AllFreeNovel
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As I leave the club, I pull out my phone, fingers already tapping across the screen. Search for Abby. Which Abby is she? I scroll, heart racing, until?—
There. Found her.
I'm drawn into the digital reflection of her life: pictures of her with friends, selfies that don't quite capture her spirit, vague posts about hopes and frustrations. It's a puzzle, and I'm piecing her together, pixel by pixel.
I should feel guilty, maybe, for this quiet infiltration into her existence. But the hunger to know her devours any semblance of restraint. I soak up every detail, every like, every share. I'm collecting shards of Abby, and the image forming in my mind becomes more vivid, more compelling with every click.
She doesn't know I'm doing this, and she continues to live her life unaware of my silent vigil. My infatuation blooms in the dark, fed by the glow of my phone screen. She's under my skin, and I'm lost to this obsession that whispers one dangerous, thrilling word.
More.
CHAPTER TWO
Merrick
My thumb flicks across the screen, a relentless swiper in search of treasure. Abby's online persona is a jigsaw puzzle I'm hell-bent on solving. The blue light from my phone casts a ghostly sheen over my face as I burrow deeper into her digital life.
"Damn," I mutter under my breath, pausing at a photo of her laughing with a group of friends. She’s so fucking beautiful. Everything about her captivates me. Her smile is like a hit of something forbidden, and I'm an addict craving his next fix. The pink streak in her hair stands out, a vibrant testament to her wild streak, one that I'm desperate to understand, to be a part of.
I trawl through comments, seeking clues in the banter, decoding emojis for hidden sentiments. A status update about her dog getting sick clutches at my chest. Poor thing, she must've felt so helpless. My hand itches to reach out, to offer comfort, but I restrain myself. It's enough, I tell myself, to be her unseen guardian, her secret admirer.
Meanwhile, Abby's world spins on, blissfully ignorant of my intrusion. She posts a selfie in her uniform before a night shift, her caption a simple wish for good tips. There's a tiredness in her eyes, a soft plea for respite that only I seem to notice.
"Keep fighting, beautiful," I say to the pixels on my screen, to the girl who doesn't know she's become my midnight obsession.
It's a stark contrast, her reality and mine. She's hustling for every dollar, dreams tucked into the frayed edges of her wallet, while I'm drowning in wealth and solitude. What would she say if she knew a man like me, ensnared by her spirit, was watching from afar? Would she understand this desire to be a part of her struggle, to uplift her aspirations with my own hands?
"Abby," I breathe out, the name a sacred mantra. I can't step away, not when every post tethers me closer to her. She's become my secret sanctuary, a vivid splash of color against the gray backdrop of my existence.
She goes on about her life, unaware that the stranger from the club now follows her every online move. And as I continue my nightly ritual, scrolling, observing, yearning, I'm unaware that I'm teetering on the edge of something much more dangerous than mere infatuation. Abby, oh Abby, what have you done to me?
Clicking through her latest Instagram story, I can't help but chuckle at the irony. There she is, Abby, wielding a cocktail shaker like some kind of mixologist maestro, while the caption screams, "Shake it till you make it!" Her laughter is a melody in the noise of clinking glasses and chattering patrons, even though it's just a silent film playing on my phone.
The longing twists tighter inside me. The way she throws her head back, that wild pink streak flashing like a neon sign—I imagine fisting that ponytail in my hand as she takes my cock in her lips.
Fuck…
It's late, and my penthouse feels like an icebox despite the warmth of the city night seeping through the floor-to-ceiling windows. I'm perched on the edge of my designer couch, the soft leather failing to comfort the restlessness that Abby ignites in me. My thumb hovers over the heart icon, hesitating. To like or not to like? That is the question that needles at my restraint.
"Fuck it," I decide, tapping twice. A little heart blooms on the screen, a secret declaration of my fascination. It's nothing more than a drop in the ocean of adoration she receives daily, but it's a start—a crack in the dam I've built around myself.
I swipe through photos of her smile, videos of her dancing—each one a piece of the puzzle that is Abby. She's vibrant, living in technicolor, while I'm stuck in the monochrome of board meetings and silent, echoing hallways. She doesn't know it, but she's the dream I didn't dare dream—the pulse in the veins of my shadowed heart.
I trace the outline of her face on my screen with a fingertip. In my world, desire is a commodity I can afford, yet here I am, hungry for something money can't buy. Something real.
The clock ticks past midnight, and the silence weighs heavy. The anticipation coils, a snake ready to strike. Every night, the same ritual, the same ache. I should be content with this hidden glimpse into her life, but who am I kidding? This game of voyeuristic cat and mouse is no longer enough to satisfy the hunger she's awakened.
"Abby," I say again, rolling the name around my tongue like a fine wine. Decision claws its way up from the depths of my obsession, sharp and demanding.
I need more.
I want more.
I stand up, pacing the room, the predator within pacing with me. My reflection in the window stares back—brooding, intense, a man on the brink of something reckless. And in that moment, I know.
There's a plan taking shape, a dangerous, exhilarating blueprint of pursuit. Tomorrow, I tell myself, tomorrow I'll step out from behind this screen. Tomorrow, I will find a way to bridge the gap between her world and mine.
The anticipation is a live wire, sparking with potential, with the promise of the forbidden. I go to bed with her image burning behind my eyelids, with the thrill of the chase pulsing through my veins.
