Page 130 of Stalker's Toy

Henrik's arm snakes around my waist, pulling me closer to his side.

The possessive gesture sends a thrill down my spine.

"No need to worry about that, old friend," Henrik replies, his voice smooth as silk but with an edge of steel beneath. "Mia is set to be the future Mrs. Lindberg. No one will be scooping her up."

My heart stutters in my chest.

Future Mrs. Lindberg?

I struggle to keep my face neutral, even as my mind races.

When did this become a plan?

Why am I both terrified and exhilarated by the prospect?

Charles's eyebrows rise slightly, but his smile never wavers. "Well then, congratulations are in order. You two make quite the striking pair." He nods to us both before turning away, melting back into the crowd of art enthusiasts and socialites.

As soon as he's out of earshot, I turn to Henrik, my eyes wide.

"Are you serious?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

Henrik's icy blue eyes lock onto mine, a wicked gleam sparking in their depths.

He throws his head back and cackles, the sound both thrilling and unnerving.

"When have you known me not to be serious?" he purrs.

My breath catches as Henrik reaches into his pocket, his long, elegant fingers emerging with something small and glinting.

Before I can fully process what's happening, he's sliding a ring onto my finger.

I gasp, staring down at the piece of jewelry now adorning my hand.

It's exquisite—a coffin-cut black diamond set in blackened gold, the Victorian-style setting intricate and hauntingly beautiful.

It's exactly my style, as if he'd plucked the design straight from my deepest desires.

"Henrik," I breathe, unable to tear my eyes away from the ring. "It's... it's perfect."

A mix of emotions swirls within me—awe, excitement, and a hint of trepidation.

This is all happening so fast, and yet... isn't this what I've wanted?

To be bound to Henrik, to his dark and captivating world?

I look up at him, searching his face.

"Are you going to ask me?" I whisper,half-expecting him to drop to one knee right here in the middle of my gallery opening.

Henrik's expression shifts, becoming intense and almost predatory.

He leans in close, his breath hot against my ear as he speaks.

"No, I'm not," he growls, his voice low and commanding. "You belong to me,Nattblomma, and only me."

A shiver runs through my body at his words.

There's no question in his tone, no room for argument.

---