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Tears gather in my eyes when I discover the first closet empty. My poor heart is suffering from extreme palpitations right now. I don’t think this amount of fear in my bloodstream is healthy.

Still, I forge on, finding the following two rooms completely empty as well.

There are only two more rooms and a bathroom left in this hallway. And lastly, a door at the very end of the hall that leads to the attic.

If he’s up there, he can stay there. There’s no way I’m going up in the fucking attic to find him. I will gladly admit defeat.

Sucking in a deep breath, I face my bedroom. Aside from the attic, it’s the only room left in this hallway with a closed door.

What is he feeling right now? Standing on the other side, waiting for me to enter. Our roles are reversed, this time with me lingering outside the door. Still, I’m the one left terrified while he calmly awaits me. Anticipating all the things he’s going to say to me. Do to me.

How he’s going to hurt me. Punish me.

Steeling my spine, I turn the knob and push open the door. When it swings open, a scream climbs up my throat.

He didn’t even try to hide.

My balcony doors are wide open, the moonlight spilling in. And there, a dark figure shrouded in white l

ight, is my shadow. Staring at me with a wicked smile on his face and a blade in his hand.

Chapter 15

The Manipulator

I ’m completely immobilized beneath his stare. I can only imagine the look on my face when I see him standing there, waiting for me.

The sconces behind my bed are lit, offering dim lighting. Enough for me to get a clear view of him. He’s clad in all black. Leather boots, jeans that wrap tightly around broad thighs, and a matching hoodie that looks a size too small with the way he fills it out.

Still, I can’t see much of his face—that damn hood.

My tongue darts out, wetting my dry lips.

“Take off your hood,” I say, a slight tremor in my voice. He doesn’t. Nor does he speak.

Anger begins to build beneath the fear.

“You wanted me to come find you, kitty cat. I did. So take off your fucking hood and show me your face,” I demand, my voice rising alongside my anger.

A sinful smirk tugs at his lips when he hears his new nickname. He thinks this is a game of cat and mouse. If he wants to debase me with a nickname, it’s only fair I return the favor.

Slowly, he reaches up and slides the hood off his head, the knife glinting as if to mock me. I have my own knife, too.

Any triumph I felt over my little jab dissipates like butter in a hot skillet.

And all the fear I’ve been feeling triples. His face is… unlike anything I’ve seen. But that’s the thing—I have seen him before. The mismatched eyes give him away.

In the bookstore, I only saw portions of his face. At the time, he seemed mildly attractive. But now that I see those pieces as a whole, he’s devastating.

His right eye darker than the midnight sky, and the other the exact opposite. His left eye is so bleached of color, it’s nearly white. The scar starting from the middle of his forehead, slashing straight down through his white eye and to the middle of his cheek, is something I haven’t been able to forget since I saw him in the bookstore.

Despite the ugly scar, it only serves to heighten his utter beauty. A jawline so sharp, he could cut diamonds with it. A straight, aristocratic nose. Full lips. And short black hair, just long enough to run your hands through.

This is wrong. So wrong.

I shouldn’t be attracted to a stalker.

His presence is so overwhelming, it feels as if he’s ten feet tall with a shadow crawling up the ceiling, slithering toward me. This room feels tiny with him in it. I feel tiny with him in it.