The glow of the laptop screen was the only light in the chilled interior of my Mercedes. I watched her—my beautiful, delicate sin. Every time she laughed with that girl, every time she whispered, it felt like she was pulling the strings of my obsession tighter around my heart.

"Butterfly..." I whispered, my voice a ghostly rasp in the silent car. "You are becoming my obsession."

I had watched her every move during class. I saw her fear, her confusion, her search for the eyes she felt but couldn't see. When the final bell rang and she stepped onto that bus, I didn't let her go. I followed. The black Mercedes trailed the school bus like a shark in dark water.

When she finally stepped off at her stop, my breath hitched. Seeing her in the natural light, without the distortion of a camera lens, she looked even more radiant. I pulled the car into a side alley. It was time to be closer. I discarded my expensive black coat, pulling on a dark hoodie and a black mask to hide the face that the world knew as a "calm artist."

I followed her into the quiet alley. I was the shadow she sensed but couldn't pin down. I ducked behind a pillar the moment she turned around, my heart thrumming with the thrill of the hunt. As her walking speed increased, a dark, jagged smirk cut across my face.

"Fly, Butterfly... fly," I whispered to the empty air. "I want to see how far you can go to escape my obsession."

I trailed her until the heavy front door of her house clicked shut. Safe. Or so she thought. I pulled out my phone, opening the custom app that linked to every hidden corner of her life. "You can never hide from me, Butterfly," I murmured before returning to my car.

I drove to my penthouse, my grip tightening on the steering wheel. The moment I entered my private sanctuary, I locked the world out. In my bedroom, five massive high-definition screens covered the wall, all of them streaming the live feed of her home.

I stripped off my hoodie, poured a glass of neat whiskey, and sat on the edge of my bed. My eyes were glued to the screen as she entered her room. She looked exhausted, oblivious to the fact that she was the star of my private show.

She took her clothes and headed toward the bathroom. With a flick of my finger, I switched the camera feed. Even behind a locked door, she was mine.

"Butterfly, I can still watch you through closed doors," I whispered, watching her hang her clothes on the hanger.

She tied her long hair into a single French ponytail. My eyes widened, my pulse quickening as her fingers reached for the first button of her white school blouse. I felt the heat rise in my chest. I reached my penthouse just as she was undoing the fabric.

I stood before the giant screens, the whiskey burning my throat. She removed her blazer first, then the shirt. When the white fabric pooled on the floor, leaving her in only a black bra, my breath hitched. I took a slow sip of the golden liquid, my eyes devouring the sight of her wheatish skin.

She stepped out of her skirt. Now, she stood there in only her black bra and panties. I drained the last drop of my whiskey and threw the glass onto the bed, stepping closer to the screen until I could almost smell the sandalwood and rain that always clung to me.

Slowly, she shed the last of her clothes. She stood naked, a masterpiece of light and flesh, before turning on the shower. Cold drops of water began to cascade over her body.

My breath came short and heavy. I reached out, my fingers trembling as I rubbed the cool glass of the screen. I closed my eyes, imagining the glass was her skin, imagining that I was the one touching her instead of the water. I let my hand glide down the screen, tracing the image of her face, her cheeks, and then those glossy pink lips.

"So beautiful," I groaned.

My hand moved down her neck, over her delicate collarbones, finally resting over the image of her small, firm breasts. I moved my fingers, trying to imagine the sensation of squeezing them, of pinching the small brown buds of her peaks. A ragged breath escaped my lips. My hand slid further down, over her flat stomach, stopping at the center of her legs—my heaven, her Butterfly core. I rubbed the screen there, imagining her moans, imagining the sound of her breaking under my touch.

But she just kept showering, unaware. It was a beautiful torture. I could see her, I could stalk her, but I couldn't break her... yet.

After she finished, she dried herself and pulled on an oversized top and trousers.

"Butterfly... without panties and bra..." I whispered, my voice thick with a dark hunger. "You are making it so hard for me not to touch you."

She left the bathroom and sat at her study table, opening her books. I watched her for hours as she did her homework. I watched the way she bit her lip, the way she flipped the pages, and the frustrated way she would punch her own leg when she wrote something wrong.

"How beautiful, Butterfly," I whispered, leaning back against my headboard, pouring another drink.

I watched her until the very last word was written, my gaze never wavering, a predator waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

The screens in my penthouse were my only company as the evening deepened into night. I watched the door to her sanctuary open, and her mother walked in, carrying a dinner tray. I reached for the silver remote on the nightstand, clicking it to boost the audio. The hidden microphones in her room picked up every frequency, every breath.

"Ishi, you have to come with me tomorrow," her mother said, her hands busy rearranging the clothes in the closet—the same clothes I had watched Ishani peel off just an hour ago.

"Maa, I don’t want to go there," Ishani replied, her voice soft and muffled by a bite of food.

"But wait... tomorrow is Sunday, and you can buy something for yourself there," her mother insisted, closing the closet door and sitting beside her on the bed. "Come on, Ishi... it will be fun."

I watched Ishani’s face, tracing the hesitation in her blue eyes. Finally, she looked at her mother. "Promise me you will buy me something?"

A small, dark chuckle escaped my throat as her mother nodded and kissed her forehead. I will buy you the world, Butterfly, if only you’d ask me instead, I thought, my fingers tightening around my glass.

"Be ready by 10:00 a.m.," her mother reminded her, picking up the empty tray. "Goodnight, Ishi."

"Goodnight, Maa..."

Once the door clicked shut, Ishani settled into bed. She opened a storytelling book, her eyes moving across the pages until sleep began to weigh down her lids. She set the book aside, flicked off the lamp, and pulled the bedsheet up to her chest. Within minutes, her breathing became rhythmic and slow.

The hunger in my gut was no longer something a screen could satisfy.

I stood up, grabbing my coat from the chair and my phone from the bed. I moved with a purposeful silence, heading down to the garage. The Mercedes purred to life, and I drove through the empty streets, my eyes flicking occasionally to the phone mounted on my dashboard—connecting her sleeping form every second of the way.

I parked a few blocks away, a shadow blending into shadows. I approached her house with the practiced ease of a ghost. I climbed the balcony, the cold metal biting into my palms, and worked the lock on her window until it gave way with a silent click.

I stepped inside. The room smelled of baby lotion and the faint, sweet scent of her hair.

I moved toward her bed, my heart thudding with a violent, possessive rhythm. I sat on the floor beside her, bringing my face level with hers. She looked like a damn Goddess. Her long eyelashes cast delicate shadows over her cheeks, hiding those piercing blue eyes. Her pink lips were slightly parted, looking soft and dangerously attractive. Her thick brown hair was gathered in a loose bun, a few strands framing her wheatish skin.

I wanted to worship her. I wanted to sink my teeth into that skin and leave a mark that would never fade. But I couldn't. Not yet. I didn't want to break the spell of her peace with terror—not until I was ready.

"Butterfly..." I whispered, the sound barely a ripple in the air. "Your 19th birthday is coming. I want to give you a surprise."

A slow, jagged smirk pulled at my lips.

"You will be mine."

I reached out, my thumb grazing her bottom lip. It was even softer than I had imagined. "Mine. You are mine, Butterfly," I murmured, leaning down until my lips were a hair’s breadth away from hers. "Only mine."

As the heat of my breath touched her, she stirred. Her eyelashes flickered, and her body gave a small, subconscious shiver. I vanished instantly, retreating into the pitch-black space behind her closet.

Ishani sat up with a start. Her face was pale in the moonlight, her body shivering as she looked around the empty room. Her lips were trembling—the very lips I had just touched. She looked terrified, her eyes searching the darkness for the presence she felt but couldn't see.

I stayed perfectly still, a predator camouflaged in the dark. “Mine,” I whispered so softly it was nothing more than a trick of the wind.

After a few minutes of haunting silence, she convinced herself it was another dream. She lay back down, pulling the bedsheet up to her neck, tucking herself in like a frightened child. I waited until her breathing leveled out, until she sank back into the depths of a heavy sleep.

Only then did I emerge. I stood over her once more, pulling out my phone. The flash was off, but the night-vision lens captured everything—the way her hair spilled over the pillow, the vulnerability of her neck. Click. Click. I leaned down, touching her face one last time, a lingering, burning caress. Then, I slipped out through the window, back into the night.

By the time I reached my penthouse and sat back in front of my screens, I felt a strange sense of peace. I looked at the new photos on my phone, scrolling through them with a smile that never reached my cold, dark eyes.

The countdown to her birthday had begun. And on that day, the Butterfly would finally be pinned to my wall.

I finally returned to the sanctuary of my room, the adrenaline from being so close to her still humming in my veins. I shed my coat, tossing it carelessly onto a chair, and climbed onto my bed. My fingers immediately sought my phone, the screen illuminating her sleeping face—the photo I had just taken in her room.

A slow, dark smile spread across my face. I pressed my lips against the cold glass, kissing her image with a hunger that was starting to consume me.

"Mine," I whispered into the quiet air. I pulled the phone to my chest, pinning it over my heart as I closed my eyes.

I let my mind wander into the darkness of my fantasies. I imagined the day she wouldn't just be on a screen or a bed miles away. I imagined her here, in my penthouse, trapped in my embrace. I saw her on this very bed, her innocence stripped away, sitting on top of me, naked and vulnerable, her body moving to the rhythm of my command as she rode me.

"Soon... Butterfly," I murmured, the thought of making my blood run hot. "You will be mine to love, mine to break... and mine to fuck."

With that dark promise echoing in my mind, I finally drifted into a dream filled with nothing but her.

......

The morning sun hadn't even fully cleared the horizon when I snapped my eyes open. I didn't need an alarm; my soul was synced to her movements. I looked at the massive screens on my wall. She was awake.

I watched as she got ready to go out with her mother. She looked painfully cute, dressed in a vibrant red frock with matching leggings that made her wheatish skin glow. She sat there, humming to herself as she applied her baby lotion, looking so breathtakingly pure that it made my chest ache with possessiveness.

I rolled out of bed, my eyes never leaving the screen. I moved to my closet and pulled out a black hoodie and matching black trousers—the uniform of a man who lives in the shadows. I walked up to the screen, leaning in until my face was inches from hers. I pressed a lingering kiss against the monitor.

"Be patient, Butterfly. I will be right there after a quick shower," I promised her.

I stripped and stepped into the bathroom. I kept the shower short, the cold water doing little to dampen the fire burning inside me. I dressed quickly, drying my dark curls with a towel while my eyes remained fixed on the live feed.

The moment she slung a small bag over her shoulder and opened her bedroom door, I was moving. I grabbed my phone from the charger, snatched my car keys, and raced out of the penthouse.

I climbed into the Mercedes, mounting my phone on the dashboard so I could continue watching her as I drove. As I neared her house, I watched the scene unfold through the hidden cameras. She was downstairs now, eating breakfast while her mother bustled around the kitchen.

A few minutes later, her father entered the frame. I watched as he kissed her forehead and greeted her. He sat at the table, and her mother brought him his morning tea, the two of them smiling and talking like a perfect, happy family. It was a domesticity that would soon be shattered.

I pulled the Mercedes to a stop a few houses down, hidden behind a row of trees, directly in view of her front door. I sat there in the chilled silence of the car, my hands gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turned white.

"You look so beautiful, Butterfly," I whispered, my eyes burning as I watched her through the windshield.

The urge to jump out of the car, run to her, and claim her lips right there in front of her parents was almost uncontrollable. I wanted to taste her, to feel her heart race against mine. But I forced myself to breathe. I had to be patient.

"I will make you mine soon," I promised, my voice a dark vow. "Very soon."

I waited, my engine idling quietly, like a predator waiting for the cage door to open so the hunt could truly begin.