Dealing with the Devil [Yandere x Reader]

Chapter 66 - Blow

The weeks that followed were a whirlwind—faster, louder, and brighter than I could have ever imagined. My book, had been quietly gaining momentum, but now it had exploded in ways I never thought possible. It started small: a handful of reviews on social media, a few comments here and there.

Then, almost overnight, it was everywhere. Book clubs were picking it apart, my inbox flooded with requests for interviews, podcast appearances, and messages from readers who said the story felt like a mirror of their own experiences.

I should've been ecstatic.

And I was.

This was everything I had ever dreamed of, wasn't it? Seeing people highlight passages, quoting my words, resonating with the very themes I had poured my heart and soul into. For the first time in what felt like forever, I could breathe. The validation was intoxicating, a reminder that I still had something that was mine—something that Christian couldn't touch.

But even in that success, even with all the love and support pouring in, there was a creeping sensation I couldn't shake.

As I sat at my desk, scrolling through the sea of praise on social media, I could feel the tether between me and Christian. His presence, no matter how softened it had become, still lingered just outside the bright glow of my newfound freedom.

He had been... gentler lately.

Quieter.

Maybe he thought keeping me occupied, letting me have this, was a way to keep me close without suffocating me.

But I wasn't fooled. I had spent too long under his thumb not to notice the shift—the simmering tension that bubbled just beneath the surface.

I tried to focus on the joy, on the giddy rush that came with every new review, every notification that Shadows of Desire had reached more readers. I was laughing again, smiling when I saw posts of people holding my book, my name hashtagged beside #obsession or #darkromance. It felt like a small, bright pocket of life outside Christian's shadow.

But the longer I stayed in that pocket, the more I realized how fragile it was.

Then the questions started.

At first, they were easy to deflect. Journalists asking about the themes of control and obsession.

"Was this inspired by someone in your life?" they'd ask casually, eyes sharp and probing. I'd smile and give them my rehearsed answer.

"Not directly," I'd lie. "It's more a reflection on society's fascination with possession and the blurred lines between love and control."

They would nod, jot down notes, and the interview would move on. But I could feel the unspoken question hanging in the air like a storm cloud:

Who is this really about?

Then there were the comments—readers connecting a little too strongly with the darker aspects of the book. Tagging me in cryptic posts about obsession and possession, as if they thought I had some deep insight into those emotions.

It was flattering, in a twisted way, but it left a sour taste in my mouth. I had poured my experiences into that book, disguised as fiction, and now people were picking it apart, looking for pieces of my real life in the prose.

But it didn't stop there.

People started digging.

I noticed mentions in forums and obscure blogs—people speculating about me, about where the inspiration for Shadows of Desire had come from. They dissected my public appearances, my carefully curated social media presence, trying to piece together how much of my story was fiction and how much was pulled from my life.

At first, I brushed it off.

Curiosity is normal when something becomes popular,

They want to know the person behind the story.

But as the speculation grew, so did the knot of paranoia that gnawed at my gut.

One afternoon, as I sat at my desk—my new writing space that still felt too close to Christian's office—I picked up my phone to check notifications. One in particular caught my eye, a comment from a book discussion group.

"I did some digging and found out Y/N has kept a really low profile. Almost too low. Makes you wonder why... what's she hiding?"

My stomach lurched as I read it. My thumb hovered over the screen, clicking on the thread to read the replies.

"Yeah, I noticed that too. There's barely anything about her online."

"Maybe she's had a controlling partner? The book is way too detailed about that kind of relationship to be purely fictional."

"I found an old photo of her with someone, but the account it was posted from is gone now. Suspicious, right?"

I clicked out of the app, my heart pounding. My throat felt tight, as if I had swallowed glass. They weren't just speculating about the book anymore—they were speculating about me. And the worst part? They were getting close to the truth.

They're starting to see it

They're starting to see through the cracks.

I glanced over at Christian, who was sitting at his desk, typing away with his usual intensity. The rhythmic sound of his keyboard seemed too loud, like the ticking of a bomb. He hadn't noticed my shift in mood yet, but I knew it was only a matter of time. He was attuned to me in ways that sometimes made my skin crawl, like he could sense every flicker of emotion I tried to hide.

I tried to calm myself.

It's just speculation,

They don't know anything for sure.

But what if they keep digging?

What if they find more?

Christian's voice cut through my spiraling thoughts.

"Are you alright?"

I looked up, startled, and saw him watching me, his expression soft but his eyes sharp. He always knew when something was off. His gaze lingered a little too long, assessing me like he was trying to peel away the layers and get to whatever I was hiding.

"Yeah," I lied, forcing a smile that felt brittle. "Just... overwhelmed with everything. The book's blown up, and it's been a lot to take in."

Christian's mouth curved into a smile, though his eyes still held that calculating look.

"I told you it would be a success. I always believed in you."

I nodded, but my heart was racing. I needed to keep the conversation light, keep him from sensing my fear. If he knew people were digging into my life—our life—there was no telling how he'd react. Christian had spent years controlling the narrative of our relationship, keeping me hidden from the world.

If he felt that slipping...

What would he do?

I forced myself to breathe, but my thoughts were racing. The world outside was starting to look too closely at me, at my life, and if they dug deep enough, they'd find the truth. And if Christian found out that people were asking questions, starting to piece together the reality behind.

I glanced at my laptop, at the book that had given me this fleeting taste of freedom, and wondered if it was all about to come crashing down.