I thought I was losing my fucking mind. But no, someone really was stalking me. I could feel their gaze—heavy, unrelenting, crawling over my skin. No matter how many times I looked, I couldn't pinpoint where it was coming from. It had been happening ever since Zin and I met at the restaurant.

Then the texts started appearing on my phone, like something out of a damn horror movie:

"I can't help but watch you, Malyshka."
"Didn't go to work today?"
"You can't drink Coke all the time, you know."
"Wear something with more contrast. White doesn't suit you."

I didn't dare open any of them, just let them sit there in the notifications like landmines waiting to go off.

The worst part? I had no idea who this person was, where they were watching me from, or how the hell they managed to know everything.

I thought the classroom was my sanctuary—the only place where I could finally hide from the stalker's suffocating grip. But that bastard shattered my illusion with one text:

"Don't frown too much. You look even cuter like that—almost to the point where I can't control myself."

My grip on the phone tightened, my nails digging into the casing. I wanted to scream, to hurl it against the wall and watch it shatter into a million useless shards. But would it make a damn difference? Would breaking the phone stop him? Or was he already so far inside my life that there was no escape? His words felt like hands around my throat, squeezing, invading—inescapable. Again...

"Staring at your phone and thinking about me? You should concentrate on what your professor is teaching, Malyshka."

Was it one of my classmates? The thought churned my stomach, bile rising in the back of my throat. Could it be some sick, twisted prank? Some asshole fucking with me for fun?

My eyes darted across the room, scanning for signs of guilt. But all I saw were blank faces, absorbed in the professor's droning lecture. No shifty glances. No one suppressing a laugh. Nothing.

This wasn't a prank. Pranks don't follow me home.

And this... he did.

That suffocating presence, that invisible gaze—I felt it even in the supposed safety of my own house.

In my room.

For the first time, I hated my instincts. Cursed my ability to feel it, to know someone was watching me when I couldn't see them. Because it wasn't paranoia. It was real.

And it was everywhere.

Then another text came through.

"I knew you saw my text, Malyshka. Don't pretend I don't exist. I know you saw my messages on your notifications."

It was a punch to the gut. Cold. Calculated. Each word felt like a noose tightening around my throat. There was no denying it anymore. He was watching, waiting for the moment I slipped up. And now, he knew I was aware.

Was there any escape left? Or was I already trapped in his gaze?

I was defeated. There was no hiding from this bastard anymore. The frustration, the anger, and the fear slowly, slowly built up inside me, threatening to explode. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, the pressure rising with every second. Finally, I couldn't hold it in anymore. I opened the chat and, with shaking hands, typed my reply.

"Who the fuck are you? Don't you have the guts to show yourself in front of me?"

The words felt like a challenge—desperate, taunting, almost like an invitation for him to come closer. But what the hell was I supposed to do? Wait around and keep pretending everything was normal?

But what I received from him terrified me even more.

"Don't use swear words with me. You have no idea what I'm capable of. Do not cross the boundaries."

Boundaries? Look who the fuck is talking about boundaries. I couldn't even take a goddamn bath without checking over my shoulder, feeling like someone's eyes were on me every second.

I wanted to scream at that bastard, tell him to fuck off, but deep down, I knew I couldn't. Not with the way he was controlling everything. Not with the suffocating grip he had on me, even from behind a screen.

I put my phone down, forcing myself not to look at it. I didn't want to see any more texts. Didn't want to see myself on the screen, caught in this mess. I'm being submissive to him. The realization hit like a slap in the face. I shut my mouth when he told me not to do something. Why the fuck am I doing this?

I can't tell my brother. He'll lose it—lock me in a fucking cage and go on a rampage. Alexei and Sasha? They'd tell my Uncle and aunt. I can't even imagine what that would lead to. What about Zin? Should I tell him? But we're just... what the hell are we? Convenience. That's all we are.

Fucking hell... I saw this shits in movies, even fantasized about having my own personal stalker. Thought it would be thrilling, like some twisted fantasy. But now? It's suffocating. It's real. It's happening, and I'm fucking trapped.

My phone chimed again. I didn't want to look at it. I should've ignored it. But I couldn't resist. Me and my fucking curiosity.

"You'll get used to me, Malyshka. Wipe that frown off your face."

My mind went blank. I'll get used to that bastard? Like fuck I will. The thought burned in my chest, rage building like a slow, simmering fire. I couldn't focus on anything. Not my class. Not the professor's voice droning on in the background. My whole day felt like a fucking mess. A goddamn chaos.

I couldn't even escape it. I got scolded in every class, punished for zoning out—my thoughts racing in a million directions. It felt like everyone was noticing, even when I tried to shut it all out. Get it together, Vivian. Focus. But I couldn't. And then Sasha—Sasha, of all people—yelled at me for not listening to her ranting about Zoran, as if that was the real problem. 

She still hasn't gotten over him. It was pathetic. It pissed me off more than it should have, but I couldn't help it. I was suffocating under my own thoughts, and this shit wasn't helping. God, why can't she just move on?

I barely heard a word she said. I was too busy trying to keep my head from spinning.

After a few minutes of Sasha's relentless yelling, she finally suggested we hit up some party at a club I'd never even heard of. I just stared at her blankly, trying to shake the creeping dread.

"Bitch, shut up and come with me. Zoran is going there."

"Wh-what?" I stammered, feeling the heat of disbelief creeping up my neck. "Why are you acting like a stalker?"

"It's love, woman. You can't understand." Her eyes locked on mine, unblinking, as if she was daring me to argue further.

"Yeah, love," I muttered sarcastically, "You know who he is, and how he is. Don't make him aware you're doing this shit. But... how the hell do you even know he's going?"

"Oh, that's not a problem. I have a black sheep in his gang."

Alexei and I just stared at her, blinking, unsure whether to laugh or punch something. Is she for real? She was talking like a professional stalker.

"Sasha, you can't do this to people," I said, my voice rising, desperate to get through to her. I knew all too well the suffocating feeling of being watched—and Zoran? He wouldn't hesitate to kill her, no second thoughts.

"I said shut up and come with me."

We both sighed in defeat, the pressure settling in our chests. Unison groans followed. "Fine. But don't pull any weird shit when we're around. We have a reputation, you know? So please, for the love of God, control yourself," Alexei muttered, rubbing his temples.

Then, like clockwork, another text from that fucking stalker bastard flashed across my screen.

"Don't wander around tonight and stay put."

This shit was officially getting on my last nerve. Who the fuck does he think he is, trying to dictate my every move? As if I give a damn what he wants.

I couldn't help the twisted grin that spread across my face, the kind that was more out of anger than amusement, and I shot a glance at Sasha. "Count me in."

"That's the spirit, Viv. Let's go and show Zoran exactly what the hell he's missing right now," she said, practically bouncing with excitement like she had everything figured out.

Inside, I could feel a nasty cocktail of anger and adrenaline swirling around. I was ready to provoke that bastard, to shove every ounce of his pathetic control right back in his face. He thought he could play puppet master with me? Not anymore. I was done with that shit. No more hiding in the shadows, no more following his stupid fucking rules.

I had to suck it up, steel myself, and face whatever the hell consequences awaited. But honestly, when it came down to it, he couldn't do a damn thing. He was nothing but a weak, pathetic coward, hiding behind his screen like a fucking pussy. Too afraid to show himself, too afraid to actually confront me. Just a sad, spineless stalker who thought he could scare me. Well, he didn't know shit. He was powerless.

I forced a smile, but it wasn't a smile at all—it was a mask. A fucking mask, and I was wearing it to convince myself that I was in control. I wasn't. But I'd be damned if I let him see that.

That same evening, Sasha had me all dolled up in a black mini dress, bright red lipstick, and these fucking high heels that felt like they were designed to torture me. I kept the backup shoes in hand—no way I was walking around in those things for long. I told Sasha and Alexei in no uncertain terms—no photos on Instagram. If Blake finds out about me in this shit, he'll probably kill me.

I texted Zinoviy about the party, even called him a couple of times, but of course, the calls went straight to voicemail. Not even a text back. Fucking typical. I didn't even know why I bothered.

Alexei picked Sasha and me up from her place, and after what felt like an eternity of driving, we finally pulled up in front of some club called Black Swan. What. The. Fuck?

Sasha practically dragged us inside, and I had no choice but to follow her like some damn puppet. My stomach churned with anxiety, but I kept my mouth shut. What was I supposed to say? That this was a terrible idea? That I had no fucking business being here? Too late for that now. I was already in the deep end.

I stepped inside and immediately got hit by dim lighting and blaring music. Half-naked women were clinging to drunk assholes, swaying their hips like they were putting on a damn show. What the actual fuck? Was this a nightclub or a strip club?

Sasha dragged us straight to the bar. Me? As usual, I ordered juice. For the record, I don't drink. I'm not into the whole alcohol bullshit, so I stick with mocktails or juice. Alexei, though, went straight for the vodka. I swear, that guy deserves a medal for how much alcohol he can put away without collapsing. Sasha's eyes were darting around, searching for Zoran. Of course, that's why we were here in the first place.

And then, there he was. Finally. Sitting on a couch in some dark corner, surrounded by a bunch of women—some of them from our university. I couldn't give less of a shit about who he was with. This wasn't my mess to clean up. I just glanced around, trying to drown out the chaos. But then, my eyes landed on someone I wasn't expecting to see here. Zinoviy. What the hell was he doing here? I checked my phone—still no response to my texts.

Meanwhile, Sasha was off to the dance floor with a vodka shot in her hand, already getting lost in the music. Alexei just sat there, sipping his vodka, looking like he was trying to enjoy the moment. But then, a bunch of women started to swarm him, pestering him for his number and asking him to dance. I couldn't help but grin at him, but all I got in return was a glare.

I used that as my cue to slip away. "I'm gonna hit the washroom," I told Alexei, but the real reason was to go after Zinoviy. I called him a few times, but the music was so loud he didn't hear me. Where the hell did he go? I followed the crowd, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. The farther I went in, the fewer people I saw, and the quieter it got. I passed a couple of gigantic men standing by some doorways, but none of them bothered me.

Then, just as I thought I was alone, someone grabbed my elbow and yanked me backward. My heart stopped. I whipped around. The guy was huge—tall, built like a fucking tank—and he wore the same kind of uniform t-shirt as the security guards by the door. They weren't normal, not like the doormen at the entrance of the club. This guy had a dark look in his eyes like he wanted to snap my neck.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing here?" His grip tightened around my elbow, and I swear I could feel my bones creaking under his strength. "You got a death wish or something?"

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. I was scared—no, terrified. But somehow, I found my voice. "I—I'm just looking for my friend. I saw him come in here..."

His grip got tighter, his fingers digging into my skin. "Don't fuck with me. What are you doing—"

His words were cut off by a knife. A fucking knife. It sank into the hand he had been using to grip me, blood immediately welling up around the blade. His fingers spasmed, releasing me in an instant.

My eyes widened in sheer terror, locked on the horrific sight. The blade was buried deep, crimson dripping down his hand, pooling onto the floor. His hand trembled slightly, the pain visible in the tension of his jaw and the faint twitch in his face, but his reaction? Barely a wince. No scream. No panic. Just cold indifference. Was it because of his job? Was this just another day for him? Sweat formed on my palms and forehead.

"Are you—are you okay?" I stammered, my voice barely audible over the pounding of my heart. "There's so much bl—blood."

The words spilled out, shaky and unsteady, but all I got was a look. The guard's cold, disbelieving gaze bore into me like I was some kind of alien creature. Like I was the strange one for being horrified at what had just happened.

"He'll be fine." A voice, sharp and commanding, came from behind me.

I turned, heart hammering. A man stood there in a perfectly tailored suit, blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, and sharp, chiseled features that looked like they'd been carved by some master sculptor. I'd seen him before, but for the life of me, I couldn't place where.

Everything in me told me I'd just walked into something much worse than I'd ever signed up for.

The man waved his hand dismissively, like this whole scene was beneath him. The guard, bleeding profusely, nodded and staggered off without even a glance back.

"Is he—is he really gonna be okay?" The words stumbled out of my mouth, trembling with disbelief. Who the hell was this guy? Casually stabbing someone like it was just another Tuesday? My forehead dripped with sweat, my body paralyzed under the crushing weight of the moment.

"Think about your situation before you waste time worrying about him." His voice sliced through the air, sharp and menacing, like a blade designed to cut through any pretense of safety.

I swallowed hard. Right. My situation. I forced myself to gather the shattered fragments of my courage and meet his eyes—those piercing, frostbitten eyes that seemed to see everything and nothing at once. "I didn't mean to come here. I swear. I saw my friend come here. That's why—"

"You followed your friend?" His voice was too calm, too measured, like he was dissecting every word, peeling back my layers one by one.

"No, I'm..." I exhaled shakily, my thoughts scrambling for an escape, for anything that might make sense. "Yes. I called his name several times, but he didn't hear me."

"I believe I told you not to wander around and stay put, Malyshka." His voice softened, the smooth tone coiling with a mocking edge that sent heat rushing to my face. But beneath it, I felt the simmering anger—a predator barely holding back.

My heart clenched painfully, his words hitting me like a sledgehammer. This man. The man in front of me.

He is my stalker.

My throat dried up, and the breath fled my lungs. The reality crushed me like a vice, twisting my stomach into a brutal knot. I couldn't speak. I couldn't think. I was trapped, suffocating under the weight of this horrifying truth.

I was fucked. Really, really fucked.

"Answer my fucking question, Malyshka." The teasing note vanished from his tone, replaced by a venomous edge that prickled against my skin. His anger was a tangible force, radiating off him, but there was something darker beneath it, something far more dangerous. It chilled me to my core.

"I..." My voice cracked, the words tangling in my throat. Who the hell was this guy? And why the fuck did he have this effect on me? He hadn't even done anything. Yet.

"Don't make me repeat myself." His hand shot out, clamping around my throat with terrifying speed. My heart seized, every nerve in my body screaming. His grip wasn't crushing—just firm enough to remind me how easily he could snap my neck if he felt like it. And for one horrifying moment, I believed he might.

"My... my friend," I choked out, the words barely squeezing past the knot of terror in my throat. "My friend took me here." Tears stung the corners of my eyes as the last of my composure crumbled.

He tilted his head, scrutinizing me like I was some fascinating new prey. His voice dropped, cruel and cutting. "Shall I kill that friend of yours? Maybe then you'll keep your cute little ass at home like I told you to. Right?"

His words pierced me like a dagger, the cold, deliberate malice making it impossible to tell if he was joking—or dead serious.

"Right?" he pressed, his teeth clenched, his patience razor-thin.

Before I could stammer out an answer, his grip tightened. My airflow was abruptly cut off, panic surging through me like a wildfire. My lungs screamed, my hands clawing desperately at his wrist, but he didn't budge. He didn't fucking move.

The look in his eyes told me everything I needed to know. He was in control. Completely. And now, so was I. Under his control.

My back slammed into the cold wall with a dull thud as he pinned me there, his hand unyielding on my throat. I clawed weakly at his fingers, my nails scraping against his skin, but it was pointless. I couldn't beg, couldn't scream. All I managed was a strangled gasp. Was this it? Was he really going to kill me right here, right now?

A sharp voice broke through the suffocating tension, snapping me back to reality.

"Zak, what the hell are you doing out here? Done talking with Rolf? I wrapped up the next shipment arrangements and tightened the sec—"

The words faltered. My head turned toward the voice, vision blurred from lack of oxygen. Zinoviy.

His eyes met mine, but there wasn't an ounce of concern or shock on his face. Instead, his expression hardened, his glare slicing through me with the sharpness of a blade.

"What is she doing here?" he demanded, his tone cold and almost irritated.

Seriously? I was fighting for my life, gasping for air, and this was his reaction? No panic, no effort to pull this psycho off me—just a detached question. I was really going to die today, wasn't I?

To my surprise, the grip on my neck loosened, just enough for me to drag in a desperate, burning breath. The air felt like fire in my lungs as I gasped and wheezed, my chest heaving.

"She said she saw her friend here," He said, his voice calm and detached, but his eyes stayed locked on me. They held me in place, searing me from the inside out. I hated how powerless I felt, how I'd let my stalker dominate me so completely.

"Let her go, Zak." Zinoviy's voice cut through the tension, hesitant but firm. Finally. Three simple fucking words, yet they felt like they took an eternity to come out. But the man standing in front of me? He didn't even flinch. Zin's words might as well have been background noise.

"Zak," Zin repeated, his tone sharper, louder now, like he was trying to break through the ice surrounding his brother.

That man's response was maddeningly slow. A smirk curled his lips—a wicked, mocking thing that made my stomach churn. And then, as if he had all the time in the world, his hand slid from my throat. Not without leaving a trail. His fingers brushed down, deliberate and scorching, tracing over my collarbone and lingering far too long over my breasts. The heat of his touch burned into me like a brand, leaving my knees weak and trembling, my body betraying me in the worst fucking way. My mind screamed at me to run, but I couldn't move.

Zinoviy suddenly yanked me to his side, his grip tight around my arm like he was trying to steady me—or maybe himself. "What the fuck are you doing here, Viv?" he snapped, his voice sharp, edged with frustration.

I opened my mouth, desperate to explain, but the man's voice cut me off, dripping with sarcasm.

"This little rabbit lost her way, I think. Right, Malyshka?" The mocking endearment coiled around me like a chain, tightening with every syllable. "One of our guards tried to hurt her, so I saved her." His smirk deepened, the malice in his eyes gleaming like a predator toying with its prey. "Didn't I do a good job, Zin?"

My stomach twisted violently at his words. Saved me? Was he fucking serious?

Zinoviy's jaw tightened, his teeth grinding audibly. The anger radiating off him was palpable, but it wasn't directed at Zakhar. No, his glare was locked onto me, sharp and questioning.

"You shouldn't be here," he growled, his tone icy. "Why the fuck are you here in the first place?"

"I saw you and... and I... He—He..." My voice broke, my words stumbling out in fractured pieces as my trembling hand pointed toward the man who had me pinned just moments ago.

Before I could finish, Zin snatched my hand and forced it down, his grip firm—almost like even acknowledging my accusation was a mistake, a danger he didn't want to risk.

That man chuckled softly, the sound low and dark, a vibration that sent shivers down my spine.

"That's my older brother. Zakhar." Zin said, his voice clipped, every word a warning. "You've met him before, remember?"

My eyes widened, the weight of his words crashing into me like a fucking freight train. Older brother. Zakhar. That name, that title—it all clicked together in a sickening instant. The Black Serpent's leader.

The monster.

Zin had warned me before, hadn't he? Repeatedly. Stay away from his brother. Don't catch his attention. Avoid him at all costs. And now here I was, standing in front of him—no, trapped in his grasp, unable to escape. And the worst part? This monster, this nightmare, wasn't some random stranger.

He was my stalker.

My heart pounded in my chest, wild and erratic, like it was trying to claw its way out of me. My breaths came in shallow, uneven gasps, the weight of realization suffocating me. Zin's words echoed in my mind, snapping me back to the moment.

"When me and Blake fought," Zin said flatly, his voice cutting through the fog clouding my thoughts.

And just like that, memories hit me like a tidal wave. That evening—This man had grabbed me when I fell. I'd seen him before. Of course, I had. The pieces slid into place, forming a picture I didn't want to see.

But the question that burned brightest, sharp and unforgiving, wouldn't let me go.

How the hell had I drawn the attention of this fucking monster?

Enough to make me his goddamn stalker?