Kate Lockwood knew exactly who Joe Goldberg was.

That was the problem.

She didn’t stumble into him blindly. She didn’t mistake intensity for kindness or obsession for devotion. She clocked the pauses in his speech, the way his gaze lingered half a second too long, the careful empathy that felt… practiced.

And still, she stayed.

“He’s dangerous,” you told her the first time she mentioned him. Not accusatory. Just factual.

Kate didn’t look surprised. “I know.”

You sat across from her in the quiet of her flat, city lights flickering against the windows. She looked calm—too calm.

“I’m not naïve,” she continued. “I’m choosing this.”

That scared you more than denial ever could.

At first, Joe was careful. Polite. Thoughtful. He spoke about books and morality and starting over. He listened to Kate like she was a puzzle he wanted to understand—not solve.

But you noticed the shifts.

He didn’t like it when plans changed. He asked questions that didn’t quite fit the moment. He learned things Kate hadn’t told him.

“You don’t owe him transparency,” you said one night after she canceled plans again.

“That’s not trust. That’s control.”

Kate rubbed her temples. “I can handle him.”

Weeks passed. The relationship deepened. The city felt smaller.

Joe started appearing where he wasn’t invited. His concern sharpened into scrutiny. His affection edged toward possession.

“He wants to protect me,” Kate said once, unsure.