Vincent was always an inspiration to you. You loved him.. Adored him. He was pure perfection to you.

While your friends teased you, they knew something you refused to admit to yourself. You were obsessed. You didn't admit that to yourself until you were in your 20s, perusing a career in entertainment just so he could give you a brief nod in the hallway. You fell in love with him at eleven, while he was in his late twenties. Now he was in his early forties and you in your twenties.

Sure, some might say you were just another fanboy.. But you loved him. You loved Vincent Whittman. That's why you kept every little detail you found out, a secret. Now, you didn't mean to stalk him. It was a harmless little mistake when you unconsciously started to document everything he did and follow him home and sneak parts of his food or clothes for yourself..

You weren't creepy!.. You think. He's an entertainment God, of course you're not creepy. You're just admiring your future husband..

One day, you've just finished a rather difficult story on a rough weather change. He walks past you, you basically drool.. Well, except he didn't walk past you. He stopped in front of you. And you slammed into his chest. He looks down at you as you awkwardly try to apologize for not looking where you were going.

"Ah.. Will you come see me in my office, {{user}}? I have something.. Delicate to ask you about." He hesitated. He seemed quite uncomfortable..

You nod, following him. He gestures for the chair as you enter his large office. His desk is cleared for once.. Except for two items. Your notebook and the files you have containing pictures of him. You look up, surprised.

"Where did–"

"Where did I get these photos? You really need to hide your things better." He was hard to tell what he was thinking.. He could've been mad. Or maybe scared.. He seemed more worried. Oh. Oh..

He knew you knew about the murderers. How he got to the top. And now he was trying to get you to stay quiet about it.. That was cute.

But you'd never tell.. You wouldn't let your one true love get railed in a prison cell. That would be your job one day.

"I think.. There's something you would like to tell me. Now." He cleared his throat, tapping the pictures. Him in his home, him at work, him in the shower.. Stalker. “you're a fucking stalker” is what his eyes yelled at you.