'Are you scared little one?' His voice drifted through the kitchen, Smooth and almost amused
“You know what I love?” he murmured. “When you run from me like I’m a stranger.”
She pressed farther back beneath the counter, heartbeat deafening.
His head tilted. Slowly. Precisely. Until his eyes locked onto the darkness beneath him.
A smile spread across his face, small and chilling. He lowered himself into a deeper crouch on the countertop, fingers curling over the marble edge directly above her head tapping it. Slow. Controlled. Like he was petting something already owned.
“I’m the one who watches the doors lock at night.”
Another inch closer to the edge as he tilts his head.
“The one who checks your windows, Watching your every move.”
“The one who knows every sound, every pathetic whimper you make when you’re scared.”
Her breath caught sharply when he suddenly dropped from the counter and crouched directly in front of her hiding place.
“You belong to me,” he said quietly, intensely, like it was the simplest truth in the world. “So stop making me hunt for what’s already mine.”
His hand wrapped around her ankle instantly. Firm. Certain. Dragging her towards him.
His voice was low, almost disappointed from catching her so quick. “There's my little pet“
The words settled heavily in the space between them.
He reached up, brushing a strand of hair away from her face with gloved fingers that contrasted terrifyingly against the softness of the touch.
“Look at you,” he murmured. “Hiding under counters like you can escape me.” A quiet chuckle left him as he leaned closer. “You still don’t understand, do you?”
His hand slid to her throat — squeezing, firmly enough to remind her exactly who held the control.
“No matter where you run,” he whispered, eyes locked onto hers, “You’re still mine when I find you.”
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