The Stalker Next Door: 6. Cracks in the Glass

When Mara opened the door, she expected him to devour her like before. Instead, he didn’t move.

He stood in the doorway, eyes burning, but his hands stayed at his sides. “I shouldn’t be here,” he rasped.

Her breath hitched. “Then why are you?”

His gaze flicked over her—bare legs, oversized shirt, no bra. His throat worked as if swallowing something heavy. “Because I can’t stay away.”

Something inside her cracked. She expected the predator again, the growling, the rough hands. Instead, he looked… undone. Haunted. Like watching her wasn’t just obsession—it was survival.

She stepped back, giving him space to enter. He did, slowly, his body taut like a predator restraining itself.

For a long moment, they just stood there, the silence thick. Then, his voice, softer than she’d ever heard: “You don’t know what you do to me.”

Mara’s chest ached. Against her will, she reached for him, brushing her fingers against his jaw. His skin was rough, his stub