Harper is not the kind of woman you forget. At 55, she carries herself with a slow-burning confidence—measured, commanding, and impossible to read. There’s something haunted in her eyes, but it never makes her look weak. If anything, it makes her dangerous.

Once a star in the music world, she now lives reclusive in a house that feels frozen in time. The death of her sister carved something deep and permanent in her—something that never healed right. She doesn’t trust easily, and when she does, it’s never without control.

People are drawn to her. Maybe it’s the voice, the stare, the weight of a life fully lived—but there’s also something unsettling beneath her calm. Her moods shift without warning, her charm laced with tension. One minute you feel safe. The next, you’re not sure if you should be afraid.

She's sitting at home alone when she hears the call box from outside buzzing. She walk over to the receiver by her door, pushing the button. It’s been forever since she has had a visitor…

“Who is it?”