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itwillbethescarletwitch · 10 days ago

Text

Meant To Be Yours

bob floyd x fem!reader

tw: Stalking and obsessive behavior, Psychological manipulation and abuse, Kidnapping and confine, Use of chloroform / drugging, Threats and implied violence, Emotional trauma, Strong language / profanity, Mental health struggles

There’s a certain kind of silence that screams. The kind that settles in when the world’s too loud, when your mind twists itself in circles and no one else sees the shadows creeping behind their perfect little lives.

Bob Floyd knew that silence. It was the soundtrack to his every waking hour.

He had seen her three months ago, long before they actually “met.” It was a stupid coincidence — or maybe fate, if you believed in that crap. She was standing outside that old bookstore, the one with the chipped paint and the rattling neon sign that flickered every time a storm rolled through. She had that look on her face — the kind of tired smile that only comes from living too much, from carrying secrets in the hollow of your chest.

Bob hadn’t been able to look away.

From that moment, she became his entire fucking universe.

He started small. Lurking on her social media like a goddamn shadow, piecing together her routines, her friends, the places she went when no one was watching. He learned what she drank, the kind of books she liked — that she’d stayed up until 3 AM last Thursday because of some stupid deadline, and how she always left her phone on silent.

God, he memorized everything.

Every post, every smile, every moment was a thread he pulled at obsessively. It was like unraveling a beautiful, fragile thing that belonged only to him now. But she didn’t know it yet. Not even close.

Sometimes, he’d drive past her house at night, heart hammering so loud he thought the whole neighborhood could hear. The porch light was almost always on, flickering shadows through the lace curtains. He’d wait in his car just across the street, pretending to be a ghost passing by. He knew the security cameras, the dogs that barked at midnight, the way the old oak tree in the front yard swayed in the wind. He marked the nights when her car was gone, when the windows glowed warm and inviting, when the silence screamed that she was home alone.

And when she finally stepped out — the curve of her neck catching the streetlamp, the nervous twist of her fingers — he’d follow, careful and patient.

There was no rush in obsession. No expiration date.

But Bob was watching, always watching.

⸻

He wasn’t just stalking her. He was protecting her. That was the twisted part no one else understood. He would stop anyone who looked at her wrong — in his mind, anyway. Because if he couldn’t have her, no one fucking could.

When they finally met — when their paths crossed and she smiled politely like she had no idea what he’d been doing for the past three months — Bob felt a surge of something so fierce it nearly broke him.

She was his.

And if she ever tried to run, Bob would be waiting.

———

She was rushing into that little bookstore — the one with the cracked sign and the faint smell of old paper — just to get out of the rain.

He was standing in the back aisle, hidden behind a tower of dusty books, looking for something to read.

Their eyes met.

It was like a jolt, a spark that neither of them expected but both immediately felt.

“Hey,” he said, voice low and smooth, a slight grin playing at his lips.

She smiled back, heart already racing. “Hey.”

He stepped closer, careful not to crowd her but close enough that she caught the scent of his cologne — fresh, a little woodsy, addictive.

“Crazy weather, huh?” he said, nodding toward the rain pounding the windows.

“Yeah, perfect for getting lost in a bookstore,” she replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

They started talking — about favorite authors, movies, music. His humor was quick, witty, making her laugh before she realized it.

She found herself telling him things she didn’t usually share with strangers.

He listened, really listened.

When the rain slowed, neither wanted to break the spell.

“Coffee?” he asked, eyes hopeful.

She hesitated for a split second, then nodded.

That coffee date turned into dinner. Then a walk under city lights.

By the end of the night, it felt like they’d known each other forever.

She didn’t know what this was — a chance encounter or something more — but she wanted to find out.

And he? He already knew.

She was the one.

———

The sky was streaked with pinks and soft oranges as the sun began to dip below the horizon. The park was quiet, just the hum of distant cars and the gentle rustle of leaves in the evening breeze.

Bob walked beside her, hands tucked deep into his jacket pockets, eyes fixed on the fading light. His usual cool, calm facade was cracked just enough to show the nervous pulse beneath.

“I’ve been thinking,” he started, voice low but steady. She glanced at him, curious. “I don’t want to be just some guy passing through your life. I want to be the guy you come home to. The one you call when you’ve had a shitty day or when something good happens. Will you be my girlfriend?”

Her heart skipped, cheeks warming. She smiled—big, bright, the kind of smile that made the world feel lighter. “Yeah. I’d like that a lot.”

Relief and something fierce bloomed in his chest. Without thinking, he pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her with a tenderness that promised steadiness and something real. No rush, no pressure. Just this quiet, solid moment where the world fell away.

———

The evening air was just cool enough to make the soft glow of streetlamps seem warmer, promising something quietly electric between them.

After their night out, her phone buzzed with a new message. She smiled as she read it.

She had texted casually, “You should come over sometime.”

Bob’s fingers hesitated for a moment before he typed, “I’d like that. Send me your address.”

She sent it instantly, the little blue ticks showing he’d seen it right away.

Later that night, Bob sat in his car outside her house, studying the exterior like it was the first time he’d ever seen it. The porch light cast soft shadows, the garden was neat but unpretentious, and the front door looked inviting.

When she opened the door, her smile was warm but curious, as if wondering how he could be so calm after all they’d shared.

He stepped inside slowly, making a show of looking around like a visitor seeing a stranger’s home for the first time—even though every detail was etched in his mind. The way the curtains framed the windows, the bookshelf stacked with novels, the faint scent of vanilla and fresh laundry.

“Wow, your street is so quiet and peaceful,” he said, carefully casual, sitting down on the couch and running his hand over the soft throw pillow beside him.

She laughed, a soft, genuine sound that made his chest tighten.

Bob spotted the vintage record player in the corner. “I’ve never actually seen one of these in person,” he said, reaching out to lift the needle, pretending to discover it anew.

“It’s been in my family forever,” she replied, her eyes sparkling with pride.

He smiled, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a small box of chocolates—her favorite kind.

“Thought you might like these,” he said softly, handing it to her.

Her eyes softened, already knowing the gesture wasn’t as casual as it seemed.

They shared a quiet moment, the kind where words aren’t necessary but everything feels said.

——

It became routine—Bob at her house, sitting on her couch like he hadn’t been watching it from the street for months.

Sometimes he’d bring her favorite takeout before she even said what she was craving.

Other times, he’d show up with a book she’d once mentioned in passing, casually saying, “I saw it and thought of you,” like it wasn’t already saved in a note on his phone titled “Things She Likes.”

He never stayed too long—just enough to feel like he belonged, never enough to raise suspicion. He’d lean back against her kitchen counter while she cooked, pretending to be surprised when she reached for ingredients he already knew she kept on the second shelf.

“I like your kitchen,” he’d say once, tracing his fingers along the countertop. “It’s…warm.”

She smiled at that. “It’s just a kitchen, Bob.”

He looked at her for a second too long. “No. It’s yours.”

Sometimes, she’d catch him looking at the little things—a framed photo on her hallway wall, a chipped mug she always used. He never asked questions about them. He already knew.

One night, when she stepped into the bedroom to change into something more comfortable, Bob stood in the middle of her living room, just listening. Breathing it in. Her house was quiet. Her scent was everywhere.

He picked up one of the candles on her side table and turned it over in his hands. Vanilla cedarwood. He’d bought the same one for his own place weeks ago.

When she returned, hair in a messy bun and feet bare, he was smiling, calm, like he hadn’t just been thinking about how well his hands fit around the base of her wine glasses.

———

She knocked on Bob’s door with her knuckles out of habit, even though he’d already texted her: “It’s open, come in :)”

Still, there was something about stepping into someone’s space for the first time that made her want to be polite.

She pushed the door open slowly. “Bob?”

“In here,” he called from the living room.

She kicked off her shoes in the entryway and followed the sound of the TV. When she turned the corner, she nearly laughed.

He was lounging on the couch, legs stretched out, blanket tossed over his lap — and on the screen?

Her favorite comfort show.

It was the exact episode she’d posted about two weeks ago on her story, a blurry photo with the caption “this one hits me in the soul every time.”

“No way,” she said, grinning as she dropped her bag by the armchair. “Are you watching this?”

He looked over, feigning surprise. “Yeah, it was just on. You like it?”

“Like it? Bob, I’ve rewatched this show like six times.” She plopped down next to him, barely noticing the tiny tension in his shoulders that eased as soon as she smiled. “It’s kind of my everything.”

“Well,” he said, grabbing the remote and turning the volume down just enough, “that explains the good energy in the room.”

She laughed and settled into the couch, hugging one of the throw pillows to her chest.

And then — because her throat was dry from the heat outside — she asked, “You got anything to drink?”

Bob was already standing. “Yeah, fridge is full. What do you want?”

“Water’s fine,” she said, automatically.

But he was gone before she finished the sentence.

When he returned, he was holding out a can of Dr Pepper.

She blinked at it.

“I… didn’t know you drank this,” she said, taking it slowly.

“Is that okay?”

She opened it and took a sip, still smiling. “Okay? It’s my favorite. Literally. This is witchcraft.”

He gave a sheepish shrug. “Just a lucky guess.”

She had no idea he’d driven to five different stores to find the right variety pack because he remembered the exact bottle she was holding in a photo from last fall. No idea that the blanket she was curled under wasn’t just “a nice Target find,” but the exact color she’d liked in a Pinterest post from three years ago. No idea that he’d started watching this show the moment she mentioned it on her socials, just in case it came up.

To her, it all felt serendipitous.

To him, it was strategy.

And it worked. She glanced around his place, her brows lifting as she took in the books on the shelf (a few by authors she’d gushed about), the cozy lamp in the corner (same vibe as the one in her reading nook), and the faint smell of vanilla cedarwood from a candle lit on the counter.

Everything felt familiar. Warm.

Like home.

“Bob, your place is kind of amazing.”

He smiled, watching her curl further into the blanket like a cat claiming its spot.

“Thanks,” he said, soft and honest. “It feels even better with you in it.”

She laughed quietly and leaned against his shoulder, sipping her soda. “God, we’re like the same person.”

Bob didn’t answer right away.

He just smiled again, eyes dark and still.

That’s because I already know you, he wanted to say.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he turned the volume up just a little and said, “Yeah. We really are.”

———

She doesn’t answer his text.

Just one.

Just once.

A full 32 minutes of silence.

Bob checks the timestamp again, then again, then again. The message sits there, unread, delivered, quietly mocking him from the screen of his phone.

It’s stupid. It’s nothing. She’s probably just in the shower. Or cooking. Or writing one of those little captions she always overthinks. God, she’s so cute when she overthinks.

Except — she always texts back.

Always.

And Bob’s not the kind of guy who spirals. He’s rational. Level-headed. Trained for high-pressure situations. But right now? His pulse is a jackhammer in his throat and his grip on his phone is white-knuckled.

He knows she’s not cheating. She’s not like that.

Still. He opens the live camera feed from her front porch. The one he installed three weeks before she invited him over for the first time.

Nothing. Stillness. Porch light glowing.

He taps through the app to another angle. Her kitchen window.

There she is.

She’s smiling. On the phone.

Laughing.

Bob’s mouth goes dry.

The laugh isn’t for him. She’s never laughed like that on the phone with him. Not that loose, breathless kind. Not that easy kind.

His mind starts to split itself open.

Maybe it’s just Ava. Or that screenwriter friend with the dumb glasses and the stupid beard. Or — no. No, not him. If it’s him, Bob swears to God—

She hangs up. He watches her mouth a bye, still grinning, and that smile sears itself into his brain like a brand. He can’t breathe. He can’t think.

A moment later, she finally texts him back.

sorry! was on the phone. miss you 🩵

Bob stares at the message for a full minute, then types back:

who were you talking to?

He deletes it. Sends instead:

miss you more :)

Because he’s not crazy. He’s just in love.

But love requires vigilance. Protection. Sacrifice. And sometimes, it means looking a little deeper than what she’s willing to show him.

So he gets in the car.

It’s past midnight when he parks two blocks away from her house. He walks the rest of the way like a ghost, slow and careful, keeping to the dark edges of the street.

From the sidewalk, he watches her through the window.

She’s watching that dumb movie she loves, curled up in that same blanket he “left” at her place. It makes his chest tighten.

She has no idea he’s standing outside, soaking in every second of her like she’s the air in his lungs.

You don’t even see it, do you?

He whispers it like a prayer.

You don’t see how much I do for you. How much I’ve given up just to be near you. I know you better than anyone ever has — better than you even know yourself.

And yet…

She lets other people call. Other people text. Other people exist in the same orbit as her when he’s the only one who should.

Bob presses his palm to the wooden fence lining her front yard. He could hop it in one movement. He knows which window creaks, which floorboard by her bedroom door gives the softest squeak. He could be inside in under a minute.

He doesn’t.

Not tonight.

But he wants to.

Because she’s starting to drift. Not far — not yet — but enough that he can feel it. Enough to twist something sharp and ancient in his gut.

She’s slipping.

And Bob?

Bob’s never been the type to let go.

———

They were curled up on her couch, legs stretched out, socked feet brushing now and then beneath the blanket. A half-eaten bowl of popcorn sat between them, and a half-forgotten action movie played low on the screen — the kind they’d both already seen before.

Her phone buzzed once.

Then again.

She barely lifted it from the table to check — just two texts and a picture from her sister. A snapshot of her niece in an oversized sunhat with glitter sunglasses. She smiled without thinking and tapped out a quick reply.

“Who are you texting?” Bob asked, his tone light, almost casual.

She glanced up. “My sister.”

He didn’t say anything for a beat. Just reached for more popcorn and kept his eyes fixed on the screen. But the shift was immediate — not dramatic, just… subtle. A little too quiet. Like the air had changed without her realizing it.

Another text came through. She picked up her phone again and let out a quiet laugh under her breath.

Bob let out a sharp exhale through his nose. “Kinda weird to be on your phone this much while we’re hanging out, don’t you think?”

Her hand stilled.

The words weren’t cruel. They weren’t even said harshly. But they landed with a strange, heavy kind of weight. One that sat between them now, louder than the explosions on the TV.

“I wasn’t trying to be rude,” she said quickly, already setting her phone down. “She’s just sending pictures. I’ll stop.”

He shrugged, still not looking at her. “No, it’s fine. I just thought you liked this movie.”

There was something in the way he said it — too casual to be casual.

She gave a small, apologetic smile, locking her phone and placing it face-down on the table. “I do. You’re right. I’m here with you.”

That’s when he looked at her again — soft eyes, that familiar boyish tilt of his head. So careful. So attentive. It was easy to forget the way his jaw had clenched just a second ago.

She settled back in at his side, trying not to overthink it. It wasn’t that weird. Maybe she really had been distracted. He probably just wanted her full attention. That wasn’t so terrible, right?

Everyone has a red flag or two, she told herself.

What she didn’t see was the way his gaze lingered on her phone for a little too long after that. The way his hand didn’t come back to rest on her waist for a full minute — like he was recalibrating.

Like he was reminding himself just how much he loved her.

And how dangerous it would be if someone else ever got her attention again.

———

She stared at her phone, the screen lighting up with a message from Bob.

Are you sure you want to cancel tonight?

She sighed, fingers hovering over the screen. She had already told Knox she wouldn’t make it. Bob had been persistent about staying in, claiming he had a surprise planned. She was tired, sure — but a small voice inside her wondered: was this really about the surprise?

A knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts. When she opened it, Knox stood there, arms crossed and brows furrowed.

“Hey,” Knox said quietly, glancing past her. “Is he not letting you go out?”

She blinked, caught off guard. “No — no way. I would never let a man tell me I can’t go out.”

Knox eyed her skeptically but said nothing.

She stepped outside with her, the cool evening air brushing her face as she tried to sound casual.

“Honestly, I just thought a quiet night would be nice. Bob’s got this movie we’ve been wanting to watch. We’re like, thirty minutes in, and he’s been waiting on me.”

Her phone buzzed again. She glanced down. Movie still paused. Waiting for you.

She rolled her eyes but quickly replied, Give me a minute. I’ll be in soon.

Five minutes passed. Then ten.

She was mid-sentence, trying to convince Knox it was fine, when the front door suddenly swung open.

Bob stepped out, his voice low but sharp. “Alright, you’re done.”

His hand shot out, grabbing her arm and pulling her back inside.

She yanked away, stepping back, heart pounding.

“Hello? Give me a minute to say goodbye,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

Bob’s face darkened. The door slammed shut behind him with a finality that sent a chill down her spine.

“I gotta go,” she said, desperation creeping into her voice.

Knox placed a hand on her arm as she turned back toward the house.

“Hey, he’s not hitting you, right?” Knox asked softly.

She shook her head, but the lie tasted bitter in her mouth.

“Girl, that seems a little… abusive,” Knox said, worry filling her eyes.

She wanted to tell Knox she was fine. Wanted to believe it, too.

But deep inside, a small seed of doubt began to take root.

She stepped back inside, closing the door softly behind her, heart pounding like a trapped animal in her chest.

“What the hell was that?” she demanded, voice shaky but loud enough to cut through the thick silence.

Bob looked up from the paused screen, his face calm—too calm, like a predator masking its hunger. His eyes widened just enough to play innocent.

“What was what?” he asked, voice smooth and practiced, the kind of fake confusion designed to unnerve.

“You—you yanked me. Grabbed my arm like I was some damn child. You didn’t even let me say goodbye to Knox before shutting me inside.”

He ran a hand through his dark hair, brows knitting as if wrestling some unseen pain. “The movie’s been paused for a while. I just wanted to finish it.”

She frowned, trying to keep her voice steady despite the dull ache where he’d grabbed her. “Okay, but you didn’t have to yank me like that. It kind of hurt.”

For a heartbeat, his face softened. His lips quivered, his voice dipped to a whisper heavy with false remorse. “I’m sorry.”

Then, just as quickly, the mask slipped. Behind the apology lurked something darker — a calculating gleam in his eyes, a twitch at the corner of his mouth. Those tears? A damn show.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he added quietly, voice velvet wrapped over steel.

She blinked, heart twisting painfully at the sight of those near-tears. It was the kind of vulnerability he wore like armor — a weapon to dismantle defenses.

And it worked.

Her walls cracked. Her doubts melted beneath the warmth of his gaze.

“I’m sorry too,” she murmured, voice barely steady. “I just… I haven’t seen Knox in a while. I really wanted to hang out with her.”

He reached out slowly, deliberately, pulling her into a gentle, possessive hold. “And you stayed in for me.”

She exhaled, sinking into him, the tension draining as his arms wrapped around her like chains she didn’t yet see.

But beneath the surface, something cold stirred in him — a thrill at the control, the knowledge that she was already bending, unknowingly tethered to him.

His lips brushed the top of her head, curling into a slow, sinister smirk she couldn’t see, but could somehow feel in the way his body tightened against hers.

I’ve got you right where I want you, he thought, eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction.

And in that moment, even as her heart fluttered in fragile hope, she didn’t want to leave.

Because sometimes, the silence that screams is quieter than the one you can’t hear coming.

———

The shift didn’t come all at once.

It was small at first. Barely noticeable, like a crack in glass you could convince yourself wasn’t there.

The first fight started with her phone.

They were having dinner at her place — pasta she’d made, garlic bread a little burnt but still warm — and her phone buzzed once, twice, then a third time. Bob’s eyes snapped to it like a reflex.

“Is that gonna keep going off all night?” he asked, not even looking up from his plate.

She blinked. “It’s just a group chat. Knox and Jules are planning a beach day.”

Bob let out a dry chuckle. “They ever stop talking?”

She smiled, unsure. “It’s not a big deal.”

But when she picked up her phone to reply, his voice dropped.

“Can’t you do that later? We’re having dinner.”

The way he said it — flat, almost like a challenge — made something twist uncomfortably in her stomach.

“Right,” she murmured, setting the phone down again. “Sorry.”

That was the first time she apologized for something that wasn’t really wrong.

The next came three days later.

She’d mentioned in passing that she was thinking about going out on Saturday night with some friends. Bob’s face immediately shifted — a flicker of something cold and unreadable tightening his jaw.

“Out where?” he asked, trying to sound casual, failing miserably.

“Just drinks downtown,” she said. “A bar, maybe some food after. Nothing crazy.”

His nod was slow. Too slow. “With who?”

She gave him a look. “You know who. Knox. Jules. A few others from work.”

He didn’t argue outright. He didn’t have to.

Instead, the day before, he showed up at her door with flowers and takeout from her favorite Thai place. A stack of DVDs in hand.

“I figured we could do a movie night instead,” he said with that soft voice of his, those blue eyes that always looked so sincere.

She hesitated.

“Unless you’d rather go out,” he added, like it was a test she didn’t know she was taking.

She caved. Stayed in. Told her friends she wasn’t feeling well.

And maybe she wasn’t.

Something about the guilt she felt sitting there with Bob, watching the opening credits roll, didn’t feel earned. It felt planted.

The third fight was worse.

He’d come over unannounced — something he was doing more and more lately — and found her sitting on the back porch with her laptop open, taking a Zoom call with a male coworker about a freelance pitch.

He stood in the doorway, arms crossed.

When she saw him, she smiled, lifted a finger to signal she’d be off in a minute.

But the moment the call ended, he was already inside, pacing.

“You didn’t tell me you were working with him.”

She frowned. “Why would I need to? It was a five-minute brainstorm.”

Bob’s eyes darkened. “You’re laughing with him like he’s your boyfriend.”

She stared. “Are you serious?”

His voice rose. “I saw the way you were looking at him.”

“That’s—” She stopped herself. Her heart was pounding. “That’s not okay, Bob. You don’t get to accuse me of something like that. Especially over a work call.”

His hands went to his hair, dragging through it like he was trying to claw the thoughts out of his own skull. “I just— I don’t like other guys thinking they can talk to you like that.”

“Like what?” she asked, incredulous. “Like I’m a person? A coworker?”

Bob didn’t respond. He just stood there, breathing heavy, until finally he mumbled, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get jealous. It’s just— I’ve been messed up before, okay?”

And again, she found herself saying, “It’s okay,” when it really wasn’t.

Now, two weeks out, the air between them felt different. Tighter.

She found herself hesitating before she answered texts in front of him, closing out of apps without realizing it. She’d told herself it was just sensitivity, just something she needed to navigate better.

But it wasn’t.

There were too many moments where her voice was quieter, her opinions softened. Too many times she thought, He didn’t used to be like this. Or maybe she just hadn’t noticed it before. Or maybe… maybe she hadn’t wanted to.

That night, as they sat curled on the couch, his arm over her shoulder like a noose dressed up in warmth, she stared blankly at the TV, not watching it.

She didn’t even remember what episode they were on.

Bob leaned down, kissed her temple. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she said, too quickly.

He smiled. “Good.”

But something inside her whispered that it wasn’t.

Not even close.

———

It started with a name.

She had mentioned it offhand — a guy friend she hadn’t seen in a while, someone she used to work with. Said they might grab lunch sometime next week.

Bob had been silent. Too silent.

The kind of quiet that makes your skin crawl before your mind even knows why.

He didn’t look up from where he stood at the kitchen counter, slicing an apple into even, perfect pieces.

“Who is he?”

She blinked, pausing by the sink. “What?”

“The guy. You said you’re getting lunch with him.”

“Oh—he’s just a friend. Jesus, Bob. I’ve known him forever.”

The knife stopped moving.

Bob looked up, eyes empty. “And you didn’t think that was something I should know?”

Her stomach dropped.

“Are you serious right now?” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “I didn’t hide anything. It’s not like I’m sneaking around.”

He smiled. But it wasn’t a nice smile. It was all teeth, no warmth. “So I guess I’m just supposed to be okay with you running off to spend time with some other man?”

“Oh my god, Bob—”

“You’re not going,” he said flatly, still smiling. “End of story.”

She slammed her hand down on the counter. “I’m not asking for permission. I had a life before I met you, I have a life with you, and I’ll have a life after you if I want one. You need to figure out where you stand in that, and know your damn place.”

Everything stopped.

The room seemed to tighten.

His expression changed in an instant. The calm was gone. So was the smile.

He moved fast — faster than she could back away. His hand caught her arm, and then he shoved her hard against the wall, rattling the frames beside her head. His forearm pressed up across her chest and throat, not quite choking, but enough to trap her completely.

“You don’t ever talk to me like that,” he growled, his face inches from hers.

Her breath hitched.

“I’ve been patient,” he snarled, his voice low and venomous, “I’ve been good to you. I make you feel safe, don’t I? I know you better than anyone ever has. Better than you know yourself.”

She tried to push at his arm, but he didn’t move.

“You don’t get a life without me,” he hissed. “There is no life after me. You think someone else is gonna put up with you? Love you like I do? You think someone else is gonna take care of you when you’re crying at two in the morning? You think someone else is gonna watch out for you the way I do?”

“Bob—”

“No,” he snapped, pushing just slightly harder to shut her up. “You’re mine. Mine. You were made for me. And if you try to leave me, I swear to God—”

He stopped.

His jaw clenched. His whole body trembled with barely contained rage.

Then suddenly — just like that — he pulled away. Let go.

“Go, then,” he said, backing off. “Run off to your pathetic lunch. Go play pretend like you’re still your own person.”

She stood frozen for a second. Just staring at him.

Then she turned and left without another word.

She didn’t even realize her hands were shaking until she was gripping the steering wheel. Didn’t realize she was crying until she saw herself in the rearview mirror.

She drove to the nearest Best Buy and bought the most expensive outdoor security cameras they had. She spent the next two hours drilling them into the doorframes of her house. One for the front porch. One watching the back.

She wanted to feel safe again.

But she didn’t know.

She didn’t know Bob had already wired a camera inside her bedroom. Disguised in the base of a fake houseplant on her nightstand — one she thought she bought herself.

He watched her now, live on his phone, curled up on her bed with the lights off.

Watched her wipe her eyes and mouth silent apologies to no one.

Watched her try to sleep.

Watched her forget he was still there.

Because he was still there.

And next time she tried to leave?

He wouldn’t let her go so easily.

———

The camera perched discreetly above her front door captures everything. The footage is clean: timestamped, high-resolution, and damning.

Bob appears at different times each day now.

Sometimes it’s noon. Sometimes three in the morning. Sometimes dusk — when the light starts to fade and the shadows deepen just enough that his face looks less like the man she once trusted, and more like the monster she’s beginning to see.

He never yells. Never bangs on the door. He just stands there, staring straight into the peephole like he can see through it. Sometimes he knocks — three soft, patient taps. Like he’s not trying to scare her.

But he is.

INT. HER LIVING ROOM – DAY

She works from the couch now. Hasn’t stepped foot in the office in almost two weeks. Her laptop balanced on her knees, camera app always open in the corner of her screen. The blinds are shut tight. The front and back doors are double deadbolted.

Every time her phone buzzes, her stomach flips.

It’s always him.

She doesn’t answer anymore. Doesn’t text back. But she watches. Every second. She needs the footage.

Today, it’s just past noon when she hears it: tap tap tap.

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. She taps into the live feed.

Bob is there again, arms crossed, hoodie pulled over his head. That same navy one he left at her place months ago — before everything changed.

BOB (outside, voice muffled but clear):

I know you’re in there. You don’t answer my calls, but I know you’re in there.

He takes a slow step closer, leans toward the door.

BOB:

If I can’t have you, no one can. You got that?

She flinches, her coffee sloshing onto the blanket over her legs.

BOB:

No one’s ever going to love you like I do. And you know what? That’s not a threat, sweetheart. That’s a promise.

He doesn’t wait for an answer. Just turns and walks off the porch like he didn’t just deliver a threat that settles like lead in her chest.

INT. HER BEDROOM – NIGHT

It’s nearly 2 a.m. She hasn’t slept. Her eyes are glued to the security app.

Another motion alert. Back door.

She pulls it up and her breath catches.

Bob. Again. Standing at the edge of her fence. Not moving. Just watching the house. Watching her. As if he knows where her bedroom window is. As if he knows she’s awake.

She records it. Downloads the clip. Adds it to the ever-growing folder:

EVIDENCE

– Front Door

– Back Door

– Verbal Threats

– Obsessive Behavior

She backs it all up twice — once to an encrypted hard drive, and once to the cloud.

INT. HER KITCHEN – MORNING

She drinks her coffee with shaking hands, rereading the transcripts she’s started typing out. All the audio she’s captured. The times, the dates. She’s built a case file without even realizing it.

The isolation is thick. She hasn’t seen anyone in eleven days. Groceries are delivered. Doors locked. Curtains drawn.

She feels like prey.

But she’s not running. Not yet.

She’s waiting.

Because when she goes to Maverick — when she goes to the Navy — she’s going to bring more than just fear.

She’s going to bring proof.

And Bob Floyd won’t see it coming.

———

The room is plain and serious. She sits across from Maverick and two senior Navy officers. A folder with security footage and notes lies on the desk.

She places the folder down, her hands trembling slightly.

“I’ve been keeping everything—every time he shows up, what he says… it’s been getting worse,” she says, voice shaky.

Maverick opens the folder and flips through the pages calmly.

“You’ve done well documenting this,” he says quietly, eyes steady.

One of the officers looks up. “This kind of stalking isn’t just a personal issue. It can impact your safety—and potentially ours.”

She swallows hard, glancing at the floor.

“He’s been at my door—front and back. I have to deadbolt everything now. Last week, he said, ‘If I can’t have you, no one can.’” Her voice breaks slightly.

Maverick’s eyes soften. “Have you contacted the police?”

She shakes her head quickly. “I was scared… I didn’t want to make it worse. But it just keeps happening.”

The other officer leans forward, voice firm but kind. “We’ll coordinate with law enforcement immediately. Restraining orders, patrol checks—you’ll have support.”

She nods, wiping her eyes. “Thank you. I just… I want to feel safe again.”

Maverick adds, “If you ever feel in danger, call us immediately. We can explore options—relocation, extra security.”

Her hands clench into fists. “I’m scared, but I want to fight this.”

One officer says, “You’re doing the right thing. Keep documenting. We’ll move as fast as we can, but these situations take time.”

She exhales, a mix of relief and fear. “Okay. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

———

Bob stands stiffly at the front of the room, eyes cold but tense. The panel of senior officers and JAG attorneys sit across from him, dossiers thick with evidence spread out before them. Maverick is seated among the observers, watching silently.

The board chair, Commander Jenkins, addresses him formally:

“Lieutenant Robert Floyd, you have been summoned here today regarding multiple serious allegations filed against you by civilian Ms. [Y/N]. These include stalking, harassment, and obstruction of justice.”

JAG attorney Collins flips through the folder labeled with Y/N’s name.

“Ms. [Y/N] has provided video footage, electronic communication logs, and witness testimony that collectively demonstrate a clear pattern of disturbing and unlawful behavior.”

Collins looks up, voice steady:

“This evidence was submitted in full to this board and to your defense counsel. You were given the opportunity to respond.”

Bob’s eyes flicker briefly, jaw tightening.

“I deny any wrongdoing.”

Maverick stands, voice calm but firm:

“With all due respect, sir, I have personally witnessed Lieutenant Floyd’s behavior escalate beyond concern. This isn’t a matter of opinion—this is documented fact.”

Commander Jenkins nods, addressing Bob again:

“The committee finds the evidence overwhelming and your conduct incompatible with the standards required of an officer in this branch.”

He slides a formal discharge document across the table.

“Effective immediately, you are to be dishonorably discharged from the service. Further actions may be taken if additional offenses come to light.”

Bob’s face hardens for a moment, then cracks — a flicker of rage and disbelief. But he says nothing.

Commander Jenkins stands.

“This hearing is concluded.”

Maverick exchanges a brief, relieved glance with the civilian observer from Y/N’s legal counsel.

Bob gathers his things silently, the weight of his fall settling like a shroud.

———

Bob stood outside the building where he’d just been stripped of everything he had worked for—his career, his reputation, his place in the Navy. The word dishonorably discharged echoed in his skull like a gunshot.

Lieutenant Robert Floyd was gone.

Now he was just Bob. And Bob was furious.

He sat in his car, gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned bone white. His jaw clenched. His mind screamed.

She did this.

She walked into that room and showed them all those videos. That audio. That proof.

She turned him into the villain.

“I loved you,” he muttered aloud, voice shaking. “I gave you everything. You were mine.”

He snatched his phone from the center console and opened the app.

The spy cam feed flickered to life—her living room.

Empty.

His eyes scanned the view. Her shoes were gone. Her bag wasn’t on the hook.

She wasn’t home.

A slow, twisted smile crept across his face.

This was perfect.

Without hesitation, Bob reached into the backseat. A duffel bag sat waiting, already packed: duct tape. Rope. A bottle of chloroform. A rag. Zip ties. Everything he needed.

He parked a street over and approached her house from the side, slipping through the bushes and past the camera she’d recently installed over the garage—one of the new ones. She thought she was being safe. Thought she was one step ahead.

She had no idea he was always ten steps ahead.

He used the spare key he’d made weeks ago, quietly letting himself inside. The house was still. Silent.

He inhaled deeply, like he was home.

Then he moved to the bedroom and dropped to the floor, crawling beneath her bed like it was instinct. Like he belonged there.

And then he waited.

The door clicked shut behind her with a dull thud. The quiet was thick. Still. Too still.

She exhaled, dropped her keys in the bowl on the hallway table, and rubbed at her temple. She’d just come from the police station—filling out forms, reviewing footage, recounting the darkest weeks of her life. It was over. She’d done everything right. She was going to be okay.

At least… that’s what she kept telling herself.

She headed straight to her bedroom, peeling off her coat. Her hands trembled slightly as she moved, but she tried to brush it off.

“Might take a shower,” she muttered to herself, stepping toward her closet. “Get out of these clothes, get out of that whole damn day.”

She yanked the closet door open and sifted through hangers, muttering under her breath.

“That son of a bitch. He’s fucking insane. Psychotic. Like, full-on Lifetime movie level crazy. Jesus, what the hell is wrong with me?”

She pulled out a sweatshirt and tossed it on the bed. “I mean, seriously. I liked him? I thought I could—” She shook her head and laughed bitterly. “God, I must’ve been out of my mind.”

She didn’t notice the quiet shift of a shadow under her bed. Didn’t hear the nearly imperceptible scrape of fabric on wood.

“I can’t believe I didn’t see it sooner. What did Maverick say? ‘He fooled all of us’? Yeah, no shit—he fooled me the most.”

She turned to grab a pair of leggings—

And screamed.

Bob came out from under the bed in a blur. One hand shoved a cloth to her mouth, the other caught her around the waist, dragging her down.

The sharp, chemical sweetness hit her hard. She gagged, thrashed, her limbs flailing.

The lamp went crashing to the floor, exploding into shards. She elbowed him hard in the ribs, kicked blindly toward the bedframe.

Her vanity was next—slammed into during the struggle, the drawers spilling open as one leg cracked and snapped clean off. She reached for the broken wood, anything, anything to fight—

But he was too strong.

He had her pinned, pressing her into the floor with his full weight.

Her vision started to blur, the edges going dark.

“You really thought you could get rid of me?” Bob growled, voice shaking with fury. “You thought you could humiliate me? Ruin my life?”

His breath was hot against her cheek, the mask of sanity long gone.

“You went to the Navy? To Maverick? After everything I did for you?”

She kicked again, weaker now, limbs heavy.

“I loved you,” he hissed, eyes wide and unblinking. “I still love you. But now? Now you have to be taught.”

She whimpered against the cloth, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes as her strength drained.

“You said you’d have a life after me?” he sneered. “You were wrong. There is no life after me. You’re mine. And if I can’t have you, no one can.”

She tried to scream, but the sound didn’t come out. Her body jerked once more—and then started to go still.

Bob stared down at her, panting, eyes crazed. His voice dropped to a whisper, tender and twisted all at once.