My Stalker Is My Stepbrother

Bella

I could feel eyes on my back, watching me. For weeks, I'd been suspecting someone was stalking me, but every time I turned, there was no one, just empty streets, shadows, and the nagging feeling that I was never truly alone.

“Bella, come on, we're already late for the party!” Nina yelled from across the road, waving impatiently beside our waiting Uber.

I shook my head, forcing a smile as I started to cross. But right before I slid into the backseat, I scanned the street one last time.

That's when I saw him. He stood half-hidden in the mouth of an alley, tall, easily over six-foot-three, with broad shoulders that filled out his dark hoodie like it was tailored to his frame.

The black mask covered the lower half of his face, but it only sharpened the impact of what was visible: sharp jawline shadowed with stubble, high cheekbones, and eyes that burned through the dim streetlight.

He didn't move or flinch when our gazes collided.

He was dangerous, that much screamed from every line of his body and the way he held himself, especially the faint glint of a silver chain disappearing into the collar of his shirt and the subtle flex of inked forearms as he shifted his weight.

I should have screamed. Run. Called out to Nina.

Instead, I stared back for one heartbeat too long.

He tilted his head, just slightly, like he was memorizing me, savoring the way my breath hitched.

Then, he pushed off the wall and melted back into the shadows, vanishing as if he'd never been there.

My heart was still racing when I finally climbed into the car.

Nina laughed, unaware of what had just happened. “What is with the deer-in-headlights look? Did you see a ghost?”

I forced a laugh, buckling in. “Something like that.”

As soon as we arrived at the party, I knew this was the perfect place to drown out the chaos in my head for a few hours.

My mom’s boyfriend had finally dropped to one knee and proposed, and she’d said yes without hesitation.

Next week, we’d be moving into his house, and believe me, I needed this weekend.

I needed the pounding bass, the crush of bodies, the burn of cheap vodka to blur the fact that I’d soon have to call another man “Dad” when my real father was still out there, alive, breathing, just… not enough for her anymore.

The host was some friend of Nina’s I’d never met, apparently loaded enough to rent out this massive converted warehouse on the edge of town.

“Drop your phones in the basket over there,” the guy at the door barked over the music, jerking his thumb toward a black velvet-lined box guarded by two bouncers who looked like they bench-pressed cars for fun.

They looked damn scary.

“Nina, I can’t just leave my phone,” I whispered, clutching it tighter. “What if there’s an emergency? Or… I don’t know, what if someone needs me?”

She rolled her eyes, already half-dancing, swaying her hips.

“Relax, Bella. We’ll be fine. My friend is the host, he’s got people everywhere. If anything goes down, we’ll find him. Besides, no distractions tonight. You promised yourself a good time.”

It didn’t feel reassuring, but she was right about one thing: I’d come here to forget.

So I dropped my phone into the basket, watched it disappear under a pile of glittering cases, and followed her inside.

The crowd swallowed us immediately. Nina grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the makeshift bar in the corner, already shouting drink orders over her shoulder.

I tried to lose myself in it, the rhythm, the heat, the way the lights made everything feel temporary and electric. For a minute, it almost worked.

Then I felt it again. That same prickle at the back of my neck. I felt eyes on me.

I spun slowly, scanning faces in the sea of gyrating bodies and guys making bets in a corner.

I saw nothing, but the feeling didn't fade. I leaned closer to Nina as she handed me a drink that smelled like pure sugar and regret.

“Do you ever get the sense someone’s watching you?” I asked her.

She rolled her eyes and laughed. “Babe, it’s a party. Everyone’s watching everyone. That’s the point.”

I forced a laugh, took a sip that burned all the way down, and tried to shake it off.

But deep down, I knew better.

I was still struggling to finish that drink twenty minutes later when the music dipped and a ripple of excitement cut through the crowd.

Of course. College kids and their sudden urge to play games.

A girl with blue-dyed hair and a crop top that barely existed climbed onto a speaker, and cleared her throat. “Okay, listen up! We’re doing the Mirror Maze Challenge in the back. It’s simple.”

She paused for dramatic effect, then continued.

“You girls go in first, alone or in pairs, your call. There are mirrors, lights, and dead ends. The guys will wait outside, then they'll enter after a head start. Try not to get caught. If a guy catches you… he’s free to do whatever he likes.”

She waggled her eyebrows. “With your enthusiastic, sober-ish consent, obviously. Safeword is ‘red,’ exits are marked, security’s everywhere. No one’s getting hurt unless they want to.”

This was the moment I realised I should have left, and I regretted it after.

Nina grabbed my arm, her eyes sparkling. “Oh my God, Bella, we have to. This is legendary.”

I stared at her. “You’re serious? Some stranger chases me through a mirror maze and, if he catches me, he can… what? Kiss me? Grope me? Whatever?”

“Whatever you’re okay with,” she said, shrugging like it was no big deal. “It’s the thrill. The chase. Come on, live a little before you’re stuck playing happy family next week.”

My stomach flipped. No thanks to the nausea from the drink. The same prickle from earlier crawled up my spine again, stronger now. Like someone was already picturing me in there.

I glanced toward the back of the warehouse where black curtains had been pulled aside to reveal the entrance: a glowing archway of mirrors, reflections splintering endlessly under the pulsing lights.

It looked infinite. Disorienting. Intimate. And dangerous in the best-worst way. I was not even tipsy yet and look where my mind was.

Before I could talk myself out of it, Nina was dragging me toward the line forming near the entrance. Girls were giggling, adjusting their hair, tugging their skirts shorter. Desperate much?

Guys lingered nearby, watching, smirking, sizing up their potential prey.

I didn’t see him at first. Not clearly.

But then the crowd parted just enough, and there, leaning against a support beam, arms crossed, still in that dark hoodie, mask pulled low, was him.

My stalker.