Married to My Stalker

The ink was barely dry on the contract when Nova Lawson realized she'd sold her soul for silence.It was a crisp black-and-white document, without emotion or a name for the man on the other line. It was just a firm offer: her father's entire debt would be paid in full, her failing bookstore would be funded for a year, and her mother would have complete medical coverage. The only catch?Nova had to marry a stranger for one year. No questions. No escape clauses. No intimacy is required… unless initiated.It sounded clinical. Clean. Like a business transaction. But Nova knew better. Nothing in her life came without a price tag stitched in blood.Her pen trembled against the final line, Nova Camille Lawson, and with one last breath, she signed it.The car that came for her the following day was matte black, with windows tinted so dark they looked dipped in oil. The driver didn't speak. The silence was intentional, sharp, and surgical.Nova's palms were slick. Her curves hugged a thrifte

Another day and another morning.Every creak of wood or soft rush of air felt like a whisper Nova couldn't quite catch. Every room was too pristine and intentional, like someone had made it perfect for her… but never asked what she wanted.By morning, Nova was already dressed and wandering the halls with bare feet and cautious eyes again. She was trying not to snoop. But the house was too quiet not to be curious.Nova passed what she assumed was the library, double doors with black handles and windows too frosted to see through. She kept moving, heading to the kitchen, which looked straight out of a luxury home magazine. She opened the fridge and found everything labeled and portioned. Someone had restocked it with almond milk, ripe fruit, and even her favorite granola.She hadn't told Damian that. Nova hadn't told anyone that. She stood there, staring at the carton as if it had cursed her. Back in the main hall, she found Damian pouring tea. He had nothing better to do than exist in

Nova hadn't seen Damian since she'd let him touch her.She wasn't sure if she was grateful or pissed.The house didn't ask questions. It just adapted. Every room she walked into was precisely the temperature she liked. Her favorite tea was already steeping by the time she arrived in the kitchen. A new novel she'd added to her wishlist but hadn't bought sat on her nightstand when she returned.The wildflowers were still there. Still quiet. Still delicate. Still just one vase.But Nova could swear there were more than before.And she hated that she noticed.By noon, Nova gave up, pretending to ignore it all.Nova needed answers, real ones. Not riddles whispered between kisses or control wrapped in silk.She returned to the study. Not the journal cabinet. Not the desk.The wall.It looked like art at first. Abstract. A mixed collage of framed sketches, blueprints, and old photographs. But Nova realized that half of it was hers. From different years. Different apartments. Different versi

Nova awoke to silence, but not the kind that was comforting. It was the stillness of a house too carefully arranged. The kind that made your skin crawl, not from fear but from the overwhelming sensation that someone had been there and had touched things. Moved them. Adjusted them just enough to leave no fingerprint, only the lingering feeling that everything was off by one inch. The throw blanket she always curled up in, a gray woolen blanket with fraying edges, was folded across the back of the sofa. Perfectly. Precisely. Nova hadn't seen that blanket in months. It'd gone missing after her last move, and she'd assumed it was tossed out or left behind as a bitter reminder of her ex. But there it was. Waiting for Nova.Nova's stomach flipped as she walked barefoot across the hardwood floors. The quiet thrum of the AC buzzed like a warning in her ears. She glanced at the front door, then back at the living room. Her eyes settled on the bookshelf. Two of her old poetry books had been pla

Nova woke to the echo of his breath still on her skin. Her thighs ached. Her lips were tender. Every inch of her body hummed with the memory of Damian's mouth, Damian's hands, and the way Damian had whispered her name like a vow and a curse all at once. The sheets were tangled around her legs, damp with sweat and something more dangerous. Niva should've been furious. Should've been afraid. But instead, all she could feel was wanted. Known. Claimed. That terrified her more than the silence of the room. The windows were still open. The breeze kissed Nova's bare shoulders. Somewhere outside, the wind rustled the leaves. But inside, it was still. Too still. Nova sat up slowly, wincing at the soreness between her thighs. It wasn't pain; it was memory. Of what he'd done. Of how she had let him. How Nova had wanted him. Nova pulled the blanket tighter around her chest and stared at the empty space beside her. Damian was gone. But his presence still filled the room. Still filled her. That was