Page 14 of Stalker's Toy

"We'll talk soon," I say, then end the call before she can answer.

The idea of forcingherto submit is enticing.

MiaLindberg.

It has a sinister elegance.

I let the thought unravel itself, enjoying the way it ties her to me in impossible knots.

Mother would despise it, the girl with the scars and the dark past, but that only adds to the appeal.

Mia Lindberg.

A name with its own gravitational pull, and the more I think about it, the more I like it.

The conversation with my mother circles in my mind, each of her expectations making my real desires sharper.

She wants a wife for me like she wants a gallery space–all beauty and no risk.

I want Mia because she's exactly the opposite.

A child is something I've never considered, not in any serious way.

But the image of Mia pregnant with my heir is both shocking and perfect.

I picture her body changing, all those silvery scars stretching across her skin, her green eyes fierce with the knowledge that she's mine in ways she can't deny.

It's the ultimate control, the ultimate connection.

I imagine telling Tilde, watching the horror spread across her face.

It's almost as thrilling as the thought itself.

Mia's trauma makes her perfect for me.

She's survived things that would break most people, just like I have.

My fire, her fire.

Everything she is, everything she could be, aligns too beautifully for chance.

I picture her in my house, in my bed, her guard slowly dropping as I weave her into my world.

She's different from every woman who's come before, because she's never going to leave.

That's not how this story ends.

It's not how any of this ends.

I almost laugh at the audacity of my plans, but I keep it all tightly controlled, savoring the taste of rebellion as it mixes with obsession.

This is more than defiance; it's inevitability.

I think of Mia, everything I want her to be.

It's only a matter of time until she realizes it, too.

The walk down to the elevator takes an eternity.

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