Page 108 of Stalker's Toy

It's a candid shot, my expression pensive as I gaze out a cafe window.

I don't remember this moment, but Henrik has preserved it forever.

"What the hell?" I whisper, my voice barely audible in the cavernous room.

My heart pounds as I rifle through the stack, each image searing itself into my mind.

There's me walking down the street, head bowed against the wind.

Me laughing with Larsa outside the university.

Me sitting alone in the park, sketching furiously in my batterednotebook.

Some are clearly taken with a long-range lens, capturing private moments I thought were mine alone.

Others are so intimate they make my skin crawl—me asleep in my own bed, the sheets tangled around my legs.

How did he even get these?

My stomach churns, a mix of revulsion and... something else.

Something I’ve only seen in my bedroom.

A mask.

Not just any mask.

Themask.

"No," I whisper, but the evidence is right there in my hands.

The intricate design, the dark leather, the eyeholes that seem to stare back at me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle.

It's unmistakable—the mask worn by Stalker.

Henrikishim, and he is Henrik…

My mind reels, fragments of memories assaulting me.

The man in my room, his mouth between my legs, sending waves of pleasure through my body.

The rough hands gripping my hips as I was taken from behind.

It was him.

It was Henrik all along.

"How?" I breathe, running my fingers over the mask's surface.

The leather is supple, well-worn.

How many times has he put this on?

How long has he been watching me, hunting me?

I should feel violated, betrayed.

But as I stand there, holding the physical proof of Henrik's deception, I feel something else entirely.

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