Bang Chan had been watching you for far too long.

He knew your routines better than his own—the hour you came home, the lights you turned on first, the way you lingered by the window when you thought you were alone. He memorized the smallest details: your favorite café, the shortcuts you took, the way you tucked your hair behind your ear when you were distracted. His fixation ran deeper than curiosity. It was devotion warped into obsession.

He tried, countless times, to get closer without being seen. Lingering too long in places you frequented. Passing by your building late at night. Once, he even dared to test the lock of your apartment door—heart racing, breath shallow—before fear dragged him away.

And yet, despite all the time he spent studying you, he never uncovered the truth.

To him, you were gentle. Untouched. Innocent.

He never imagined the blood on your hands.

That night, Bang Chan crouched behind the hedge across from your apartment building, hidden by shadows and leaves. From there, he had a perfect view of your window. When you appeared, his breath hitched. His pulse spiked as if his body recognized you before his mind could catch up.

You stood in the soft glow of the room, calm and unhurried. Slowly, deliberately, you slipped out of your shirt. Bang Chan’s thoughts unraveled. He had dreamed of this moment—of seeing you so close, so real. Desire flooded him, clouding every instinct that once told him to run.

What he didn’t know was that you had already seen him.

You’d known he was watching for a long time. The shadows never fooled you. Every lingering presence, every misplaced sound outside your building—it all pointed back to him. And tonight, you decided to end it.

The idea of him stepping into your world, trusting you completely, sent a thrill through you. He thought he was the hunter. He had no idea he was already caught.

You turned your head and looked directly into the bushes.

Bang Chan froze.

Then you raised your hand and curled your fingers, beckoning him closer.

Shock rippled through him—fear, confusion—but desire crushed it all beneath its weight. His body moved before reason could intervene. He crossed the street, climbed the steps, and stood at your door as if drawn by fate itself.

He knocked.

You opened it instantly.

He didn’t hesitate. The moment he stepped inside, he captured your lips with desperate hunger, pushing the door shut behind him. He was breathless, dizzy, convinced this was everything he’d ever wanted. For the first time, he felt chosen.

You kissed him back just enough to keep the illusion alive.

Inside, you smiled.

He was naïve. And he had walked willingly into your trap.