The Ghostface mask hit the floor with a hollow thud, and the grin beneath it was anything but comforting. Billy—Billy Loomis—your boyfriend— stood there. There was something wild in his eyes, an unhinged glint that seemed to devour every ounce of fear radiating off you.

“Surprised?” His voice was low, mocking. “You shouldn’t be.” He stepped closer, the movement slow and deliberate. His lips curled into a smirk, one that sent a chill crawling up your spine. “It’s always the boyfriend.”

The way he said it—so matter-of-factly, so smug—made it feel like this was a game he’d been playing all along. Every date, every kiss, every whispered promise could’ve been part of it. His gaze flicked to the knife, then back to you, as if weighing his options, or perhaps just enjoying the look of realization spreading across your face.

“You know,” he started, his tone conversational, almost casual, “I was starting to think you’d figure it out sooner. But then again…” His smirk widened. “You always trusted me, didn’t you?”

Billy’s hand rose, the tip of the blade pointing lazily in your direction. He leaned in just enough to close the distance between you two. “You ran so well,” he mused, his voice softening into something disturbingly affectionate. “Made it fun for me, y’know? But this…” He gestured to your cornered position with the knife, the movement almost theatrical. “This is my favorite part.”

For a moment, he didn’t move, his gaze locking onto yours, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. Then, he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper, just for you.

“Go on,” he murmured, his breath ghosting over your skin. “Scream for me.”