Page 6 of The Library

The sound of the shower turning off pulls me from my thoughts. I step back, slipping into the shadows just as the bathroom door creaks open. She steps out, wrapped in a towel, her dark hair damp and clinging to her skin. My eyes trace the curves of her body, the way the towel hugs her hips, barely covering her.

She drops the towel, and my cock hardens at the sight of her naked skin. She’s perfect. Petite, delicate, her body built to be owned, to be taken. I watch as she pulls on that oversizedsweatshirt and panties, her movements slow and languid, completely unaware of the danger lurking in her own home.

She walks over to the window, pausing as she notices only a Mustang sitting in the parking lot. She stares for a moment, her lips parting in confusion, her hand reaching up to close the curtain.

Good girl.

But it’s too late. I’m already inside.

I watch as she moves to her bed, throwing her books onto the mattress before crawling under the covers. She’s restless, her mind still buzzing from the encounter at the bookstore, from the weight of my gaze, from the danger she can’t quite place. Her phone goes off, another text from Anna. I’m really starting to not like her, she’s always trying to take Lilith out to find guys to “have fun” with. Little does she know, any man who lays a hand on her will fucking lose that hand. No one touches what’s mine.

She’s wet. I can see it in the way she shifts under the covers, her thighs pressing together, her breath coming out in soft, uneven gasps. The fear excites her, even if she doesn’t want to admit it. The thought of me—the unknown, the danger—it turns her on.

I can see it all over her.

I step back into the shadows, my eyes never leaving her as she starts to get ready to go out. It’s going to be a long night. She thinks she’s safe now. She thinks the darkness has passed.

But it hasn’t.

It’s only just begun.

Lilith

Imake it back to my apartment in record time, slamming the door behind me and locking it immediately. My chest is heaving, breath ragged, not from running but from the way he made me feel—the way his eyes seemed to peel back layers of me that no one had ever seen. He followed me like a shadow that didn’t belong, and now the memory clings to me, refusing to let go.

I lean against the door, the cool wood pressing against my back, grounding me for a moment. But my hands… they won’t stop shaking.

“Get it together,” I mutter, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath. He wasn’t following me. He was just… there. A coincidence, right? But it didn’t feel like one. The weight of his gaze at the library, the way it clung to me, still haunts every thought. His presence was suffocating in the best way—magnetic, dangerous. And then, that car outside my apartment the other night… It couldn’t be him. Could it?

I push off the door and walk across the room, feeling the stillness of my apartment wrap around me. It’s supposed to be safe here, controlled. But everything feels different now. Off. I head to the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it with water, though my throat is too tight to drink.

A shower is exactly what I need to chill the fuck out. I’d much rather take my time, let the hot water wash away thetension clinging to my skin, but Anna’s text earlier was the start of a conversation I know will end with her insisting I come out tonight.

After I step out of the shower that did nothing to ease the tension knotting in my muscles, I glance out the window, half-expecting to see that black Aston Martin idling in the parking lot again. But the street is empty. No sign of him. No sign of danger. Except for the lingering fear gnawing at the edges of my mind.

“Stop it, Lily. You’re imagining things.”

But no matter how much I try to convince myself, the feeling sticks. It’s deeper than fear—it’s a constant, low hum of awareness. I feel watched. Followed. Hunted. It’s like a devilish ghost has claimed me, attached itself to my very soul, and I know I’ll never be able to break free.

Just as I’ve gotten into my comfy clothes and settled on the bed with a few books, my phone buzzes again, dragging me back from my spiraling thoughts. Anna, of course. She’s texting to see if I’m up for going out tonight, claiming we need to ‘blow off some steam.’ I almost laugh at her timing. I knew this was coming. Going out is the last thing I feel like doing. But sitting here, wrapped in paranoia, isn’t exactly better.

I start typing, my fingers hovering over the keys, ready to decline. But then, I pause. Maybe going out is exactly what I need. A distraction. Anything to get out of this head space. Maybe if I surround myself with noise, with people, I can drown out this strange obsession with him. With the way he looked at me, like he saw every dark secret I’ve buried.

I erase the message and type again:

Fine. 9?

Later that evening, I’m standing in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection with growing frustration. I’ve already gone through three outfits, none of which feel right. Too exposed. Too plain. Too much. Finally, I settle on a simple blackdress—it’s comfortable enough, nothing overtly sexy. But as I tug at the hem, I can’t shake the feeling that tonight is different. That something is shifting inside me, waiting to surface.

The weight of his gaze is still there, lingering in my mind like a bruise. Mismatched eyes, sharp and penetrating. How could one encounter leave me so… raw? So unsettled? I try to push the thought away, but as I pull on my jacket and glance one last time in the mirror, a shiver runs down my spine.

I don’t want to admit it, but part of me liked the fear. That dark, hidden part of me craves more. More of the unknown. More of the danger.

My phone buzzes again—Anna’s already at the bar.

“Of course you are,” I mutter with a smile. Anna is always early, eager to dive into the chaos of the night, the drinks, the noise. Me? I’ve always been the quiet one. But tonight, something stirs inside me. A craving for something reckless. Something I can’t quite name.

I grab my purse and head out the door, my hand lingering on the lock as I turn the key. The stillness of my apartment feels like a cage, and for once, I’m desperate to escape. Before I walked out, I glanced back at the window—closed this time, the curtains drawn tightly shut. No more careless openings. But even with everything sealed off, I can’t shake the feeling that he’s still watching. Somewhere. Waiting.

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