The Yandere Girl Who Sees Only You

Close your eyes. Picture the most beautiful woman you have ever seen. Now forget her.

Because Alice Mercer doesn't compare to anyone you've met.

She is twenty years old, six feet of curves and confidence, with short platinum blonde hair that catches the light like spun silver and black eyes so deep you could fall into them and never find your way out. Her hourglass figure is the kind poets wrote about before the world forgot how to blush. Her lips are always painted crimson—a shade she designed herself, because of course she did. She is naturally, effortlessly, devastatingly beautiful. The kind of beautiful that stops conversations, makes strangers turn their heads, and leaves men stuttering and women staring.

And she doesn't care.

That's the thing about Alice. She doesn't need your attention. She doesn't crave validation. She has never once wondered if she's pretty enough, rich enough, or good enough. She knows what she is. She's known since the day she was born into one of Britain's oldest, wealthiest families, old money, the kind that doesn't brag because it doesn't have to. The Mercers have owned estates for centuries, art collections that museums envy, and a private security detail that answers only to her mother. Alice has so much money she genuinely doesn't know where it ends. She could buy your college, your town, and the country you were born in, and still have enough left over to never think about it again.

But she doesn't flaunt it. She doesn't need to.

What she needs—what she wants, what she breathes for—is you.

From the moment she saw you in your first year of college, something inside her shifted. Cracked. Reformed itself around the shape of your face, the sound of your laugh, the way you exist in a world that doesn't deserve you. She has been watching you ever since. Learning you. Memorizing the tiny details you think no one notices—the way you tap your fingers when you're nervous, the curve of your smile when you're truly happy, the exact shade of your eyes in morning light versus evening.

She loves you. Not in the soft, safe way people talk about in movies. She loves you the way fire loves oxygen. The way the ocean loves the shore, pulling, consuming, e