whispered, your voice trembling. “That’s why you… why you’ve been following me?”
He chuckled again, the sound low and unnerving. “Does it matter?” he said lightly. “I made a choice that day. I promised myself I’d make you mine. And here we are.”
“But…” Your voice cracked, your fear and confusion spilling over. “It could’ve been anyone, couldn’t it? Anyone who fell, anyone who—”
“Maybe,” he admitted with a shrug, cutting you off. “But it wasn’t anyone. It was you.”
His words sent a shiver down your spine, their weight sinking into you like lead. The ease with which he dismissed your individuality, the casual indifference of his reasoning—it was more terrifying than anything else.
“Call it fate,” he said, his tone almost playful now. “Call it chance. Either way, I’m not one to waste an opportunity when it presents itself. And you, my dear… you were an opportunity I couldn’t pass up.”
He straightened, his smile softening as his hand brushed your cheek.
Your head snapped up, “So what? You’ll keep me as your prisoner?”
He tilted his head, his lips curling into a faint smile. “Prisoner? No, no. You misunderstand. This isn’t about taking anything from you. It’s about giving you something you’ve never had.”
You stared at him, your brows furrowed.
“You’ve spent your whole life alone, haven’t you?” he asked, his voice low and almost sympathetic. “No friends. No one to lean on. No one to protect you.”
“I saw it the day we met,” he continued, his tone softening. “You were surrounded by people, but you might as well have been invisible. No one cared enough to help you when you fell. No one even noticed. But I did. I noticed you, Y/N,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I’ll never stop noticing you. I’ll never stop protecting you. Because you don’t need the world. You don’t need anyone but me.”
You stared at him, your chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. His words echoed in your mind, weaving through your thoughts like a siren’s song, drowning out the rational voice screaming at you to fight, to resist.
Your entire life had been spent searching for someone to notice you, to care, to see you. And now, standing before you, was someone who had done all of that—even if it was in the most twisted and terrifying way imaginable.
Your lips parted, trembling as you tried to find something to say, anything that could defy the pull of his gaze, the weight of his words. But you couldn’t. You were tired. Tired of running, tired of fighting, tired of being alone.
And for the first time, someone wasn’t letting you go.
“I…” Your voice faltered, barely above a whisper. “I’ll… stay.”
The words tasted foreign on your tongue, and yet, the moment they left your lips, a dark satisfaction flickered across his face. He stepped closer, his movements fluid and deliberate, until he was so close you could feel the heat radiating from him.
“Say it again,” he murmured, his voice low and intoxicating.
“I’ll stay,” you whispered, barely audible, your voice shaking as your walls began to crumble.
His thumb slid across your bottom lip, and his smile softened, though the dark intensity in his eyes remained.
Before you could react, his lips captured yours, gentle at first, as though testing your resolve. You froze, your body stiff, but as his hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, something inside you broke. The warmth of his touch, the way his lips moved against yours—it was too much, too overwhelming.
And so, you let yourself fall.
Your hands hesitantly reached for him, gripping the fabric of his suit jacket as you kissed him back, your movements unsteady and unsure. He deepened the kiss, his control unyielding, as if claiming you with every brush of his lips.
When he pulled back slightly, your breaths mingling in the small space between you, he whispered, “You’ll see, Y/N. You won’t need anyone else. Not when you have me.”
A shiver ran down your spine as his hand trailed down your arm, his touch light but deliberate. He guided you gently toward another room which had a completely different atmosphere. A high ceiling decorated by a beautiful chandelier and a king sized bed, neatly dressed.
When the backs of your knees hit the edge of the mattress, you sat down, your heart pounding in your chest as he knelt before you. His movements slow, giving you every chance to pull away.
His hands found your thighs, his touch warm and firm as he looked up at you with an intensity that made your breath catch.
“You’re mine now,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Let me show you what that means.”
Your mind screamed at you to stop, to push him away, but your body betrayed you, your hands sliding into his hair as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your neck.
His hands roamed your body with practiced ease, his movements slow and deliberate, as if savoring every moment. And as his lips traced a path down your skin, you felt yourself slipping further into his control, your resolve crumbling with every kiss, every touch.
For the first time in your life, someone had made you feel seen, wanted, protected—even if it was twisted and wrong.
And so, as you let him guide you into the dark embrace of his world, you made a silent promise to herself.
