All Chapters of How To Love A Murderer.: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

Chapter Two: Breathless The world was a roaring, suffocating blackness. The pressure on Ian's face was absolute, crushing his nose, stealing the very last gasp of air from his lungs. His thrashing grew weaker, his thoughts turning to sludge. This is it. This is how I die. Then, suddenly, the weight was gone. Ian gasped, a raw, ragged sound as sweet, cold oxygen flooded back into his chest. He was dimly aware of a struggle in the dark…grunts, the sickening thud of a fist hitting flesh, and the swift sound of the door swinging open and shut. The overhead light flicked on, blinding him for a second. Zhedya stood there, looking as calm as if he’d just stepped out of a board meeting. Not a hair was out of place. His grey eyes found Ian, wide and terrified in the bed. “Are you okay, Ian?” he asked, his voice a low, steady rumble. Ian could only nod, his body trembling so hard his teeth chattered. He clutched the hospital sheets, his knuckles white. He had been here. The killer had

Chapter Four: A Warning Visit Zhedya had known about Zack’s… hobbies for a while now. Two years, to be exact. It had been during a routine consultation with the FBI…another body, another set of ligature marks around the victim’s neck. It was all so sloppy. Amateurish, really. Predators like Zack were so consumed by the thrill of the hunt, the intoxicating power of squeezing the life from someone, that they grew arrogant. They always left a trail. For Zack, it was his scent. A distinct, limited-edition cologne clinging to the fabric of the victim’s clothes…a subtle, spicy signature Zhedya’s keen senses picked up immediately. It hadn't taken much more to confirm his suspicion. A few calls, leveraging his dual status as a forensic pathologist and a hospital CEO, and he had access to Zack’s psychiatric records. His former therapist, nervous and ethically conflicted, had confessed over a pressured phone call that Zack had fantasized aloud about strangulation, about the “rush” of hol

Chapter Six: The Visitor Ian stared at the blinking cursor on his laptop screen, the blank document taunting him. He had been trying to write his next article for hours, but his thoughts were a tangled mess, all centered around one man. It had been two weeks. Two weeks of silence. He snatched his phone off the desk, checking it for the hundredth time. No new messages. No missed calls. He wouldn’t even call me, Ian thought, a bitter taste in his mouth. Ah, why am I even expecting it? I should be happy. I’m free. I don’t have to see his face. But the truth was, his apartment felt too quiet without the looming, unsettling presence of Zhedya Hunter. The silence was deafening. The doorbell rang, a sharp, insistent sound that shattered the quiet. Ian’s heart leaped into his throat. He scrambled up, smoothing down his wrinkled t-shirt and running a hand through his messy hair. A nervous, hopeful flutter filled his chest as he rushed to the door. It has to be him. He pull

Chapter Eight: Knots Ian hunched over his desk, the blue glow of the laptop screen the only light in the room. The photos from the USB drive were grim, but a restless energy buzzed under his skin. This was his chance. He could feel it. This time, he would break the case open on his own. He loved Zhedya’s help, sure, but he was starting to feel like a puppet, his strings pulled by pale, skilled hands. The door creaked open without a knock. Ian jumped, his heart lurching. Zhedya strode in as if he owned the place, a bag of groceries in one hand, already shrugging off his expensive coat. “You never knock!” Ian snapped, frustration boiling over. “You just walk in like you own this place. I don’t even have my privacy anymore.” Zhedya’s lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. He walked over and patted Ian’s head like he was a pet. “I guess fate has brought us together. We are soulmates, Ian. We share what we own.” “Stop saying a bunch of rubbish,” Ian grumbled, swatting his ha

Chapter Ten: Only The Red Suits Him Best. Ian stared at the wine menu, his eyes widening. “Do you realize this bottle costs more than my rent?!” he whispered across the table. Zhedya just smiled, his eyes soft. “I should have known it was a ridiculously expensive date when you asked me to wear this suit,” Ian added, gesturing to the stunning red designer suit Zhedya had bought him. “Do you like it?” Zhedya asked, his gaze intense. “It looks perfect on you. I bought the very first one. It’s… very perfect.” He was looking at Ian not just with admiration, but with a strange pride, like he was a priceless piece of art he had created. Why is he staring at me that way? Ian thought, a blush creeping up his neck. “Well, well. Look who I found here. Zhedya. The man who lives like a ghost among us.” A smooth voice interrupted them. Ian looked up and his blood ran cold. It was the man from the industrial district…the one who had stared at him with those unsettling eyes. “It’s been a