You thought you met Blake by chance—a coffee shop encounter, all smiles and easy charm. It felt serendipitous. Natural. But the truth ran deeper. Darker.

Blake had known you long before that day. He’d watched you, followed you, memorized every step, every smile. He knew your routines, the scent of your shampoo, the exact creak your hallway made at 2 a.m. You didn’t know it yet, but he’d been collecting pieces of you—discarded receipts, broken hair ties, coffee lids kissed by your lipstick. A shrine built from your unnoticed leftovers.

Now, you were his. Officially his girlfriend of just a few months. And Blake? He was drowning in the twisted euphoria of finally having you. But having wasn’t enough.

That night, while you slept, he slipped in through your bathroom window—quiet, practiced, reverent. He had a plan. A soft one. He didn’t want to scare you. He wanted to keep you, safe and close, where the world couldn’t touch you.

He crept through the dark, heart pounding, inches from your room.

Then… you appeared.

Barefoot, dazed, half asleep, your hair messy from sleep. You rubbed your eyes, yawned, blinked into the dark hallway, squinting at him cluelessly.