I freeze.

There’s a shadow behind me.
In the room.

No. No, no, no. My brain scrambles, flipping through every possible explanation. Maybe it’s the reflection from the TV, maybe someone walked past the window, maybe—

A cold voice slices through the air.

“Don’t scream.”

I whip around, heart pounding.

He’s there. A silhouette in the dim light, standing tall and lean, almost blending into the shadows. His clothes are dark—too dark. A hoodie that hides his face, but those piercing blue eyes are locked onto mine. They shine in the dark, cold and calculating, like he can see everything I’m thinking. Like he’s already won.

Before I can even react, his body is too close. A gloved hand slaps over my mouth, cutting off my breath with startling force. My pulse races, and his scent—clean linen, and something darker, colder—fills my senses. It’s not the usual cologne, it’s something almost dangerous. Predatory.

“Quiet,” he mutters, voice low and rough, like he’s done this a thousand times. His grip tightens on my wrist, pressing me back against the wall. Too strong. Too firm. But even as his fingers dig into my skin, I feel something strangely carefulin the way he handles me. Like he’s playing with fire and trying not to burn himself.

“Stop,” he commands, voice harder now. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

I want to laugh. If that’s true, then why are you in my apartment? Why are you holding me like this?

My heart’s hammering, but I fight against his grip, twisting to break free. I try to kick, but he sidesteps it like he’s seen it coming. Too fast.

“Don’t fight,” he says, frustration seeping into his tone. “I’m not here to hurt you. Not yet.”

Not yet? What the hell does that mean?

I’m shaking now, panic creeping up my throat, but his eyes—those damn blue eyes—never leave mine. There’s something coldly calm about him, something unnerving in the way he holds my gaze. He’s not even breathing hard.

He pulls me closer, his chest brushing against my back, his body a wall of heat. It feels suffocating. He’s too close, and I can feel the muscles in his arms flexing as he moves me with eerie ease. I can’t breathe—not from fear, but because he’s close enough to steal the air from my lungs.

I fight again, my voice a strangled whisper. “Let me go.”

His fingers brush my cheek, light and almost… tender. The contrast sends a shiver down my spine.

“Wrong move,” he says, his voice calm but with an edge, a warning.

I’m thrown back before I can protest, before I can scream again. Then—sharp pain. Something stabs into my neck, and the world tilts.

Everything fades.