Page 30 of Game Over

My grip tightens on her jaw. Rage courses through my veins, but beneath it runs something else—fear. She thinks this is temporary? Can she leave?

“Ends?” A dark laugh escapes my throat, masking sudden panic. “You think this is some game you can rage quit?” I yank her closer, lips brushing against her ear. “There is no ending,Mischief. No save point. No respawn.”

Her body trembles against mine. Good. She needs to understand.

“You’re mine now. I’ve learned every detail about you and created this world just for us.” My fingers track the column of her throat, feeling her rapid pulse. My voice softens unexpectedly. “Your apartment? Emptied. Your job? Resigned. You don’t exist out there anymore.”

Panic crossesKira’sface. She pushes against my chest, fingers splayed across my shirt. The pressure makes something stir in me—a longing for connection I hadn’t anticipated having.

“That’s impossible. My family will notice I’m missing.Jennawas literally with me at the convention. She’ll know something happened.” Her voice trembles but strengthens. “People will look for me.”

I smile at her naivety, a strange ache forming in my chest. The confidence in her eyes almost makes me feel bad for what I’m about to tell her. Almost.

“Mischief,Mischief,Mischief.” I stroked her hair, enjoying her flinch while wishing she wouldn’t. “You think I didn’t account for that? Your preciousJennareceived a text from your phone explaining you’d met up with an old friend and decided to take an impromptu trip.”

“She wouldn’t believe that. I’d never?—”

“You did mention wanting to be more spontaneous last month during your little wine night.” I run my thumb across her lower lip. “Remember? When you complained about how predictable your life had become?”

“How could you possibly know?—”

“Your mother already received your call explaining that you needed space. Very emotional. Very convincing.” I play a recording of her voice—pieced together from hundreds of hours of footage, manipulated to say exactly what I needed.

She listens, horrified, as her voice explains she’s taking time off from everything, needs to disconnect, and promises to check in occasionally.

“That’s not... You can’t...” Her breathing quickens.

“As for your job? Your manager received your resignation letter two weeks ago. Quite professional.” I lean closer, inhaling her scent. “You even thanked them for the opportunity.”

Tears well in her eyes as recognition flashes in their depths. No doubt her boss was giving her shit ever since she “resigned.” “No one will believe?—”

“They already have.” I brush my knuckles along her collarbone, a strange tenderness creeping into my touch. “Everyone’s happy you’re finally living your best life.”

She tries to pull back, but I hold her firm, unwilling to let go now that I finally have her in my arms.

“The only life you have now is with me. The only pleasure you’ll feel is what I give you.” I brush my thumb across her lower lip again, my voice dropping. “The only air you breathe is what I allow.”

Tears well in her eyes. “You’re insane.”

“No. Obsessed? Maybe.” I slide my hand into her hair, gripping it tight but gentler than planned. “But you created this. Every late-night game. Every TikTok of mine you watched. Every innocent teasing conversation while we gamed. You built this reality, and now you live in it.”

Her chest heaves against mine as panic sets in. She’s learning this isn’t a game—it’s her new forever. Her weight against me feels different from what I imagined—more significant. I hadn’t considered how her actual presence would affect me.

“Now,” I release her hair, exploring her spine. “Should we move on to the next level? Or do you need another reminder of who owns you?”

I stand, liftingKirawith me. Her legs wobble as I set her on her feet, hands gripping her waist. The warmth of her body drives me wild, not just from lust, but something more complex that wasn’t in my programming.

“Time to level up.” I inhale the scent of her hair. “You’ve passed the tutorial. Now we get to the good part.”

I secure her wrists behind her back with a zip tie—not too tight, just enough to remind her who’s in control. Her breath catches as I lead her through a door hidden behind a bookshelf. I prepare to show her the next phase of my plan.

The room beyond stops her as she takes in every detail of my creation. A strange vulnerability washes over me—I’m showing her my obsession laid bare, two long years of meticulous planning exposed.

“Recognize it?” I ask, guiding her forward, suddenly anxious for her approval.

The space is an exact replica of her gaming setup at home, but twisted. It includes her desk, chair, and PC with customized RGB lighting. But surrounding it all are monitors displaying surveillance footage of her apartment, workplace, and coffee shop—years of her life captured and categorized.

“This is where I first knew I had to have you,” I explain, the confession slipping out before I can analyze its strategic value. “Watching you play. Seeing that little furrow between your brows when you concentrate.”

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