Roxxy kept her head down all morning at work.
She tried to focus. Tried to breathe normally. Tried to pretend that Andrew's hand hadn't been on her neck, his thumb resting right over the frantic beat of her pulse.
But she could still feel it — like the warmth was burned into her skin.
Her coworker asked if she was okay. She lied.
She wanted to look over her shoulder. She didn't.
Because she already knew.
He was there.
Somewhere.
Watching her like she was the only thing in the world capable of pulling him out of the darkness he lived in… or pushing him deeper.
Every time she walked to the back room, she felt it: that prickle on the back of her neck, like someone's eyes were tracking her.
When her shift finally ended, she hurried outside.
She didn't call for him.
Didn't look for him.
Didn't even breathe normally.
But Andrew was already leaning against the wall across the street, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed in a way that felt too intentional. Like he chose to look harmless even though every instinct screamed otherwise.
Roxxy froze.
"Were you here the whole time?"
"No."
He pushed off the wall.
"I got here six minutes after you."
"How do you know exactly—"
"I time things when they matter."
The way he said that made her shiver.
Andrew approached slowly, but not cautiously — like he knew she wouldn't run. Like he didn't even consider it an option.
When he reached her, he tilted his head, studying her face.
"You've been avoiding looking up all day," he murmured.
Her breath hitched.
"H-How do you know?"
"I told you," he said, meeting her gaze. "I watch you."
The honesty—cold, unapologetic—slammed into her chest.
She took a small step back without thinking.
Andrew's expression flickered—not anger, not hurt, but something far more unsettling.
Possessiveness.
He closed the space she'd tried to create.
"Don't do that."
"Do what?" Roxxy whispered.
"Act like I'm the threat," he murmured, voice sliding into her bones.
"Others might be. I'm not."
"But you— you were inside my apartment—"
"I didn't touch you," he cut in softly, stepping even closer.
"And I didn't take anything. I only looked."
"That's not normal."
"No," he agreed. "It isn't."
Her pulse raced.
He watched that too.
"But neither is the way you react to me."
Roxxy stiffened. "What do you mean?"
"You're scared," he said, brushing a strand of her hair back with two fingers, the touch barely there.
"But you're not terrified."
His fingertips trailed near her ear. She inhaled sharply.
"And you're curious," he murmured, eyes drifting to her lips.
"Even though you wish you weren't."
Her cheeks heated, humiliation mixing with something warmer, something she hated herself for feeling.
She pushed his hand away — not forcefully, but enough.
"Andrew… you can't keep doing this."
"Yes, I can."
Her stomach dropped.
"And I will."
He lowered his voice.
"Until you understand why."
"Why what?"
"Why I can't stay away from you," Andrew said.
"Why I won't let anything near you."
A beat.
"Why the idea of someone else touching you makes me want to burn the world down."
The darkness in his eyes sharpened.
Before she could respond, Andrew moved — not roughly, but with an unyielding certainty — and placed his hand against the wall beside her head, boxing her in without touching her.
Roxxy's breath caught.
"Tell me to leave," he whispered.
Her lips parted.
She tried to say it.
She really did.
But nothing came out.
Andrew's eyes softened — dangerously, triumphantly.
"That's what I thought."
He leaned closer, breath brushing her cheek, voice dropping to a low, possessive growl:
"Roxxy… you're mine to watch."
Her heart pounded so violently she felt dizzy.
"And the sooner you accept that," he murmured, "the safer you'll be."
Then he stepped back.
Just far enough for her to breathe.
Not far enough for her to escape.
He waited.
Her legs were trembling.
"Walk," he said quietly.
"I'm right behind you."
And she knew—
he always would be.