Chapter 31 #2
The guys probably think I’m hungover or pissed about a car part. None of them know there’s a war happening in my chest. None of them know that if anything happens to her, I will burn the entire world down.
My phone buzzes once. A notification from an app, nothing relevant.
I swear under my breath.
If she ever needs me and I’m not there, I will never forgive myself.
Thalia once asked me why I always park facing out of the apartment.
“Quick escape,” I joked.
Truth is, I’m always preparing.
Always one second away from sprinting toward danger.
When you love someone who’s survived hell, you learn to live on the edge of fight-or-flight right alongside them.
She thinks she’s the broken one. But the truth? Loving her broke me open too.
Made me raw.
Made me fierce.
Made me understand what it means to be willing to burn the whole world down just to keep one person breathing.
I grab my phone again, half-hoping for a message, half-dreading one.
Nothing. No missed calls. The relief and fear twist in my chest like a knife.
I know I can’t stay away much longer. If I keep fooling myself into thinking I can balance work and protect her from a predator who ignores all rules, I’m lying.
Every minute I’m not with her, Damian has the upper hand.
I tuck the phone into my pocket, jaw clenched tight, and as I glance at the unfinished job in front of me, I’m already aware that I won’t last the day.
She’s all that truly matters in this chaotic swirl of my life. The job, the money, the rest of the world all pale in comparison to her. If Damian wants to keep pushing, I’ll push back harder. If he wants war, then that’s exactly what he’ll get. Love makes you soft, until it doesn’t.
Until the thing you love is threatened.
Then love becomes a weapon sharper than rage.
I never believed in fate or destiny or any of that poetic shit until Thalia showed up and cracked open something in me I didn’t know existed.
But Damian?
He’s tapping on the part of me that doesn’t have a conscience.
So, if he wants chaos, he picked the right fucking opponent.
-Damian-
They still think this is a game.
There’s a notebook on the passenger seat beside me. Thalia’s name on every page. Dates. Times. Patterns.
Precise. Clinical.
I’ve memorized her life like choreography.
Her walking routes, class schedule, where she buys groceries.
One day, she’ll understand my obsession, how I’m doing this out of love. To show her that she’s mine, that I own her. I’m the one who made her strong, not him.
I made it so she can’t forget me. The lighter, the posts, and the drive-bys are all child’s play to me.
Just enough to make her sweat, enough to get him pacing the floor like a tense dog tethered to a leash.
But me? I’ve barely scratched the surface.
She’s rattled, and it’s evident in the tiny nuances of her daily life, in the way she closes the blinds in her apartment and twitches at the slightest disturbance, in how she grips that mangy dog’s leash with white knuckles as she walks, and in how her footsteps quicken as she approaches her door, as if the shadows themselves are chasing her.
She thinks this is just paranoia, but it’s me, always me.
And the best part? She hasn’t told him everything.
I can taste the secrecy between them, the hidden pieces, the cracks she worries will shatter her new reality.
She’s scared of him losing his temper, and that’s where I gain the advantage.
Wedges, cracks, silence—those are the key to breaking something that appears strong.
But I’m not content with simply causing fractures anymore. I’m on a mission to shatter.
Every day, I plan, I wait, and I sharpen my strategies.
They see me as a washed-up man, a pathetic figure clinging to the past, but they underestimate me.
Beneath that facade, I’m smarter than the two of them combined.
I know how to weave myself into the fabric of their lives, twisting and manipulating until the very essence of who they are becomes unrecognizable.
People say obsession is pathetic.
Those people lack imagination.
Obsession is power.
Obsession is clarity.
Everyone else walks around blind, distracted by careers and bills and grocery lists. But I know what I want.
Thalia.
She was the first person who made the world feel sharp again, not dull, not blurry.
With her, everything had edges.
Everything hurt.
And pain means you’re alive.
Xander thinks this is about jealousy. Cute. As if I care about him.
This is about reclaiming what was taken from me. What I made. She is the masterpiece carved by my hands, and if I cannot have what I made? Then I will destroy it.
Nothing burns as beautifully as hope.
Thalia thinks she’s safe with him, that she’s finally building something whole. That’s what makes this so sweet; there’s nothing more intoxicating than dismantling an illusion.
I’ll take everything she clings to—the apartment, the comfort, the false sense of security—and reduce it to ashes.
I want to break her again because he cannot comprehend that she rebuilt herself without him.
I’m not here for love this time; I’m here for possession.
I catch a glimpse in the side mirror of the cigarette in my mouth, its end flickering as it turns to ash.
I daydream about how flames can spread like a wild contagion when you’re caught off guard.
A curtain ignited, a couch ablaze, a rug catching fire; it doesn’t take long for everything to turn to chaos.
She wouldn’t know what hit her until the smoke coiled above her head, well past the point of escape.
Or maybe I won’t need fire at all. Fear is a better collar than chains.
People lock doors. People install security systems. People carry pepper spray. But they cannot lock away their own minds.
Once terror sinks in, it doesn’t leave.
It stalks.
It festers.
It whispers.
All I have to do is remind her that she’ll never be safe. Even with him.
Perhaps the mere act of slipping through an unlocked door, pushing a window open a crack, or the rustle of me inhaling behind her in the dark would be enough to send her spiraling into panic again. She’d freeze, caught in the memory of me, always remembering.
I lean back in the driver’s seat, watching her window glow faintly against the darkness of the night.
My pulse steadies, not from excitement but from the calm of patience.
She thought what happened last time was the worst of it, but she has no idea.
This time, I’m not taking a small piece of her.
I’m taking it all. And when I’m finished, there won’t be anything left of Thalia to save.