Stalking My Obsessive Stalker

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Elaines name was tangled up with another stranger again.

She always told me she was a special case, a broken thing, warning me not to fall too deep. But the more she pushed, the tighter the noose of my obsession grew. Those men circling her like vultures? They just craved the porcelain perfection of her skin. They didn't understand the darkness beneath it. Only I knew the true nature of her touch-starvation, the way her skin practically screamed for contact, and only I held the cure.

She would murmur sweet, soothing things while draped across my chest, all while her phone buzzed on the nightstand with thirsty notifications from men she kept on a lead. I knew exactly what those bastards wanted. After all, thats exactly how I got close to her.

"Elaine, its never your fault," Id whisper into her hair. "Its them. The ones who try to take whats mine."

What else could I do? Aside from pinning her to the silk sheets and reclaiming her body over and over until the world outside vanished, I had to take action. To keep her, I had to prune the weeds in her garden. I had to make sure anyone who tried to steal her simply... disappeared.

Elaines Instagram updated.

In the photo, she was tucked away in a dimly lit corner of a boutique caf with a man. They were closeshoulders brushing, a casual intimacy that made my blood boil. The caption read: Finally met a true connoisseur of the classics. A soulmate found too late.

A true connoisseur?

I stared at the words until they blurred, my grip tightening on my phone. She was saying I didnt understand her world. And she was right. I couldnt stand the obscure, pretentious French novels she translated; those tongue-twisting names and endless, flowery metaphors just gave me a migraine.

I grabbed my keys.

"Dr. Cross, you have a neurosurgery scheduled for two," my assistant called out.

"Reschedule it."

"But the patient is already"

"I said, reschedule it."

She went quiet. Shed been my head nurse for five years; she knew that tone meant the ice was thin.

I dialed a number as I pulled out of the hospital parking lot. "Ben, I need a name." I forwarded the photo. "Everything. Education, marital status, career, every skeleton in his closet. I want it by the time I park."

There was a beat of silence on the other end. "Dr. Cross... is this about your wife again?"

"Don't waste my time."

I hung up and swallowed a pill to steady my nerves. Elaine claimed she was the sick one, but I knew better. Id always been wired wrong.

When I was a kid, a boy tried to pet my dog. I bit his finger so hard I nearly took it off. In middle school, when a bully tried to take my lunch money, I broke his nose and didn't stop swinging until they pulled me off. Later, when they jumped me behind the gym, leaving me gasping in the dirt, Elaine was the one who found me.

She was so small then, her voice trembling, but she stood her ground. "Ive already called the cops! Get lost or youre all going to juvie!"

From that moment on, she was the only light in my gray world. I told myself then: Shes mine. No one touches her.

Bens text came through. A dossier on the "connoisseur."

As it turned out, he was just another hypocrite in a tweed jacket. I felt a cold smile spread across my face. I knew exactly how his mind worked. Three years ago, I used the same playbook to move in on her.

Back then, her boyfriend was a guy named Derek. It took me exactly three months to show Elaine his "other side." A few leaked records of unpaid wages to his staff, some grainy security footage of him flirting at a dive bar, and a handful of carefully curated chat logs with an ex. Half of it was real; the other half was my own handiwork.

It didn't matter. What mattered was that she left him, and I caught her. Now, I wouldn't let anyone else play the same game.

When I reached the caf, Elaine was gone. But the man was still there, sitting amid the ghost-scent of her perfume, two half-finished lattes between them. I sat down across from him.

"Adrian Cross. Elaines husband."

His face went through a fascinating transformation: surprise, then panic, then the wretched embarrassment of a man caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Mr. Cross, Elaine and I were just... discussing her latest translation."

"Arthur Whitlock. Forty-two. Senior Editor at Hudson Press," I interrupted, reading from the screen. "Married. Wife is a tenured professor. Separated for two years, currently embroiled in a nasty divorce. Last year, you were investigated for 'professional misconduct' involving a junior writer. The board hushed it up. Your son is fifteen, goes to St. Judes."

Whitlocks face drained of color. "Those are... those are rumors."

"Doesn't matter if they're true," I said, leaning back, watching him from a height he couldn't reach. "What matters is whether Elaine would still call you a 'soulmate' once she sees the police reports. Or whether your wifes lawyer would find this little afternoon tryst useful for the custody hearing."

His lips trembled. I watched him like a wolf watches a deer caught in a snare.

"Do you block her number, or do I?"

Whitlock let out a shaky breath, pulled out his phone, and blocked her right in front of me. I stood up and patted his shoulder.

"Smart man."

That went well. No blood, just a clean excision.

When I got home, Elaine was curled up on the sofa. She was wearing one of my white button-downs, lost in a French hardcover I couldn't read. She looked devastatingly soft. I pulled her up and tucked her into my chest.

"That Editor, Whitlock. You like him?"

Her body stiffened for a microsecond before melting against me. "We just have a lot to talk about, Adrian. Its not about 'liking' him."

I tightened my grip, burying my face in the crook of her neck. "I dont understand literature."

She let out a soft, melodic giggle as my stubble tickled her. "You don't need to understand books. You just need to understand me."

But what did I actually understand? I knew she had seven different smilesthree were real, four were performances. I knew she stayed up until 3 AM video chatting with "fans" and "colleagues." I knew she never gave me her passcode, even though she volunteered her daily itinerary like a loyal soldier. The more I knew, the more she felt like a ghost I was trying to cage.

"Adrian," she whispered. "Did you go see him today?"

My hand paused on her waist.

"Before he blocked me, he sent a text. He said, 'Your husband is a terrifying man.' Did you threaten him?"

I didn't bother denying it.

"You always do this. Every single time." She poked my chest, her tone like a mother scolding a naughty child. "Do you honestly think every man in the world is a villain except for you?"

"Aren't they?" I caught her finger and kissed the tip of it.

She laughed, though there was a sharp edge to it. "Youre going to drive away every friend I have, Adrian. Eventually, I wont have anyone left to talk to."

"You have me. Thats enough."

She started to say something, then stopped. Her eyes softened with a look I couldn't quite decode. "You know, youre actually scary."

"Are you scared?"

She smiled. "No. Because the scarier you are, the more it proves you love me."

I kissed her then. Deep, desperate, trying to bruise her soul with my own. I loved herGod, I loved her until it hurt. She responded, her fingers tangling in my hair, her breathing hitching.

"I love you, Adrian."

Her skin-hunger was flaring up. I held her tighter, anchoring her to the earth.

"I love you too."

Later that night, after she fell asleep, I sat up and watched her. Her brow was furrowed, chasing some nightmare. Her phone lit up on the nightstand. A message from her best friend, Jade: The illustrator you wanted to meet is coming to town next week. He's excited to see you.

I stared at the glowing screen. My pupils contracted.

There was always someone else.

I set the phone down and looked at Elaine. A sharp, familiar pain flared in my chestthe feeling of being stabbed in the back, only to realize the person holding the knife is the one youre protecting.

"Elaine," I whispered. She didn't wake. "What is it you really want?"

There was no answer.

A week later, she told me she had a business meeting. "Im meeting an illustrator. For the new book cover." She was smiling at her screen again, that distant, dreamy look I hated.

"Man or woman?"

She paused. "A man." She looked up, sensing the shift in the room. "Adrian, please. Don't go making trouble again."

"Im just asking."

"Thats what you said last time, and then my editor vanished."

"He was a creep, Elaine. I checked."

Her expression flickereda flash of frustrationbefore she sighed and cupped my face. "Can you please stop running background checks on everyone I breathe near? It feels like you don't trust me."

I pulled her into my arms. "I trust you. I don't trust them. Im a man; I know how they think."

"And what am I thinking?" she asked, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Do you know?"

I looked into her eyes. They were like deep poolsclear on the surface, but with treacherous currents underneath. I wanted to say I knew her. I couldn't. There was always a layer of frosted glass between us.

When I didn't answer, she smirked. "Im thinking about when my big, tough husband is going to learn to stop being so jealous." She tilted her head, running a hand through her haira nervous habit she had when she was lying.

My heart tightened, but I let it go. This was our dance.

After work, I drove to the restaurant to pick her up. Through the glass window, I saw her. She was talking to a younger manXavier, the illustrator. He had his hand on the small of her back. Elaine didn't pull away. She was looking at him with an expression that was pure sunshine, her eyes crinkling in a way they only did when she was truly happy.

I slammed my fist against the steering wheel and drove off. I knew if I stayed, Id kill him right there in the street.

Ten minutes of heavy breathing later, I called Ben. "I need another check."

"Again?" Ben sounded exhausted. "That's four this month, boss."

"Xavier Vance. NoXavier... whatever his name is. The 'hot new illustrator' who just moved back from London. Now."

I hung up. I closed my eyes and all I could see was her smiling at him. That wasn't a "business" smile. That was the look of a woman who was hungry for something I wasn't giving her.

The file hit my inbox. Xavier Thornedamn it, Xavier Sterling... no, Xavier Ward. Single. 26. Rising star. Award-winning. No criminal record. No scandals. Clean as a whistle.

I gritted my teeth.

Elaine texted: Are you coming to pick me up?

I typed and deleted three responses before settling on: On my way.

When I pulled up, they were standing under the streetlamp. He was saying something that made her duck her head and blush. I honked the horna sharp, jarring blast.

Elaine waved. "My husbands here," she said, emphasizing the word husband like she was trying to remind herself.

Xavier looked at the car, gave a polite but cold nod, and stepped back. I floored it as soon as she closed the door. She grabbed the handle as we lurched forward.

"Adrian, slow down!"

"Did you have a good time?" My voice was terrifyingly calm.

"It was fine. Xavier is talented, I think the cover"

"He touched you. His hand was on your waist."

The car went silent. Elaines face shifted from shock to a weary kind of resignation. "He was helping me adjust my dress, Adrian. Its a zipper issue." She sighed. "Can you stop losing your mind every time a man comes within five feet of me?"

Losing my mind.

Yeah. I was.

I pulled over into a dark alley and turned to her. "Elaine, is the way you smile at me the same way you smile at them?"

She blinked, then a slow, playful grin spread across her lips. "Are you jealous again? You look so handsome when youre jealous."

She reached out to touch my face, but I flinched away. "Im asking you a serious question."

"And Im giving you a serious answer." She reached out again, her fingers tracing my throat, her eyes dark with a sudden, heavy desire.

I grabbed her wrist and pulled her across the center console onto my lap. She straddled me, wrapping her arms around my neck. I gripped her waist, my voice hoarse. "Tell me you love me."

"I love you."

"Again."

"I love you."

"Again!"

"I love you, Adrian. I love you."

She was panting, her eyes wet, her cheeks flushedvulnerable and exquisite. I searched her face for a crack, a lie, a hint of the "performance." But everything felt real. She was here. She was mine.

I buried my face in her chest, breathing her in. The scent of roses, the warmth of her skin, and... a faint hint of something else. A mans cologne.

Xaviers scent.

That tiny, lingering trace of another man was like a needle driven into my heart.

"Youre mine, Elaine."

She didn't answer. She just tightened her arms around my back and held on.

I didn't want to go to the charity gala. It was just a room full of rich vultures congratulating themselves on their "social responsibility." But Elaine was an invited author. If she went, I went.

Our table was a mix of CEOs and socialites. Sitting next to Elaine was a man in his fifties named Maxwell. He was a bloated, oily man with a smile that made my skin crawl.

"Elaine, such a pleasure," he said, holding her hand a second too long. "Im Maxwell from Apex Media. Ive read your work. Exquisite. It would make a fantastic film."

Elaine gave him a polite, practiced smile and had to pull her hand away three times before he let go. "You're too kind."

"Are you free tonight? I have a suite upstairs; we could discuss some... options."

"Shes busy," I said, stepping up behind her chair.

Maxwell looked me up and down, unimpressed. "And you are?"

"Her husband."

He smirked and spent the rest of the night acting like I was invisible. He toasted Elaine directly, leaning in so close he was practically breathing her air. When I went to the restroom, I came back to see his hand resting heavily on her bare shoulder.

Her skin. He was touching her skin.

Blood rushed to my head, a deafening roar in my ears. But I saw Elaine look at me and shake her head slightly. Don't.

Maxwell kept talking. "Elaine, youre far too beautiful to be working. If you were mine, Id keep you tucked away in a mansion, pampered every single day..."

"Maxwell," I interrupted, my voice dropping to a low, dangerous register. "Does your wife know how much you care about other peoples wives?"

The table went quiet.

"Or are you planning to 'discuss options' in that suite with the same professionalism you used during your last embezzlement scandal?"

Maxwells face turned a violent shade of purple. "Who do you think you are?"

"Head of Neurosurgery at Cross Medical. Heir to the Cross estate." I stood up, looming over him. "You had a physical at my hospital last year. Fatty liver, high blood pressure, elevated uric acid. I suggest you stop drinking and stop talking before you have a stroke right here on the shrimp cocktail."

Maxwell lost it. He grabbed his wine glass and slammed it onto the table. Red wine sprayed everywhere, soaking the front of Elaines dress.

"Ah!" she cried, stumbling back.

The last thread of my control snapped. I grabbed a glass bottle from the table and shattered it against the side of Maxwells head.

Red wine and blood mingled as they ran down his face. He screamed, clutching his head, but I didn't stop. I lunged across the table, my fist connecting with his nose in a spray of gore.

"Adrian, stop!" Elaine screamed.

People were pulling at me, shouting, but I was in a tunnel. All I could hear was the sound of my own heart. He touched her. He ruined her dress. He wasn't fit to breathe her air.

I kept swinging until security finally tackled me. My knuckles were split, blood dripping onto the white tablecloth.

"Adrian, youve lost it!" Elaine was pale, her eyes wide with something I couldn't name.

I looked at her and laughed, a jagged, ugly sound. "He touched you. Hes lucky hes still breathing."

The police came. As I sat in the back of the cruiser, I looked through the window. Elaine was standing under the hotel awning, watching me go with an unreadable expression.

I spent the night in a cell until the family lawyers arrived. The moment I walked out of the precinct, I checked my phone. Elaine had posted a new photo.

It was her and Xavier. The caption: The best partner I could ask for.

My vision blurred with tears of pure rage. I had gone to jail for her, and she was out taking selfies with another man?

I drove home like a maniac. There was a pair of mens shoes in the foyer.

Not mine.

I stormed into the house. The living room was empty. The bedroom door was ajar. The bed was a messsheets tangled, pillows tossed aside, deep creases in the fabric as if two people had been struggling, or...

My blood turned to ice. She brought someone home. While I was in a cell. She slept with

I tore the room apart, looking for them. I checked the closets, the balcony, the bathroom. Nothing. Then, my eyes landed on Elaines nightstand. A locked diary.

Shed never let me see it. Id never tried. But today, I didn't care about boundaries. I smashed the lock with a heavy book and flipped to the first page.