Page 3

THREE

KAI

S he’s been here two weeks.

And I am completely enamored by her.

I keep the camera feed of Sable’s dorm room up on one of my monitors, along with several hallway views. It’s become a ritual at this point—checking in on her, watching her every move, dissecting her routines. A strategic operation, I tell myself, nothing more. Still, I know that watching her this closely isn’t just about keeping tabs for Silas.

I catch myself thinking about placing another camera—one near her vanity, right outside the bathroom. Not invasive, just... useful.

I’m not a pervert.

I draw the line somewhere.

But being able to watch her in those more private moments—brushing her hair, getting ready for bed—it would give me a clearer picture of her day-to-day life.

Nothing weird about that.

I’m not sure why Silas is so bent on keeping an eye on her, though. From what I’ve observed, she’s a typical sophomore: works hard, goes to class, does her workouts. Normal. Hell, she comes from an affluent family. According to the background check, I ran. Nothing shady in her past. Allergic to grapes and pollen—real fascinating stuff. She flunked out of her first university, which raised a red flag at first, but then I found the reason: Maladaptive Daydreaming.

A quick search on Google showed me it’s a coping mechanism tied to conditions like ADHD or OCD. The more I dug, the more therapy sessions I found charged to her insurance, right up until two days ago. They’ve gone virtual now. I guess because driving an hour back home may be more of a nuisance than it’s worth. Those records, of course, are sealed. Nothing I can get into easily without making a few calls or favors. I’ll have to pay someone a visit if I want those.

I scroll further through the records until there’s something that makes this obsession thing with Silas make sense… She was his prom date. Is that why he’s hung up on her? It’s laughable, really. All this obsession with a girl he went to prom with. I snort, staring at the picture of a much younger Silas standing next to her. He’s got that goofy grin, one hand awkward on her waist. And Sable? She looks so... innocent.

“Whatcha laughing at?” Dayton’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. He’s leaning in the doorway, sandwich in hand.

I shake my head. “I’ve been digging into why Silas is so obsessed with this Sable chick.”

Dayton saunters over, taking a bite of his sandwich as he peers over my shoulder. His eyes land on the prom picture, and he chuckles. “Yeah, she was his neighbor back in the day. Forgot how hot she was,” he says around a mouthful of food before plopping down on the edge of my bed, crumbs spilling onto my bedspread.

I scowl at him. “Dude, she’s like sixteen in this picture.”

He shrugs, unbothered, wiping his hands on my sheets. “So, what does she look like now?”

Ignoring him, I wave him off, irritated. “Get out. You’re making a mess.”

The door clicks shut behind him, and I return my attention to the screen, the live feed of her dorm room. Sable’s back at her desk, sketching something, her movements fluid and graceful. The soft curve of her neck, the honey-colored hair falling over her shoulder, the way she bites her lip when she’s concentrating—it’s hypnotizing.

She’s a straight-A student, black belt in karate, Girl Scout until her early teens—basically the poster child for overachievers. And yet, here she is, at this school, flunked out of her last one for getting lost in her own head.

But that’s not what’s bugging me. What’s bugging me is the why—why I can’t stop watching her. Why, every time I look at her, I feel this strange need to tear apart her perfectly crafted world.

To ruin her.

I glance back at the live feed. She’s humming to herself softly, pencil scratching across the paper. The casual intimacy of it is what gets to me the most. She has no idea someone’s watching her, controlling every moment of her existence without her even knowing.

It’s been a week since she showed up, and I’ve spent hours glued to this screen, tracking her every move. In that short time, I’ve learned more about her than I have about most people I’ve known for years.

She runs every morning—rain or shine.

If she skips the run, she’s at the gym practicing kickboxing. Silas made sure she’s surrounded by people we know in her classes, but I stay as far away from her as possible.

I have this sick need to control her, to bend her life to my will. To watch her crumble and rebuild her in my image. The more I think about it, the more I realize this isn’t going away.

It’s only getting worse.

I lean back in my chair, my eyes still locked on the screen. Watching her has become my obsession, and I don’t even try to deny it anymore. Every moment I spend in front of that monitor, I’m falling deeper into it, the darkness inside me growing more restless, more insistent.

It’s not about Silas. Has it ever been about Silas? No, this is about my need to possess every part of her life. To own it. To break it, if that’s what it takes.

I close my eyes, inhaling deeply as I feel that familiar pulse of darkness ripple through me. When I open them again, they’re fixed on the glowing monitor, on her—unaware, unprotected, and completely at my mercy.

Sable Wilson has no idea the storm that’s coming. No idea what’s brewing in the shadows around her. But she will soon enough.

Because I’m done playing the silent observer. This time, I’m in control.

The campus is quiet this early in the morning. I prefer morning classes, unlike the other guys, who like afternoon. Snacking on the protein bar I stole from Silas’ stash, I make my way through the quad.

My first class on Mondays starts in the large lecture hall. I usually sit near the back where I can zone out without drawing too much attention. I arrive a few minutes early, find my usual seat, and pull out my notebook.

A few moments later, the door opens, and students start filing in. I’m flipping through my notes when I sense someone sitting down a few seats away. Glancing up, I do a double-take.

It’s her.

My pulse quickens, but she doesn’t notice me.

Of course, she wouldn’t.

She has no idea who I am, and that’s how it should be for now. I watch her out of the corner of my eye as she settles into her seat a few rows ahead, her attention focused on arranging her materials and chatting with her roommate, Heather. The same Heather I watched the other night, touching herself after Sable fell asleep. It was disturbing—more than disturbing. Watching it was like being forced to look at something horrific that you couldn’t tear your eyes from. I shudder just thinking about it.

God, gag me with a fucking knife.

Sable, on the other hand, is an entirely different vision. Her fishnet tights peek above the waistband of low-hanging shorts, her crop top barely covering her toned midriff. Her hair’s styled into two messy buns with strands falling around her face. There’s something surreal about seeing her in person after spending nights watching her through a screen. She looks normal, like just another girl in college. But I know better. She’s anything but normal.

The professor arrives, signaling the start of the lecture. I try to concentrate, but my gaze inevitably drifts back to her, diligently taking notes, occasionally tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

Midway through the lecture, the professor poses a question to the class. “Can anyone give an example of how non-verbal communication can be more powerful than verbal communication?”

I’m not really paying attention to the responses until I hear Sable’s voice answering confidently. “Sure, for instance, a simple hug can convey support and empathy much more effectively than words sometimes can. It’s a way to communicate that you’re there for someone without needing to say anything.”

A smirk pulls at the corner of my mouth. My girl’s smart and pays attention even when I can’t keep my eyes off of her. Does she know I’m watching?

She’s not your girl. She belongs to Silas.

The thought creeps in uninvited, but I shove it aside. My intrusive thoughts are usually more fun than this logical bullshit. If I want her, she’ll be mine. She can be ours . We’ve done this before, shared our women. We could do it again.

When the class ends, I pack up my things and keep my eyes on her as she gathers her stuff, waiting for the right moment. Once she’s heading out, I fall into step behind her, careful to keep enough distance so she doesn’t feel me yet. She walks toward the library, her bag slung casually over her shoulder, completely oblivious to the fact that I’m watching her every move.

I quicken my pace and close the gap. “Hey, you did great in there.”

She glances over at me, surprise flashing in her eyes before her expression softens into a polite smile. “Oh, thank you. Just trying to keep up.”

“I’m Malachi,” I introduce myself, extending my hand. “But you can call me Kai.”

“Sable,” she replies, shaking my hand. Her grip is firm, and there’s a warmth to her smile that makes something dark stir inside me. “Nice to meet you, Kai.”

If only you knew .

“Heading to the library?” I ask, the perfect gentleman on the surface. “I can walk you there if you want.”

She hesitates, but then nods. “Sure.”

As we walk together, I ask her the usual questions—things I already know but want to hear her say out loud. “So, what’s your major?”

“Art history,” she answers. I feign curiosity. I already know everything about her. “You?”

“Computer science,” I reply, offering her an easy smile.

She nods thoughtfully. “I’ve never been a tech person. Must be exciting to work with all the new equipment the university has been upgrading.”

I hide a smirk. Of course she knows. Her family’s money probably helped fund half the damn campus. Her father was a benefactor before he died, and her mother—when she’s not too busy pretending her daughter doesn’t exist—still keeps close ties with the school.

“Yeah, it’s great,” I say. “Do you have a favorite period in art history?”

“The Renaissance, definitely. The way art and culture flourished—it’s inspiring.” Her voice lights up as she talks about it, and I can’t help but notice how passionate she sounds. Not that it surprises me. She’s done countless projects on the Renaissance in high school. Basic, really, but there’s something endearing about her predictability.

I pretend to think of something else to keep the conversation going, but my mind blanks. I’ve spent a week memorizing her life, stalking her every move, and now that I’m here, walking beside her, it feels... flat. Pointless. She has no idea who I am or what I’ve seen, and somehow that makes this all the more frustrating.

We stop in front of the library too soon for my liking, and she turns to me. “Well, thanks for walking with me, Kai. I’ll see you around.”

She smiles one last time, that polite smile, before she disappears through the doors of the library. I stand there, staring after her, the blood thrumming in my veins.

“You’ll see me, alright. But I’ll see you much sooner.”

I turn and walk away, my fists clenched at my sides, the darkness inside me growing. This isn’t over. This is just the beginning.