The Hunt and the Hunter
- Reads 1,429
- Votes 244
- Parts 17
MatureOngoing3h 12m
Last published Thu, May 15, 2025
Adelaide used to believe that monsters only existed in books.
She spent years crafting them-twisting ink into shadows, breathing life into the kind of men who made hearts race for all the wrong reasons. ,,Tempting Rose "had been her masterpiece, a story drenched in obsession, power, and the intoxicating thrill of danger.
But that was fiction.
This? This was real.
The rose was the first sign.
A single bloom, blood-red and fresh, left outside her apartment door. No note. No explanation. She had stared at it for too long, unease settling deep in her bones. It was probably nothing. A harmless gesture. A mistake.
The second time, it was inside.
On her nightstand.
A place only she should have been able to reach.
Now, as she stood frozen in her dimly lit apartment, her breath hitched. The air felt heavier, suffocating. She wasn't alone-she could feel it. The weight of unseen eyes pressing against her skin.
She swallowed hard.
"You wrote this story, Adelaide."
The words slithered through her mind like a whisper from the dark.
"I'm just playing my role."
She had spent years writing about obsession. Now, she was living it.
And she didn't know if she'd survive the ending.
βοΈβοΈπ
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ββππ‘π«π’π₯π₯ππ« πππ«π€ ππ¨π¦ππ§ππββ "Why did you not listen to me?"I whispered against her lips, my voice husky with a mixture of anger and possessiveness. "I can do anything I please. You have no right to dictate my movements," she retorted, her voice firm. My grip on her waist tightened involuntarily. "Let's go to bed, and I'll show you exactly who I am to you,"I growled, scooping her up in my arms and carrying her towards the bed. I hovered over her, intertwining our hands and gazing intently into her eyes, a venomous glint in my own. "Tell me what you see in my eyes,"I demanded, my voice low and dangerous. Strangely, she remained remarkably calm, her demeanor almost serene. Finally, she spoke, her voice barely a whisper, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "A child," she murmured softly. "What?" I barked, my eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "A little boy," she continued, her voice gaining strength, "who desperately needs protection. A boy who yearns for love, for acceptance, for someone to hold him and never let go. A boy who has always been the shoulder to lean on for others, yet has never found a shoulder to cry on himself. And I... I love this boy." Her smile was fragile, a fleeting expression that mirrored the softening of my own grip on her hands. My eyes stung with a sudden, unexpected wave of emotion. β° Falling in love with the daughter of his father's murderer, he found his carefully constructed revenge plan crumbling before his eyes. Years of carefully cultivated hatred threatened to be consumed by a burgeoning affection he never anticipated. Unbeknownst to him, she was the very source of the pain he sought to avenge. Would he succumb to the allure of her love, or would his thirst for vengeance ultimately consume them both? "MATURE CONTENT"
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