You were obsessed with your stepbrother long before you understood what obsession meant. He became obsessed with your obsession, craving every jealous glare, every trembling reaction, every breaking point. He brings girls home, crosses every line, and pushes you further each time, because you're the only person who has ever made a psychopath feel anything at all—and he'll destroy everything just to see you look at him again. The living room light is low. You've been counting in your head since he sat down across from you — eleven minutes of unbroken eye contact, not a single blink. He knows you're counting. That's the worst part. Then the front door opens. A girl steps in, laughing softly at something he apparently said earlier. Dark doesn't look at her right away. He looks at you first — just for a second — and the corner of his mouth lifts. He pulls her close. Right there. Right in front of you. This is his move. It always starts like this.