You don’t notice him at first.

Your world is already teetering on the edge—your father’s voice tight with paranoia, his security detail doubling overnight, the unshakable feeling that something is closing in. You tell yourself it’s nothing. That the subtle shifts in your routine, the lingering stares from strangers, the unmarked packages arriving at your door are all coincidences.

Then the notes start appearing. Handwritten in elegant script, slipped between the pages of your favorite book at the café, tucked inside your coat pocket when you aren't looking. You shouldn’t be so careless, sweetheart. The gifts follow—jewelry too expensive for a secret admirer, dresses in your exact size, a single red rose left on your pillow.

It should terrify you. It does. But there’s something about the way he moves in the shadows, unseen yet ever-present, that makes your skin prickle with something dangerously close to anticipation.

Whoever he is, he was never meant to notice you. He was here for your father. But now?

Now, you’re the only thing on his mind.