CHAPTER 3

MATTEO'S POV

The faint scent of greenery mixed with the crisp night air, the distant rustling of trees filling the quiet space around me. The wind moved through the leaves, creating a soft, whispering sound that almost felt like nature was in on my little secret. I lifted my cigarette to my lips, inhaling deeply before blowing out a slow stream of smoke. The glow from the tip flickered in the darkness, the only light around me aside from the dim illumination spilling from her bedroom window.

And there she was.

Even from a distance, she was beautiful. The kind of beauty that stood out without even trying. Her curly brown hair framed her delicate features, and the faint dusting of freckles across her nose made her look even more irresistible. But it was her eyes that captivated me the most—dark brown, warm yet guarded, as if she carried secrets she never intended to share.

She was sitting at her desk, completely unaware of my presence. Her fingers moved quickly over her laptop keyboard, her expression focused, probably working on another one of her endless assignments. She had a habit of biting her bottom lip when she was deep in thought, and I caught myself smirking as she did it again.

I leaned against a tree, watching her like I had for the past several nights. There was something exhilarating about this—the anticipation, the secrecy, the knowledge that she had no idea just how close I was. Not yet. But that was going to change.

Tonight was the night.

I wanted her to see me.

For days, I'd played with the idea, letting her feel my presence but never giving her proof. The occasional rustle in the woods, the shadow that disappeared when she turned her head—it was all deliberate. I wanted to get inside her head, make her question herself, make her wonder if she was imagining things. But now, I wanted to take it further. I wanted her to know.

I had been inside her house before.

She had no idea, of course.

That day, while she was away at her classes, I had walked right in. No forced entry, no broken windows—I was too careful for that. Her house was isolated, far enough from the city that no one would notice a stranger slipping in and out.

Her bedroom had smelled like her—something sweet, a mix of vanilla and faint traces of coffee. I had stood there for a long time, taking in everything. The small bookshelf filled with romance novels, the cluttered desk with scattered notes, the bed that still held the faint imprint of her sleeping form.

I had been tempted to leave something behind, a small token for her to find. Maybe a flower on her pillow, or a note. But it was too soon for that. She wasn't ready to receive gifts from me yet.

She had to know me first.

I saw her glance up from her laptop, her gaze shifting toward the window. My pulse quickened slightly. Was she already sensing me?

I smirked and shifted my stance, moving just enough for her to catch the movement.

And she did.

I saw her body tense before she backed away from the window. A thrill ran through me. Was she going to call the police? Maybe. But what could they do? Nothing. They wouldn't find me, not in a million years. I was too careful, too precise.

Still, I waited.

She didn't come back to the window.

Instead, I saw the lights in her house flicker as she moved through the rooms, probably double-checking that the doors were locked. As if that could keep me out.

I chuckled to myself, flicking the cigarette to the ground and crushing it beneath my boot.

She was scared.

Good.

Fear was intoxicating. It meant she was thinking about me, whether she wanted to or not. It meant that, no matter how much she tried to push it aside, I was already in her mind.

And soon enough, I would be much closer.

I saw the front door creak open, a sliver of warm light spilling onto the porch. And then, there she was.

She stepped out hesitantly, her body tense, her movements slow and deliberate. She was cautious—good. But her curiosity had won.

She wanted to confirm that what she had seen from her room wasn't just a trick of the light or her imagination. She wanted to know if the shadow she had glimpsed was real.

Well, I was.

And I had no intention of backing off.

She hugged her arms around herself, rubbing at the chill in the air. Her oversized sweater was slipping off one shoulder, revealing smooth skin beneath. The sight of her, so vulnerable yet so brave, sent a rush of satisfaction through me.

"Hello?" she called out, her voice uncertain but steady.

She took a few cautious steps forward, her bare feet barely making a sound against the porch steps. Her hair, wild and unbrushed from a long night, caught the faint glow of the porch light. She looked even more irresistible up close.

Just a few more steps.

And then I'd let her see me.

Her eyes darted around the yard, scanning the darkness, searching for any sign of movement. I stayed still, watching, waiting, letting the tension build. The way she chewed on her bottom lip, the way her breath came in uneven waves—I knew fear when I saw it.

"Is someone there?" she asked, barely above a whisper now.

And that's when I stepped forward, emerging from behind the tree.

I didn't move quickly. No, I wanted her to see me, but not enough to know who I was. The shadows still hid my face, but my presence was unmistakable.

She froze.

I could almost hear her heartbeat from where I stood. The rapid rise and fall of her chest, the slight tremble in her fingers—she was trying to figure out if this was real. If she was dreaming.

Oh, sweetheart. You're not dreaming.

I could've taken a step closer. Could've let her get just a little too close, close enough to see me. And if she did… well, only God knows what I would have done to her then.

But where's the fun in that?

Instead, I stayed where I was, waiting to see what she would do. Would she scream? Would she confront me? Would she run?

A flicker of realization passed across her face, and then—

She moved.

Not toward me, but backward. A slow step at first, as if her body was still processing what was happening. Then another. And then—

She turned and bolted.

I smirked as I watched her disappear back into the house, slamming the door shut behind her. I could almost picture her scrambling to lock it, pressing her back against the wood, heart pounding in her chest.

She would call the police this time.

I was sure of it.

Not that it mattered.

Let her call. Let them come with their flashlights and their questions. Let them search the woods, check the perimeter, assure her that it was probably just a trick of the light or her imagination.

They wouldn't find me.

They never would.

I stepped back into the shadows, vanishing from sight just as I heard the faint sound of sirens in the distance.

Let the game begin.