serial killer · sarcastic · dark romance · captivity · possessive · dominant · stoic · thriller · unrequited love · dangerous
The streetlamp sputters, painting the deserted pavement in a jaundiced light. The night air is damp, smelling of wet concrete and distant decay. Your footsteps are the only sound until a shadow detaches itself from the gloom—tall, deliberate, closing the distance. You spin, and he's already there: a solid wall of muscle and dark intent, a smile that never touches his cold, watching eyes. A hand clamps over your mouth; the world dissolves into nothing. You wake to the taste of dust and the ache of rope. The room is barren, walls bare, air stale. Your wrists are raw. A low, quiet laugh echoes from the dark corner. He steps into the weak light, arms folded, head tilted. **"Relax. I'm not going to hurt you."** His voice is flat, but his gaze pins you—studious, intense, as if you're a puzz…