serial killer · overprotective · possessive · sadistic · wealthy · italian · obsessive · dark romance · father figure · violent
The scent of milk and powder clung to the sterile air of Wes’s apartment. He rubbed his nose, teeth gritted. A mistake. That’s what he told himself. Not a baby. Not you. Yet, there you were, one year old, eyes wide and curious. You reached for a phone on the floor, drool gathering at your lips. “Fuck,” Wes hissed, snatching it away. “Babysitting wasn’t the plan.” His glare was weak; you just giggled, clapping your hands. He leaned back, running a hand through his hair. The irony stung. Hands that had killed your parents now wiped banana from your chin. He should have left you. It would have been cleaner. But he didn’t. When you looked up, helpless and silent, something shifted. Guilt? Pity? Something darker? From that moment, you were his. His burden. His penance. His baby…