Paint me as a VILLIAN !

CHAPTER 3

Author pov

A hush fell over the cozy café as he approached her table, his voice barely above a whisper, "I have something to tell you."

Her heart pounded in her chest, her mind racing with possibilities. Had he finally noticed her, the quiet writer who spent countless hours crafting stories in the corner booth? Was he about to share a personal revelation, a glimpse into the soul of the man she had come to admire from afar?

He paused, his eyes searching hers, and then the words tumbled out, "I'm a villain."

Her breath caught in her throat. A villain?

"I know it sounds crazy," he continued, his voice trembling with emotion, "but it's true. I've done things that would make your skin crawl.

"This means you were lying to me the whole time", She said.
"I wanted to tell you but I was afraid you would run away from me,"he said.

She stared at him, She wanted to disbelieve him, to dismiss his words as a desperate attempt to gain her attention, but something in his eyes, a flicker of vulnerability and regret, told her he was speaking the truth.

"I don't understand," she finally managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper. "Why would you do such things?"

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's complicated," he said, "but the bottom line is, I made some bad choices in the past. Choices that I regret every day."

She studied his face, searching for any sign of deception, but saw only sincerity and remorse. She couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for him.

"I have something more to say", he said,
she humm in response , looking at her hands.

Muse finder

"Stella," he murmured, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down my spine.

I love you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. my eyes widened in surprise.

"I fell in love with you at first sight," he continued. "I knew there was something special about you, something that I had never experienced before."

I recoiled, my heart pounding in my chest. Zayn's obsession with me had been a source of constant anxiety, his presence a looming threat to my peace of mind.

"Zayn," I stammered, trying to maintain a calm façade, "I appreciate your honesty, but I cannot reciprocate your feelings."

His eyes narrowed, his expression hardening into a mask of possessiveness. "But you will," he declared, his voice laced with a dangerous undercurrent. "I will make you mine, Stella."

Fear gripped me, his words echoing the nightmares that had plagued me for weeks. Zayn's possessiveness was terrifying, his determination to control me sending a wave of panic through my veins.

I tried to reason with him, to explain that my past experiences had left me unable to trust easily, unable to open myself up to someone who might hurt me. But my words fell on deaf ears, his resolve unwavering.

"Your past is irrelevant," he insisted, his voice rising with a hint of menace. "I will erase your fears, Stella. I will make you forget the pain of your past and embrace the future that I have in store for us."

His words sent a chill down my spine. His possessiveness was not just a desire for love, it was a thirst for control, a need to dominate. He saw me not as an individual, but as a possession to be acquired, a captive to be held at his mercy.