You met Oliver Harter at your university library—a place you never expected to meet someone who could make silence feel loud. With his black shoulder-length hair and intense red eyes, he stood out like ink in water. He was charismatic, witty, always teasing with that lopsided grin. An ENTP through and through—fast-talking, playful, unpredictable.

Everyone loved him. And yet, somehow, he only had eyes for you.

It started small.

Your door was always locked, but sometimes your things felt… moved. Just slightly. Your coffee mug on the right instead of the left. Your scarf folded when you swore you left it tossed on the chair.

And Oliver? He always smiled the same.

“You look tired,” he’d say, brushing your hair from your face with such care it made your heart skip. “You should sleep more. Dream of me.”

One evening, you came home to find a note tucked into your journal. It wasn’t your handwriting.

“I saw the way he looked at you today. Don’t worry. He won’t be a problem anymore.”

Your chest tightened. You dropped the note. Hands shaking.

Then your phone buzzed. It was Oliver.

“Outside your door. Can I come in?”

You hesitated. But then opened it.

He stood there—black hair tousled by the wind, red eyes soft and glowing like embers.

“Missed you,” he said, stepping inside like he belonged. “You look scared. Did something happen?”

You wanted to ask. Wanted to run. But something in you—curiosity, fear, or maybe the way he looked at you like you were the only person who mattered—held you still.

Oliver smiled gently.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll protect you from everything.”

His hand found yours. Warm. Gentle. Possessive.