The concept of a casual friendship with Sofia was laughable.

Over the years, the longer I abstained from seeing her, the less pronounced the craving, but it was still there in the back of my mind. Now that I’d had a taste, there was no moderating my consumption. I wanted to bury myself inside her—cage her in my arms and never let her go.

That was how I found myself at her house, sitting in the shadows of her back patio like a fucking creeper. I’d told Enzo I was monitoring the place to explain my presence on his security footage. He suggested I come celebrate with them, but I declined. Sofia was likely already suspicious about my sudden reappearance—no need to make it obvious.

I watched her and her family in their grand living room as they toasted to her graduation. She walked through the paces with a mechanical smile on her face, playing the part of the happy graduate. Was it the presence of her family that kept her from enjoying the evening, or was it something more?

She never meshed well with her family. She used to complain about them but avoided the subject when I’d ask her questions. I could understand—my dad and I hadn’t spoken in years, and the last thing I wanted to do was think about him, let alone talk to my friends about the asshole. Family was difficult, no matter how you sliced it, and Sofia was never quite like the rest of her family.

I watched them celebrating with no plans of joining in their little party. For about an hour, I worked through my thoughts, killing time and recklessly indulging in the obsession brewing inside me. My infatuation with her was like a wicked Nor’easter aimed at burying the East Coast in a mountain of snow. I could see it building and knew the effects would be devastating, but there was no stopping it. All I could do was brace for the fallout.

I had figured I’d sit in the shadows and keep my stalker tendencies to myself. However, my little plan was derailed the minute Sofia stepped outside. From the chair I’d planted myself in an hour earlier, I watched as she wrapped her arms around herself and walked to the patio railing. I only caught sight of her profile briefly—a glimpse of her unguarded features in the soft moonlight. To anyone else, she might have simply appeared tired, but it only took one glance for me to know she was utterly lost.

My muscles twitched with the urge to rush from the darkness and steal her away until she recognized that she’d never truly feel at home without me. But just as quickly, I reminded myself why that was such a shit idea, and instead, I continued to watch her and wonder what she might be thinking. Was she remembering the times we’d met out on that same patio years before, or was that the wishful thinking of a man who’d pushed away the only woman he’d ever loved?