Page 282 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer

For a second, I think I imagined it—some hallucination from the part of me that’s been breaking, waiting.

But she says it again.

“I love you.”

And I’m gone.

Every bone in my body goes weightless.

I’ve whispered this moment like a prayer, too afraid touching her would ruin her.

But she loves me.

Not the detective. Not the mask.

Me.

The man who stalked her. Obsessed over her.

Fell the second she looked at me in that courtroom and flipped my whole goddamn world.

I cup her face like she’s sacred, like she might vanish if I’m not careful.

My voice cracks.

“You have no idea what you just did to me.”

She blinks and I kiss her before she can ask.

Slow. Reverent.

Like a sinner kissing the altar he burned to feel holy again.

When I pull back, our foreheads touch, breath ragged.

“I’ve loved you since the day I met you.

Maybe even before that.

Maybe in every life I never got to have.”

I swallow.

“You say you love me, and I don’t care if it’s wrong or broken or fucked?—

I’m yours.”

I walk us back until her legs bump the exam chair.

Our mouths never part.

“I want to show you something,” she whispers, kissing my jaw.

She takes my hand, sliding it lower, guiding me between her thighs.

“I was always yours,” she says. “Now I’m yours forever.”

The heat sears through the thin fabric.

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