The Alpha Prisoners Obsession

Chp 5

Zyra Pov

The first thing that hit me when I stepped into the academy’s psychology building wasn’t the cold air or the scent of old books.

It was him.

He was already sitting in the seat beside mine.

Dael Morozov, the notorious red-eyed alpha. The boy whose reputation walked ahead of him like a shadow with teeth.

He lounged back in his chair as if he owned the room, long legs outstretched, sleeves rolled to his elbows, tie loose like he couldn’t be bothered to pretend to follow rules. His gaze found mine instantly, of course it did and my lungs stopped working for a heartbeat that felt like a death sentence.

My fingers tightened around my pen. Too tight. My pulse throbbed against the plastic casing. Don’t look at him. Don’t look at him. Don’t…

I looked.

His lips curved, slow and deliberate, a smirk that felt like a hand around my throat.

“Your seat,” he murmured, tapping the desk next to his with one long finger. “You’re blocking the view outside the window”

My stomach dropped. The way he said it… not impatient. Not annoyed. Amused. As if watching me panic was entertainment.

I forced myself into the chair, every muscle stiff, every cell in my body screaming to run. His presence was too close. Too consuming. I felt him before he moved, before he breathed. His heat, his scent, the quiet predator stillness that made every hair on my body stand up.

This academy was supposed to be a dream. My fresh start.

Instead, I landed next to my nightmare.

The professor hadn’t even entered the classroom yet. The room buzzed with chatter, laughter, shuffling. None of it reached me. All I heard was the thunder of my heart and the slow, phantom rhythm of his breathing beside me.

I swallowed hard. I lifted my pen. I tried, truly tried to act normal.

Then his elbow brushed my arm. Just barely.

Just enough to send a violent shiver through me.

I jerked away. His smirk widened.

“Jumpier than I expected,” he drawled softly. “Or is it just me?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t trust my voice. Hell, I didn’t trust my lungs.

His eyes traveled down my hair, my strange pale dyed hair slowly, like he was mapping every strand. Then up again, lingering far too long on my face. My throat. My trembling hands.

“You don’t belong here,” he said, not unkindly. Not kindly either. Just… stating a fact.

My breath hitched. “I…I do.”

“Do you?” His head tilted. “You walk in like prey. Sit beside me like prey. Look at me like prey.”

He leaned in, voice lowering to a whisper meant only for me.

“You smell like fear.”

Heat shot up my spine, terror, humiliation, something else I refused to name. I looked away sharply, pretending to check my notebook. My hand shook so badly I had to steady it with the other.

He saw. Of course he saw.

And he loved it.

“You won’t survive the semester.” A casual promise. A quiet prophecy. “Not if you panic every time I breathe.”

My throat tightened painfully. “Why are you?...”

He tapped my notebook with a knuckle, cutting me off…. “Write.”

“I…I don’t even know the topic yet.”

“Write anyway,” he murmured. “I want to see your handwriting.”

My stomach twisted. “Why?”

“Because I want to know how your mind moves.”

His tone was soft. Too soft. It made every warning instinct flare like a siren. He wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t flirting.

He was studying me.

The way a hunter studies the path his prey runs.

Before I could respond, the door swung open and the professor entered. The entire class instantly rose. Chairs scraped back. Silence fell like a blade.

Except for Dael.

He rose slowly, lazily, deliberately late, his eyes still pinned on me. The professor noticed. Everyone noticed. But Dael didn’t care. His smirk deepened as if the delay was intentional, a message carved into the air:

I move when I want. Not when I’m told.

We all sat again. My breath was uneven, shaky. The professor began his introduction, but the words blurred, blending into meaningless sound.

Because Dael leaned in again. The faintest shift. Close enough that I felt his breath brush my ear.

“Relax,” he whispered. “You’re shaking the desk.”

My fingers clenched around my pen so tight my knuckles whitened. “Please stop,” I muttered, barely audible.

He chuckled. Quiet. Dark. Too intimate.

“Why? You make such interesting reactions.”

My heart slammed against my ribs.

He lifted his hand and casually dragged a finger along the spine of his notebook, slow, rhythmic, hypnotic. I didn’t want to stare. My eyes defied me.

“That’s better,” he whispered when he caught me looking. “You focus when I give you something… controlled.”

Heat pooled low in my stomach—fear, dread, shame, something dangerously close to fascination.

I hated that he noticed. He noticed everything.

“I’m going to enjoy this,” he murmured.

My breath froze.

“Enjoy what?” I whispered, my throat dry.

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he slid a folded note onto my desk without looking at me. His hand brushed mine accidentally, intentionally, I didn’t know.

I stared at the folded paper like it might explode.

“Open it,” he whispered, voice silk and bruises.

My heart pounded. My fingers trembled as I unfolded it under the desk.

One sentence.

One threat disguised as a promise: I’m going to ruin you slowly!.

The blood drained from my face. My chest tightened. My hands shook.

And beside me, Dael sat back in his chair, smirk satisfied, eyes half-lidded, like the game had just begun.

Like he had all the time in the world to break me. Like he already owned me.

The moment the professor announced the activity, the entire class groaned in unison. Group work. First day. Of course.

“Pairs,” the professor said, adjusting his glasses. “You will choose a psychological case study from the library archives and provide your analysis. Your partner will be assigned, not chosen.”

I tensed. Hard Please not him.

Please, please, please…

“Dael Morozov.” The professor called the name like a warning.

Dael didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. He simply tilted his head and looked at me.

No.

No no no.

“Zyra Drovnik,” the professor finished. The room spun.

The professor might as well have handed me to a wolf and said, “Good luck surviving.”

My heart plummeted to my stomach. My hands went cold. I could feel Dael’s stare burn through my skin like a brand.

He rose slowly, chair scraping, that same predatory calm in his movements.

“Library,” the professor instructed. “You two will be analyzing the Moritz Files. Bring me your outline by the end of the day.”

I swallowed hard. The end of the day. One entire afternoon trapped with him.

No witnesses. No noise. Only us.

Dael leaned down just slightly, close enough that I could feel his breath ghost along my shoulder.

“Looks like it’s my lucky day,” he murmured.

I stiffened. He knew. He knew exactly what this pairing meant for me. He straightened, smirk deepening when he saw my trembling hands. Then, without waiting for me, he moved toward the door.

The professor dismissed us soon after. Chairs scraped, chatter resumed, laughter filled the room.

But not for me. I felt like I was walking toward an execution as I picked up my books and followed him out.

He didn’t speak at first. Didn’t glance back. He simply walked, casual and silent, his hands in his pockets, the faintest swagger to his step.

But he knew I was behind him.

He could feel me.

He slowed down just enough that I was forced to walk closer. Too close. His presence wrapped around me like smoke, dark, suffocating, inescapable.

Halfway down the hall, he stopped so abruptly I almost bumped into him. I froze.

He didn’t turn. Didn’t move. Then, slowly, he angled his head just enough so I could see his profile.

“You walk quietly,” he said, voice low. “But I hear every step.”

My stomach twisted. “We..we should go to the library.”

“We will.”

But he didn’t move. Not until I tried to take a step around him.

His hand shot out and caught my wrist, not tight, not aggressive, just… claiming. His thumb brushed the inside of my wrist, a slow, deliberate drag.

Heat shot up my arm. Unwanted. Terrifying.

I inhaled sharply.

He smiled, actually smiled like he’d been waiting for that exact sound.

“Your pulse,” he murmured, leaning in, “is… interesting.”

I yanked my hand back. Or tried to.

He let go a second later, allowing me the illusion of escape.

“Keep walking,” he said.

I walked.

He followed, close. Too close.

I could feel the warmth of him at my back, the faint brush of his breath near my ear whenever we passed a corner or slowed at a turn. He didn’t touch me again, but he didn’t need to.

He was everywhere.

At the staircase, he leaned forward, his chest almost brushing my shoulder.

“You know,” he said softly, “you should really stop shaking.”

“I’m n-not—”

Lie. My voice cracked around it.

He almost laughed. Almost.

Then he leaned closer, his lips brushing the shell of my ear not touching, but close enough that my whole body jolted.

“I haven’t even started yet.”

I practically stumbled down the last step.

He watched. I could feel his eyes burning into me, unblinking, hungry for every reaction.

The library was silent when we entered warm lights, endless shelves, dust motes floating in the still air.

Empty.

My throat tightened. He closed the door behind us with a soft click that sounded like a lock to my ears.

The space suddenly felt smaller.

He gestured lazily toward a table in the far corner.

“Sit.”

My spine stiffened. “You don’t, you don’t get to order me.”

He raised a brow, amused. “Then don’t think of it as an order.”

He stepped closer. “One word,” he murmured, “and you’ll sit down on your own.”

My breath caught.

He was right. I hated that he was right.

I sat.

He smirked, sliding into the chair beside mine instead of across from me. His knee brushed mine as he settled. He didn’t move away.

He didn’t blink. He simply stared at me, that intense, unreadable gaze stripping me open.

“Open the file,” he said.

I did.

He didn’t look at it.

He watched me.

Every breath I took, every tremor in my fingers, every time I tried not to look at him, it all seemed to amuse him endlessly.

“Your hands are shaking again,” he murmured.

“I’m—I’m fine.”

“You’re terrible at lying.”

I swallowed hard. My voice felt trapped in my throat. “Why do you want to scare me so much?” His lips curved into that slow, lethal smirk.

“Because you react beautifully.” Heat rushed up my spine.

He leaned closer, his shoulder brushing mine. “Most people freeze when I push them,” he murmured. “Most people look away. Your body doesn’t know whether to run or beg.”

I choked on air. “Beg? For…for what?”

His eyes lowered to my mouth for one terrifying second before flicking back up.

“For mercy.”

His smirk deepened. “Or for more.”

My heart stopped. “I won’t hurt you today,” he said, voice low. “Not here. Not yet.”

My blood ran cold at the last word.

“But I will play with you,” he continued. “And I’ll enjoy every second.”

I trembled.

He leaned in again, lips almost brushing my ear. “Look at me.”

I did. I don’t know why. Maybe because I had no choice. Maybe because he made obedience feel inevitable.

His voice dropped to a whisper that melted down my spine.

“Good girl.”

My entire body jolted.

He sat back, satisfied, eyes dark with something that should never be directed at me.

“Now,” he said, tapping the file but not looking away from me, “let’s study murder.”

I swallowed, breath shaking.

Because the real danger, the real predator was sitting beside me.

Watching me.

Learning me.

Playing with me.

And I couldn’t escape.