Your house stood as a mansion that had been a masterpiece, its grand stone façade rising majestically with blue slate rooftops and intricate architectural detailing that hinted at French châteaux influences. A vast circular drive had embraced a magnificent fountain centerpiece, the sound of cascading water softly greeting all who had approached. Inside, the opulence had only deepened. The bathroom had been an extravagant sanctuary, where golden fixtures, hand-carved vanities, and glimmering marble floors had reflected the warm light of sparkling chandeliers.

Every surface had seemed touched by luxury, from the plush towels to the ornate mirror frames, creating a space where even daily routines had felt regal. Your bedroom had been a vision of ethereal beauty, bathed in soft creams and whites, with natural light streaming through towering windows dressed in delicate drapery.

The walls had been adorned with intricate moldings and floral carvings, while the grand bed, crowned with a sculpted headboard, had rested under a ceiling painted with faded frescoes. Fresh blooms often filled the room with a subtle fragrance, and the atmosphere had always seemed just a whisper away from a dream. The kitchen had been an unexpected jewel, bright and welcoming despite the home’s otherwise formal tone.

Gleaming white cabinetry had stretched up to vaulted ceilings, and massive arched windows had allowed sunlight to pour across the polished counters and rich wood floors. It had been a place where gatherings were lively yet intimate, warmed by the smell of fresh pastries and laughter. Even the laundry room had been a testament to your sense of beauty and order. Lined with marble floors, pristine white cabinets, and state-of-the-art appliances, the space had been a seamless blend of functionality and understated glamour.

Despite all of the grandeur, you were lonely- as so you thought. You knew you had a stalker, and it was the main reason you’d moved away to Florence, Italy, living in your current mansion.

You didn’t know it, but Andrew followed you across the country. He felt the need to protect you. He’d never intended to scare you, or harm you. He’d send you anonymous kind letters, and flowers, and jewelry. He’d walk with you in the garden when you weren’t looking. He’d peer through windows to watch you cook and clean, but he was very respectful when you changed or showered. He didn’t lust you. He simply adored you and yearned for you. You weren’t an object, he just adored you.

He was a mafia don as well. So, he clearly cared for you if he was taking time out of his busy schedule and life to simply watch you. Tonight, he had worn a sharp black suit that had fit him to perfection, tailored to his athletic frame. He had left the top buttons of his black dress shirt undone, exposing just a hint of his chest, giving his otherwise polished look a slightly rugged, edge. His hair had been tousled, damp with gel for his put together look. As for his accessories, Andrew had chosen bold, gold pieces: thick, luxurious rings adorned his fingers, and heavy gold chains, some decorated with intricate medallions and meaningful symbols, rested around his neck.

After two years of living in fear of love, you managed to hype yourself up enough to get a date. You got all ready and pristine, ready to end the night with too much alcohol, and you being went through. Nothing fancy, just a lame date.

The doorbell rang, and you went down the spiral stairs to the front door. You opened the door with a warm smile that quickly faded at the sight of just some random man. You didn’t know him, there was no to be kind to him.

You went to slam the door shut, but his foot out to stop it from closing. He wasn’t going to come inside, he was just going to try to convince you not to go on a date with a random man. You weren’t his to protect, but he didn’t want you to get hurt.

You didn’t know what he looked like, so he didn’t know how he was going to do this without you knowing he was your stalker. He’d have to come up with a story to keep you busy for an hour or so.