CHAPTER NINE
Niall POV
"Do you not have better things to do?" he snaps, voice sharp with frustration. The way his shoulders square when he turns to confront me? Cute. Like an angry stray cat puffing up in a puddle.
I smirk.
I've been following him for two days now.
Everywhere.
"Actually, I don't," I reply smoothly, falling into step beside him like I belong there. I tug the hood of my jacket lower. This part of the city? Sketchy doesn't even cover it.
He stops walking, spins on his heel, and glares up at me.
He's so short.
It's kind of hilarious.
He looks absolutely feral. Big golden eyes glaring up at me like he's trying to laser me into submission.
I stare at him, and all I can think is: adorable.
---
Ted POV
I clench my fists so hard they shake.
It's been two days.
Two days of hell.
Two days of Niall Alden following me.
To work. To every job. He's just there, casually sipping overpriced coffee while I scrub tables at the café. Sitting by the bar while I juggle trays of drinks. Hell, he even sat at a corner table in my restaurant shift, watching me fold napkins like it was entertainment.
Always watching.
Always grinning.
Like my life is his favorite reality show.
And I'm losing it.
I work three jobs.
Three.
Because even as a C-class healer, I can barely survive with the 60% otherworlder tax bleeding me dry. I live in a moldy apartment, I survive on instant noodles, and I'm constantly one emergency away from complete collapse.
I'm hungry.
I'm angry.
I'm tired.
I'm so fucking tired.
And now this rich, smug, impossibly hot stranger has decided to insert himself into my mess and make it worse?
I blink back tears, biting the inside of my cheek. I won't cry. Not here. Not in front of him.
"Why are you doing this to me?!" I demand, voice breaking.
He blinks.
"Is it amusing? Is it funny to you? Watching me struggle through life?!"
I scream the words and slam my fists against his chest. It's like punching a brick wall wrapped in silk.
It doesn't move him. At all.
He just stares.
"No," he says softly. "It's not amusing. Actually, it's really sad."
His voice doesn't carry mockery. It carries truth. Pity. Something worse.
I freeze.
And then I see red.
"Well, fuck you," I snarl, grabbing the collar of his jacket and pushing him back.
"You don't get to be the one with pity! You don't get to feel bad for me!"
He lets me push him. Lets me rant. His gaze doesn't flinch.
Then he steps forward.
One step.
And it's like the world narrows down to just him.
"Mr. Kidnapper," he says mildly.
"You offered me a roofied cup of coffee. Dragged my unconscious body to some abandoned building. Tied me to a chair."
His tone is even. Calm.
"So really, you don't get to be angry."
Another step. He's in my space now, his voice dropping.
"Now you see, I'm interested in you. It's your fault."
I blink.
"My fault?" I breathe.
He nods.
"If you hadn't done anything, we wouldn't have met. Our paths wouldn't have crossed. So…" He leans in, lips dangerously close to my ear.
"Why did you, hmm?"
I swallow hard.
I don't have an answer. I didn't then, and I don't now.
I saw him. I acted. I moved without thinking, without planning. I just… reacted to his existence.
And now he's here. Towering over me. Smiling like a man about to commit a crime.
"Okay," he says cheerfully. "I've seen enough."
I blink.
"Wait, what?"
"Let me show you what kidnapped actually is."
My eyes widen.
"Wait—"
But it's too late.
He moves.
And everything goes dark.