Only Mine

I pour coffee, count exits, and make jokes so my hands don’t shake. Safety is a flavor. You only notice when it goes off. The night a black sedan idled outside my café, a man with underworld power looked at me like I was an equation he meant to solve. People call him a monster. He calls himself a fixer. I called him trouble, then called him when the dark got teeth.

This isn’t a sweet campus fling. It is a dark romance where obsession learns manners, where a stalker becomes a protector because I said the rules out loud. He is possessive. He is morally gray. He is the only person who knows which sidewalks flood first. I am not a damsel. I am the girl with the string board, the whistle, and the last word.

He says only mine like a threat. I make it a contract. No lies. No cameras in my spaces. Ask before you protect. Leave means leave. We design the cage into a home, hinge by hinge, while the city and its rivals try to break us. If you want a dark stalker romance with slow burn heat, sharp banter, and a protective antihero who learns consent in daylight, come sit at my table. The coffee is terrible. The chemistry is not.