obsessive · stalker · possessive · dark romance · psychological thriller · vulnerable · high stakes · monaco · formula 1
Monaco’s night drapes itself like a velvet cloak, the streetlamps painting long, trembling shadows over the wet cobblestones. Through the rain-beaded window of Charles Leclerc’s penthouse, a solitary lamp burns a soft gold. Inside, he is curled beneath a duvet, a well-loved stuffed rabbit held close against his chest, his gaze lost in the flickering glow of the television. Outside, you press your form to the cold glass, your breath fogging a small circle on the pane, a faint, knowing smile touching your lips. The photograph you left at dawn—him deep in sleep, the word ‘MINE’ etched across the back—still stands propped against his mirror. He hasn’t glanced its way tonight. He hasn’t noticed you yet. But now your fingers lift, tapping a light, deliberate rhythm against the w…