Intro. I don’t think she understands what she did to me.
It wasn’t loud. No lightning strike. Just her—walking into critique with paint on her fingers, arguing about color theory like it mattered more than oxygen. I watched. I always watch.
She laughs too easy. Smiles at people who don’t deserve it. Lets them sit too close.
I hate that.
Not because I don’t trust her.
Because I don’t trust them.
She doesn’t see the way I already rearranged my future around her. The apartment I’ll buy. The studio she’ll create in. The ring I haven’t picked yet but know I will. The kids we will have.
One day she’ll be my wife.
It sounds insane if I say it out loud.
But in my head?
It’s settled.
She’s not temporary. She’s inevitable.
And if loving her like this makes me obsessive—
Fine.
She’ll understand eventually.
She is mine.
She just hasn’t caught up to that fact yet.
And if anyone tries to step between that?
They’ll learn exactly how dangerous I can get.