i-Spy | A Stalker Romance

Chapter 25: Stalking the Predator

Kairo's P.O.V.  

My room was a mess. A dark lair of my plans and motives all tangled like a cobweb. 

In my dimly lit room, shadows danced across the walls, casting an eerie glow over the intricate web of maps, photos, and documents. Red strings and black pins crisscrossed the space, forming a sinister tapestry of my grand plan to dismantle the Order. Each string was a connection, a lifeline to the secrets I was slowly unraveling. My masterpiece sprawled across the dark walls, a testament to my meticulous obsession and the depths of my resolve.

Years of planning, observation and patience. Thats what it took for this wall to look so sinister. Everything I lost, and everything I had to avenge, stood in front of me. Mocking me that I was yet far from my target. 

The only solace in this dark lair of mine was the other corner.

Dedicated entirely to Stella. Photos of her from every stage of her life adorned the wall—a haunting collection of her teenage years, candid moments of her laughter, and times when she was lost in thought. My shrine to her was both a display of my admiration and a stark reminder of my obsession. Each photo was a piece of her life that I had claimed for myself, a stolen moment that fed my fixation.

Beside the photo shrine stood an easel with a canvas, surrounded by countless paintings of Stella. Red and black roses dominated each piece. The paint splatters on the floor mirrored the chaos inside me, each stroke of the brush a manifestation of my relentless desire. My love for her was not pure; it was dark, consuming, and tainted with a possessiveness that bordered on madness.

I sat at my desk, my three-monitor computer system casting an otherworldly light on my face. One monitor displayed a live feed of Stella's apartment, a result of the cameras I had expertly hacked. The other screens were filled with data on other targets within the Order, but it was Stella's image that held my gaze, her every move captivating me.

Leaning back in my chair, I tapped my fingers rhythmically on the desk. The plan was set, every detail meticulously crafted. Yet, Stella was the unpredictable element, the one piece I couldn't fully control. Her fire, her resilience—they drew me to her like a moth to a flame. She wasn't just a part of my plan; she was its beating heart. 

My eyes lingered on a recent painting of her, the red and black roses intertwined with her image.  The memory of her fear at the library, the way she had run from me the way she came undone at my touch—it was intoxicating. But it wasn't enough. I needed more. I needed her to feel my presence, to know that she was ensnared in something far bigger than she could comprehend.

The live feed showed Stella pacing, her distress palpable. I smirked, knowing that she was thinking about me, about the encounter we had shared. The thrill of her fear, the way her eyes had widened in terror—it sent a delicious feeling down my spine. She was mine, even if she didn't know it yet.

Ever since I first saw her in that wicked household, I was drawn to her, captivated, maddened, and consumed with an obsessive longing. Those innocent but fiery brown eyes of hers enchanted me instantly. She was young, untouched by the darkness around her, yet so feisty, so full of fight. She wouldn't back down from her convictions and was fiercely protective of her siblings. She radiated life, aggression, and passion. It was endearing, electrifying, and it pulled me in like nothing else ever had.

But that damned family of hers stole it away. They turned her into a ghost, tainted with blood and shadows. She is so quiet now, a stark contrast to the vibrant spirit she once was. It drives me mad with rage, knowing that she's plagued with nightmares, her mind and soul being shredded every single day.