Page 224 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer

Christ, that’s a fucking understatement.

I lean back in my chair, stretch my legs out, arms crossing like I’m relaxed—like I’m not one wrong answer from punching through the drywall.

"Is it serious?" I ask, letting the question hang like smoke.

She shifts in her chair, still pretending to organize files that don’t need organizing.

"You exclusive? Or dating around?"

Her heart’s racing—I see it in the flutter at her neck, in the way her hand trembles before she tucks it under the table.

"Why?" she asks, trying to laugh it off like I haven’t already stripped her bare.

I shrug, flash a crooked, careless smile.

Because I want to know if I have a snowball’s chance in hell with you.

"Just curious about my partner’s availability," I say. "For late-night surveillance. You know—the standard."

“Oh,nowwe’re partners?” Her lips twitch like she doesn’t know whether to laugh or strangle me with the nearest phone cord.

I can’t deny it—I like it.

I want her tangled up. Just like I am.

She draws a breath, gathers whatever scraps of courage she has left, and says quietly,

"There is one guy. But… I could never date him."

Every muscle in my body locks.

I school my face into neutrality. Inside, something fucking ruptures.

"Why not?"

She doesn’t look at me. Just stares at the table, voice small but certain.

"Because we work together."

The words hit harder than any punch I’ve ever taken.

For a second, everything inside me goes sharp and cold.

And like the idiot I am, my mind flashes to Graham.

The smug bastard who's asked her out twice—both times in front of me. She didn’t say yes. But she didn’t say no either.

Was it because I was there?

Because deep down, he's the kind of man she thinks she should want?

Polished. Shiny on the outside, rotting underneath.

Not the man who’s been stalking her.

Not the man who kissed her like he needed her to breathe.

No—someone easy. Safe. Someone who wouldn’t even know what to do with her if he had her.

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