Chapter 17 Crazy For Her
Crazy For Her
Emily's Search History: Legal definition of kidnapping
Eli
I’m nervous, watching Emily take in our house, her gaze roaming over everything.
She enjoyed the bike ride. I felt it in the way tension in her dissipated with each mile. I’m glad, of course, because it’s my favourite way to travel. Now we can share it.
I added a little backrest to it, so she’d be more comfortable. Everything I do is for her.
I spent all day while she was busy at work getting it all set up. In the hall, I’ve hung up all her jackets and coats with mine—I love the way they look together.
Moving further in, I see her eyes widen when we turn right into the living room.
Her peace lily—which I’ve watered since it was looking a little sad—is now sitting proudly next to one sofa.
I got rid of hers. Mine are better, but I have placed her blankets that she likes to curl up with over the backs. It makes it more homey.
I wish I didn’t have to keep the mask on so she can see my expression, but I’m just not quite ready yet.
She heads back out into the hall, finding the kitchen at the back of the house.
She sees the bowl I put down for the cat, her eyes narrowing.
“Where is Graham?”
I shrug, enjoying watching her.
She huffs but continues her perusal.
The cupboards are stocked with all her favourite foods.
She blinks in shock.
Back in the hall she races up the stairs.
At the top, two rooms are pretty much empty—one day they can be our kids’ rooms.
Then she comes to the master bedroom, the door swinging open almost dramatically. I see her eyes widening as she takes it all in. My bed. Her sheets. Her clothes now take up one side of the built-in wardrobe. And Graham, of course.
I put him up here, knowing it would be the last place she looked.
Immediately, she rushes to him, cooing and scooping him up into her arms to pepper kisses to his fluffy grey head.
She looks at me, so many questions brewing in her clever mind.
“What’s your plan here?” she questions, brows furrowed. “Am I a prisoner now?”
I scoff. “Of course not, Angel. I would never keep you locked up.”
“So I can leave?”
I wince, even though she can’t see it.
“Not yet.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Your work believes that you’re taking a little break. A family emergency. So, we have seven days—once you’re in love with me, then you can go wherever you want.”
She blinks at me, unmoving. “What happens when I don’t fall in love with you?”
I shake my head. “Impossible. We’re soulmates.”
I’m pretty sure she mutters something that sounds like, “He’s insane.”
She’s not wrong.
I’m crazy for her.
“You’re probably hungry, how about I cook us some dinner?”
She hugs Graham tighter but doesn’t answer. I take that as a yes.
Leaving her to process, I head down the stairs and into the kitchen. I bought ingredients to make souvlaki, homemade tzatziki and pita bread, with a feta salad.
Rolling up my sleeves, I get to work.
Emily
I want to not eat out of defiance, but my stomach growls, betraying me. I scoop Graham into my arms and carry him downstairs toward the kitchen.
The room is split into two. On the right, a sleek slate-grey kitchen gleams with stainless steel appliances and a gorgeous island in the centre. To the left, a large wooden dining table now sits covered in an array of Greek food.
My breath catches.
Does he know?
My stalker stands by the table, mask in place, his sleeves rolled to the elbows. A flash of ink covering his forearms dislodges something in my brain, but it’s gone before I can place it. He notices my gaze and quickly rolls his sleeves back down, mumbling something under his breath.
“Come sit,” he says. “I made souvlaki.”
He ushers me toward the table, and I sit—only because I’m starving.
He plates the food for me like I’m a child, then takes the seat across, watching. Not eating. Just watching.
I take a bite and moan at how good it is.
He shifts in his seat.
“I’m guessing this isn’t a coincidence?” I ask.
He shakes his head but doesn't explain how he knows.
My grandfather was from Greece. Every time we visited, he made this dish. It’s one of my favourites.
Something warms inside me—something small and dangerous—because he took the time to learn that.
Then I snap myself out of it.
This man is my stalker. A murderer. I can’t forget that.
He just sits and stares while I eat. It’s unnerving—especially when I can’t see his eyes.
“Are you not hungry?” I ask.
He shrugs, gesturing to the mask.
I pause, fork halfway to my mouth. “What if I turn away?”
“How do I know you won’t look?”
I shrug. “Guess you’ll have to trust me.”
This isn’t a trick. Whatever’s wrong with him—whatever damage he’s carrying—I want to understand it. But right now, I just want him to feel comfortable. That way, he's more likely to open up.
He nods once.
I shove the last few bites into my mouth and spin the chair to face the wall behind me.
The wall is dark charcoal with a single large, framed photo—an abstract black-and-white cityscape. Cold. Distant. Beautiful.
There’s some shuffling behind me, the clatter of plates and cutlery.
Graham mews at my feet, and I scoop him up, settling him in my lap.
“I’ve missed you, baby,” I whisper, scratching behind his ears.
I should feel more afraid. Being here with someone so obviously unwell should terrify me. But I don’t think he’ll hurt me—not as long as I comply.
Still, I don’t know what he’ll do if I try to leave.
Not that I have anywhere to go. He took everything.
Speaking of—
“Where are the rest of my things?”
Silence.
“Everything you need is here,” he says, voice once again distorted.
“That’s not an answer.”
A long, weary sigh.
“I got rid of everything else.”
“What?!” I leap to my feet, spinning around.
Trust be damned.
He’s wearing the mask again.
“What do you mean you got rid of it?” My voice rises, raw and shrill.
“You don’t need it anymore.”
“You don’t get to decide that! You can’t just erase parts of my life like they don’t matter!”
He stands and moves around the table, coming toward me. Those eyeless sockets pierce me. I tense as his hands find my waist, pulling me against him, chest to chest.
He brushes a strand of hair behind my ear. “You’re right, Angel. I’m sorry,” he whispers, leaning in close enough that I feel the heat of his words lick against my skin.
I don’t know what to do.
I’m furious.
But my body leans into his, craving him like oxygen.
His scent wraps around me—warm cinnamon and something smoky.
Cinnamon.
The tattoos.
That’s where I know them from.
Oh my god.
My stalker is Eli.
But—
Fuck.
I knew he was lying.
Was any of it true? Was Jenny ever real? Was his father really abusive?
I try not to gasp.
The truth settles into my bones like ice.
But I don’t let it show. Something in me warns not to give it away.
He presses his face into the curve of my neck and inhales deeply. “Forgive me, Angel?” he pleads, drawing back just enough to look at me—mask and all—his hands still firm against my back.
I jerk my head up and down. I don’t trust my voice. I don’t trust anything right now.
“We should watch a film,” he says suddenly, letting go. Traitorously, I miss his touch as soon as his warmth is gone.
I nod again.
He studies me for a moment before turning to clear away.
“Go get comfortable, I’ll join you in a few.”
I pick Graham back up and flee the room.
The front door beckons me on the way to the living room, but I don’t want to think what he might do if I try to escape. I need to tread carefully here. This man is clearly unwell—more so that I ever realised.
I choose the sofa closest to the door, picking up one of my blankets from the back and wrapping it around my shoulders. I’m not doing it because he told me too. I just need the familiar comfort while I navigate this insane situation.
After twenty minutes he joins me.
Now that I know he’s Eli, I can see it in the way he moves. That casual confidence. Those ripped jeans are the same he always wears. That muscled physique. I don’t know how I didn’t immediately put it all together.
“Any ideas for what we should watch?” he asks me, like this is all completely normal. Like I’m not a hostage here.
A hostage that walked inside willingly. I mentally slap myself. Though, in my defence, I wanted my cat.
I shrug, my throat still clogged.
He flips on the TV, pulling up Netflix and finding a rom-com. He probably thinks that what he’s doing is romance.
“You’re very quiet, Angel.”
Crap.
“Is everything okay?”
I mumble a “yes,” then pretend to be interested in the film.
He lets it go.
We watch it in silence. Next to each other, but not touching.
Doesn’t matter though, my body is buzzing with awareness. With anticipation.
Eli being my stalker doesn’t remove the allure, if anything it adds to it.
I was attracted to him from that first meeting.
That attraction only grew the more I learnt about his story—if it’s even true.
It shouldn’t have. But something about him has my interest piqued.
I see something in him. Something broken that I want to fix.
I’ve always been like this.
That’s how I let Gianna destroy me.
Perhaps it was cowardly of me to leave and not try to get her help.
But I was scared.
I packed up what I could, gave Graham to my parents, then ran.
That’s how I ended up here.
Sure, she could follow me. But London is a big city. Not like the sleepy town I grew up in, in the centre of the country. I felt safe enough.
And now?
Now I’ve been (willingly?) kidnapped by my patient who is a self-proclaimed stalker. A man who once sent me a finger as a present.
But then—
He also bought me books and stocked my cupboards for me. He got Graham back. Made me come so hard I saw stars. Can’t forget that part.
It’s not like I’ve never had an orgasm, and he’s not the first person to make me come—though he may be the first man. But I’ve never had one quite that intense. Maybe it was the lingering fear? The hand around my throat? I don’t know.
But the memory of it runs rampant through my mind as I sit here, close enough to Eli that if I were to just shift a little closer…
Stop it.
The film continues in the background.
The whole time, I’m focused on something else.