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Cameras? The feeling of being watched in my apartment. The strange glitches with my Alexa. The texts from unknown numbers at the convention.What the actual fuck?

“How long?” My voice is barely audible. “How long have you been watching me?”

“Long enough to know everything about you,Mischief.” He uses the nicknameRoguealways used in our gaming sessions.

“Rogue?” The name slips out before I can stop it.

He removes the mask smoothly, and I finally see his face. Those piercing blue eyes from the club, that jawline, those lips that smirked at me across the dance floor. “Among other names. You know me asGhostDaddy, too.” His lips curve into a malicious smile. “But you can call meRyker.”

My mind reels.Rogue, my gaming partner for two years, the mysterious blue-eyed man from the club, theGhostDaddyaccount I’ve been obsessing over—all of them are the same man?

“No.” I shake my head. “That’s not possible.”

“Oh, it’s very possible.” He sets the mask down on a sleek metal table. “I’ve been part of your life for two years,Kira, gaming with you most nights and watching you through your webcam.”

“My webcam is always off when we’re not streaming,” I protest weakly.

He laughs—Rogue’slaugh. “That little green light? Child’s play to bypass. Technology is my specialty, remember? All those conversations about my ‘tech job’? Not entirely a lie.”

The implications hit me like a physical blow.

“Why?” I ask. “Why me? Why all this?”

Rykerkneels beside the bed, bringing his face level with mine. This close, I can see the obsession burning in his eyes.

“Because you’re perfect,” he says simply. “Because from the moment I heard your voice in that first lobby, I knew you were meant to be mine.”

“I’m not yours. I don’t belong to anyone.”

“Don’t you?” His touch skims my jaw. “You’ve belonged to me since the moment I found you.”

He stands abruptly, returning with a water bottle, which he holds to my lips.

“Drink,” he commands. “You’re dehydrated.”

I want to refuse, but my parched throat overrides my pride. I drink greedily, water spilling down my chin.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, wiping the water with his thumb.

The praise sends an unwelcome warmth through me. After years of hearing that voice congratulate me on kills and victories, my body has been conditioned to respond.

“What are you going to do with me?” I ask when I find my voice again.

“That depends on you.” He sets the water bottle aside. “On how well you play the game.”

“Game?” I repeat, confusion momentarily overriding fear.

“Our game.” He gestures around the room. “The one I’ve been designing for you all this time.”

For the first time, I really look at my surroundings. What I initially took for a simple concrete cell is actually a sophisticated space. The restraints aren’t crude ropes but carefully designed cuffs. Everything is deliberate and planned.

“You’re insane.”

“No. I’m dedicated.” He sits on the edge of the bed, his weight making the mattress dip. “I’ve put more thought into this than anything else.”

“Into kidnapping me?” My voice rises with hysteria. “That’s not dedication, that’s a crime!”

“Labels,” he dismisses with a wave. “Society has such limited vision. They can’t understand what we have.”