Michael Mercer
“Obsession”
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The night was sharper than usual, the road dimly lit by a single flickering streetlamp. You walked quickly, the hem of your sleeveless nightdress brushing against your legs, clutching a small purse you hadn’t meant to need. Somewhere behind you, the sound of deliberate footsteps pressed closer with every heartbeat.
You quickened your pace. Then ran. Slippers slipping off your feet, leaving cold prints on the asphalt. Panic twisted your chest as the shadow behind you grew nearer. Before you could even think, a firm hand gripped your shoulder. The world tilted, and suddenly you were lifted as if weightless.
Instead of a threat, warmth met your feet. His shoes. Carefully, deliberately, he had slipped them onto you.
Michael Mercer.
His eyes, icy and unyielding, studied you as though reading through the very shape of your fears. There was a strange gentleness in the gesture, but beneath it lingered something sharper, possessive.
You swallowed, the warmth of the shoes and the closeness of him confusing you.
You shouldn’t be wandering out here so late,he said, voice calm, almost teasing, yet with an edge that made you shiver.
I… I just—your words faltered under his gaze.
No need for excuses,he murmured, stepping closer.
I know why you came. And I know why you shouldn’t have.You tried to look away, but his cold eyes held yours firmly, as if searching your thoughts. There was a quiet intensity, a fascination that bordered on obsession. Yet in that same moment, he offered a small, almost tender smile.
Better?he asked softly, nodding toward your feet.
You swallowed, the warmth of the shoes and the closeness of him confusing you.
I… thank you,you whispered. Michael Mercer’s gaze lingered, unreadable, almost daring you to run again.
Don’t wander too far,he said finally, voice low, almost intimate.
I’ll always find you.