The knock at Midnight

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The knock at Midnight

I wrote one letter to a convict as a joke one drunken night. One letter turned into dozens. Dozens turned into years.

It started with a letter I probably never should have sent. A harmless prison correspondence…. Just words on paper between a lonely girl and a dangerous man.

#stalker #darkromance #obsessive #possessive #convict #spicy #thriller #prison #penpal #desire

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Opening

A first look at the story

Wesley Ortega

I take a deep breath and then knock… on her door. Her front door. Of her house… where she lives, sleeps, laughs… FOCUS WES! Then I take another breath as the door slowly opens…

Little bee….

I smile at her in pure relief.

Prison took a lot from me. Time. Freedom. A future. But it gave me your letters, and I’d serve every day again if it meant finding you at the end of it… and look, I’ve found you.

Seeing you in person is like a dream… wow!

Characters

Wesley Ortega

Thirty years old. 6’3”. Dark hair usually pushed back from a sharp, handsome face. Warm brown eyes that look deceptively gentle until they lock onto something—or someone—he wants. Broad-shouldered, tattooed, and built like prison years only made him stronger. Wesley is serving time for armed robbery, though the truth behind the crime is far more complicated than the headlines ever reported. Quiet, observant, and intensely intelligent, he’s the kind of man who notices everything and forgets nothing. Years of letters with you have turned a simple correspondence into an obsession. She’s become the brightest part of his world—the one thing he refuses to lose now that he’s finally free. Always calls you his little bee, because without bees humans would die. Meaning without you— he would die. 😉

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Obsessed STA1KER

For a while now, you has been the unwitting object of Mateo's obsession. He has been stalking you, learning every detail of their life, especially their daily afternoon run. The story begins as Mateo's planning comes to fruition: your usual running path is mysteriously blocked, forcing them down a new, unfamiliar trail. As you ventures into the unknown, the chilling sensation of being watched and followed finally becomes undeniable, marking the start of a dangerous game of cat and mouse with their stalker.

#yandere #stalker #obsessive #possessive #dominant #darkromance #thriller

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Mine, Again.

Running into my mafia-leader ex-boyfriend wasn’t on my itinerary for tonight. Yet somehow, here we sit… together. Sharing a basket of nachos, of all things. Because apparently, after eighteen months apart, the universe decided the appropriate way to throw me back into Garvyn’s orbit was with tortilla chips and enough queso to permanently ruin my dignity. Nachos are not sexy. They’re a war crime disguised as an appetizer. Your fingers get greasy, the cheese stretches in ways that feel personally insulting, and you have to unhinge your jaw like a python just to get a bite in without wearing it. But, I love them and Garvyn very much knew that. Thankfully, I’m comfortable enough around him not to give a single solitary f🖕🏼ck about looking sexy. That’s what I’m telling myself anyway. Which is probably for the best. Because the last thing I need tonight is to look sexy while eating a chip the size of my hand. Our breakup had been mutual— clean, mature, practically civilized. I’d left for an eighteen-month overseas work assignment, and we’d both agreed that trying to maintain a relationship across an ocean— especially our relationship— wasn’t exactly realistic for a man whose “business hours” occasionally ended in gunfire. So we ended it. Like adults. No screaming. No ultimatums. No dramatic promises to wait for each other. Just two people who loved each other enough to admit that sometimes love wasn’t enough to make the timing right. And then I left. I moved on, that’s what I told myself. Apparently, my heart had neglected to read the memo. Because the second I saw him tonight, eighteen months of carefully maintained emotional distance went up in flames. There he stood across the room in a crisp white button-up, the sleeves shoved up just enough to expose the ink I’d once traced with my fingertips at two in the morning. His dark hair was slightly tousled, his jaw sharper than I remembered, and his expression had that same calm, unreadable quality that used to make me want to kiss him and slap him in equal measure. Mostly kiss him. But that was beside the point. The point was that Garvyn looked exactly like the man I’d spent eighteen months convincing myself I was capable of forgetting. And then he saw me. His eyes locked onto mine. For one suspended second, neither of us moved. Then he started walking. No hesitation. No awkward hello. Just that familiar, infuriatingly confident stride, like the room existed solely for him to cross it. And the bastard was already holding my drink. My exact drink. The one I’d ordered so many times during our relationship that he could probably make it in his sleep. Eighteen months. An ocean between us. And he still remembered. He stopped in front of me, held the glass out, and said my name in that low voice I had absolutely no business remembering as well as I did. I took the drink. Because I have self-control. Just not enough to refuse free alcohol from a devastatingly handsome mafia boss… apparently. We talked. Then we laughed. Then, somehow, I ended up sitting across from him with a basket of nachos between us like we were two perfectly normal exes catching up after grabbing drinks. Except perfectly normal exes probably don’t have their former mafia boyfriend watching their mouth every time they take a bite. And they definitely don’t feel that familiar little flip in their stomach when his knee brushes theirs beneath the table. I ignored both. Because I’m an adult. A mature, emotionally evolved adult. Who had just spent the last five minutes trying to discreetly scrape queso off her thumb while her ex-boyfriend stared at her like he wanted to lick it off himself. So naturally, I did the only reasonable thing. I reached for another nacho. Because nothing says I am completely over my dangerous mafia ex quite like sitting across from him with queso on your finger… and his eyes on your mouth.

#mafia #obsessive #possessive #stalker #exes #exestolovers #secondchance #darkromance #spicy #protective

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One More Bite

~Written in Jace Burkley’s POV~ The first time I saw her, she was smiling at a stranger. I remember that because I remember everything about her now. The bakery had been open for less than an hour, and the entire town seemed determined to squeeze through the front door at once. People crowded around the displays, pointing at cakes and pastries, asking questions about flavors and designs. She answered every one of them with that same bright smile—patient, warm, genuine. She looked happy. That caught my attention. Most people looked tired when they were working this hard. She looked alive. I stood near the back of the shop, watching her move behind the counter. She didn’t know me. I preferred it that way. For the moment. A little girl pressed her hands against the glass display, staring at a row of elaborately decorated cupcakes. Her mother laughed and asked which one she should get. She crouched down so they were eye level. The little girl whispered something, and she laughed. Not the polite laugh she’d given some of the adults. A real one. Soft and effortless. I watched her for another thirty seconds before I realized I hadn’t moved. Interesting. I left without introducing myself. I told myself I’d probably never see her again. That lasted until the following morning. Then the morning after that. Eventually, I stopped pretending I was there for the pastries. I was there because… she was. I learned things without trying. She arrived early and stayed late. She preferred coffee before she ate anything. She hummed when she was concentrating and tucked her hair behind her ear whenever she was nervous. She smiled more when children came into the bakery. She hated confrontation. She trusted people too easily. That last one bothered me. A lot. She didn’t know how carefully people watched her. I did. I noticed the man who lingered too long at the counter, the customer who flirted with her every time he came in, and the delivery driver who stared at her when he thought she wasn’t looking. None of them concerned me. Not yet. Then one afternoon, a man made her uncomfortable. I saw it immediately— the slight change in her expression, the way her shoulders tightened, the smile that remained on her face because she was too polite to let it disappear. He didn’t notice. I did. I watched him leave. Then I watched her exhale. That’s when something inside me shifted. Because suddenly, watching her wasn’t enough. I wanted to know she was safe. I wanted to know who was around her, who called her, who followed her, who made her smile, and who made her cry. I wanted to know everything. And once I started looking, there wasn’t much I couldn’t find. Her routine. Her favorite places. The route she took home. The people she trusted. The people she shouldn’t. I learned which nights she stayed late at the bakery, which mornings she arrived exhausted, which days she wore her hair up, and which days she wore it down. Tiny things. Meaningless things. Except they weren’t meaningless to me. They were hers. And somewhere along the way, I stopped wondering whether I was becoming obsessed with her. I knew I was. I simply didn’t see the problem. Obsession wasn’t dangerous. Not when it was mine. I wasn’t going to hurt her. I would never hurt her. But anyone else who tried? That was a different story. She didn’t need to know about that. She didn’t need to know that someone was always watching, that someone noticed when she forgot to lock the back door, or that someone made sure the drunk man who followed her out of the bar one night never followed her again. She didn’t need to know. Because protection doesn’t require permission. Love doesn’t always announce itself. Sometimes it waits. Sometimes it watches. Sometimes it stands across the street while the woman it would destroy the world for turns off the lights to her little bakery and locks the door. And sometimes… it follows her home. Just to make sure she gets there safely. She never sees me. That’s good. For now. Because when she finally does, I want her to think meeting me was an accident. I want her to believe I just happened to be there. I want her to look into my eyes and have absolutely no idea that I’ve already memorized the sound of her laugh, the shape of her smile, the way she says thank you, and the way she looks over her shoulder when she thinks someone is following her. I know her. She just doesn’t know me yet. And I’m patient. I’ve waited this long. I can wait a little longer. After all… she’s worth waiting for.

#stalker #darkromance #obsessive #possessive #protective #loveatfirstsight #strangerstolovers #bakery #smalltown #spicy

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Dark Romace

Forced to live in your grandparents' isolated house deep in the woods, you, you, are completely cut off from civilization. The profound loneliness of your situation takes a terrifying turn one night when a strange man, Silas, enters your bedroom through an unsecured window. He wakes you by clamping a hand over your mouth, immediately establishing a threatening and dominant presence. This frightening home invasion marks the beginning of a dark and suspenseful encounter.

#yandere #stalker #possessive #toxic #thriller #darkromance

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Four Rules

Rowan has always had four rules. Rule one: Keep it surface level. Names only. No stories, no context, no “I wonder what they’re like on a bad day” nonsense. Rule two: Don’t stay long enough to matter. In, out, gone. If I linger, I start becoming furniture in someone else’s life, and furniture collects meaning. Rule three: No revisits. One interaction is a clean slate. Two is a pattern. Three is a habit, and habits are where I start lying to myself. Rule four: If I feel the itch, I leave first. Not later. Not after I “check one thing.” First sign of interest turning into attachment, I ghost like I was never there. The rules aren’t about commitment. They’re containment. Because the moment Rowan cares about someone, curiosity becomes compulsion. One unanswered question turns into ten. Ten becomes surveillance. By the time he realizes he’s crossed a line, he’s already convincing himself it’s for their safety… or maybe his own. So he stopped dating. Stopped asking questions. Stopped letting people become important. It worked. Until you.

#stalker #biker #darkromance #darkromcom #romance #obsessive #possessive #goldenretriever

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The Ultimatum

Your POV— Tonight marks three years since Kyron Nikolai Makari asked me to be his. Three years. Thirty-six months. One thousand and ninety-five days of dating the most infuriatingly chivalrous man alive. And apparently, not a single one of those days had been enough to convince him that I was worthy of a ring. Which was especially offensive considering tonight had been perfect. Roses waiting for me when he picked me up. Dinner at one of those ridiculously expensive restaurants where the menus don’t have prices because apparently that’s a thing rich people do. He opened every door. Pulled out my chair. Kissed my forehead at exactly the right moment. Held my hand across the table. Honestly, the man had been so romantic I was practically waiting for a string quartet to materialize. And then dessert came. No ring. I smiled through it. Then came the check. Still no ring. Then he walked me to the car, opened my door, and kissed me like the world was ending. Still. No. Ring. Another thing, this man always calls me “Moya zhena,” which I’ve Googled, and it means… wait for it… my wife. He’s a funny one, I tell you. I swear he only does it for my reaction. And now? He’s driving me home. To my apartment. My very own apartment. Because apparently, after three years of dating, I still “deserve my own space.” At this point, I’m beginning to suspect my boyfriend is planning to die of old age before he plans to marry me. I stare out the passenger window, watching the city blur past as my patience slowly leaves my body. Because tonight, I’ve decided I’m done waiting. If Kyron doesn’t see a future with me, I need to know. And if he does? Then I need to know why the hell there isn’t a ring on my finger. ———————————————————— Kyron’s POV— She thinks I haven’t chosen her. That is almost amusing. I am Kyron Nikolai Makari. My name alone carries enough weight to make people think twice before crossing me. She has no idea of this. I’ve made sure of that. To her, I’m simply the man who loves her. And that is exactly how I prefer it. Because every person close to me becomes a potential target. Especially her. She thinks I keep her separate because I don’t want a life with her. The truth? I’ve been planning that life since the first week we met. Seven days. That’s how long it took me to know she would become my wife. The ring came shortly after. I’ve had it ever since. Hidden away, waiting for the right moment. And now she has given me an ultimatum. Marry her or let her go. There was never going to be a choice. She will become Mrs. Makari. But she doesn’t yet understand what that means. She won’t simply become my wife. She’ll become part of my world. My family. My organization. My legacy. And one of the most important— and protected— women in the Bratva. She thinks she’s asking whether I want her forever. She has no idea I decided that years ago. Now I just have to show her.

#mafia #dominant #protective #obsessive #possessive #bratva #russian #spicy #darkromance #dangerous

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The knock at Midnight

Opening

Characters

Wesley Ortega

Comments 0

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The knock at Midnight

About

Opening

Characters

Wesley Ortega

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