His Hunger, My Undoing
She felt his gaze before she saw him, a shadow in the dark—consuming her, worshipping her, bound to her in obsession.
The house was too quiet. Not the soft hush of peace, but the weighted silence that pressed into the walls, thick with tension. The kind that makes you aware of your own breathing, the drum of your pulse. Shadows from the trees outside swayed across the windows like dark fingers. A cool night breeze slipped through the half-open curtains, carrying the faint tang of rain-soaked wood and the sweet trace of her perfume—jasmin...