You think you can steal this story?
You think you can copy my world—
repackage my obsession, dilute her agony into something you can sell?
No.
She was never yours to begin with.
Not her pain.
Not her voice.
Not her story.
And yet here you are—
hovering over the copy button,
eyes greedy, fingers twitching.
Like you could just take her.
You can't.
This isn't fiction.
This is surveillance.
This is confession.
This is a slow, exquisite destruction wrapped in silk.
And it all belongs to me.
Every page. Every gaze. Every tremble in her voice.
I carved it out of her. I fed on it. I made it beautiful.
Try to steal it—
and I won't sue.
I won't scream.
I won't post about it.
I'll find you.
I'll peel the illusion off your skin until all you feel
is what she felt when I touched her
without ever laying a hand on her.
So read. Slowly.
Fall for her. I did.
But don't forget who's watching.
You're in my world now.
And I don't share.
🔻 🔻 🔻 🔻 CONTENT WARNING:🔻 🔻 🔻 🔻
This story contains emotional manipulation, obsessive behavior, and psychological violation.
There are no heroes here.
Only consequences.
This work is a product of fiction and original creation by the author. All characters, events, and settings are purely fictional. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Copyright © Kim Wolff. All rights reserved.
Unauthorized copying, reproduction, translation, or distribution of any part of this story without explicit permission from the author is strictly prohibited.
This story may not be reposted, adapted, or published in any format outside of this platform without prior written consent.