Page 47 of He Sees You

"How can you know that?"

"Because you don't make me want to hurt. You make me want to preserve. To protect. To possess, yes, but not to break." He reaches out, his fingers almost touching my hair, then pulls back. "Jake wants to break you. Punish you for that rejection. Make you small enough to fit in his hands."

"And what do you want?"

"I want you exactly as you are. Dark and brilliant and unafraid of your own shadows." His hand moves to his pocket, pulling out a folded paper. "You dropped this at Stella's."

I unfold it.

It's not mine—it's another page from my deleted manuscript.

A scene where my heroine realizes she's in love with her stalker.

"I didn't drop this."

"No," he agrees. "But you wrote it. Then deleted it because Juliette said it was too dark. That readers wouldn't understand how she could love someone who violated her privacy, her safety, her sense of self."

My blood goes cold. "How do you know what Juliette said?"

"Because she tells me everything when she drinks. Which is often, lately. The stress of trying to make you palatable to the masses is wearing on her."

"You—"

"I'm the one leaving you gifts." He says it calmly, watching my face. "The feather. The book. The photo. The key."

I should run.

Should scream.

Should do anything except stand here feeling like the world is finally making sense.

"You've been in my room."

"Yes."

"You've been watching me."

"Yes."

"You killed those women."

"No." He steps closer. "But I killed the man who was watching you before I was. Roy Dunham. He had photos of you, plans for you. I made sure those plans died with him."

"You're confessing to murder."

"I'm confessing to protection. There's a difference."

My phone rings.

Dad, probably wondering where I am.

I don't answer.

"You should go," Cain says. "Your father will send Jake looking for you, and I'd rather not have to kill a deputy today."

"You wouldn't."

"For you? I'd kill anyone who tried to hurt you. I'd make it slow. I'd make it meaningful." He says it like a love poem. "Go home, Celeste. Lock your doors. Your windows. Jake's escalating, and your father's too distracted to see it."