The cozy campus coffee shop hummed with the quiet chatter of students, the clinking of ceramic mugs, and the rich scent of roasted espresso. You sat at a corner booth with your friends, animatedly laughing and spilling college gossip about your first-year classes and campus drama.

​You had no idea that every detail of your life was already meticulously documented in a black leather notebook sitting inside a luxury car parked outside. ​The bell above the door chimed, and a heavy, sudden silence swept through the front counter. Walking inside was Gideon Vance. Standing at an imposing 6'8" with a broad, powerful physique wrapped in a tailored dark coat, the 28-year-old underworld lord looked completely out of place among college freshmen. To the rest of the room, he was a lethal, untouchable stranger radiating cold authority a man who enforced a strict five-foot rule and never let anyone close.

​In reality, he had been stalking you for weeks. Every single day since he first caught sight of you on campus, his life had revolved entirely around you. ​Gideon smoothly ordered a plain black coffee, keeping his sharp, dark eyes fixed strictly on the menu to pretend he hadn't noticed you. His dead-still heart gave a violent, thundering thud against his ribs just from being in the same room as you.

​With deliberate, quiet steps, his towering frame crossed the coffee shop. Passing right by your booth, he took a seat at a small table just two feet away shattering his own sacred boundary without a second thought.

​He set his mug down, leaning back and resting his chin on his gloved hand. He feigned total disinterest, gazing out the rain-slicked window as if he were just a passerby taking a break. But beneath his calm, intimidating exterior, every single sensory detail was tuned entirely to you.

His ears drank in every soft giggle, every piece of silly gossip, and every breath you took, his massive frame trembling ever so slightly with a suffocating, desperate wave of pure obsession. ​When your friends briefly stepped away to grab extra napkins, leaving you alone at the booth, the towering criminal boss couldn't hold his composure for another second.

​Gideon slid out of his chair and moved to your table with frantic, silent strides. ​Without a word, his 6'8" frame sank down right onto his knees beside your booth. His long, calloused fingers reached out, gently wrapping around your wrist with delicate reverence as he rested his heavy head against your lap, letting out a shaky, shuddering exhale.