The bond between you and him was never love… it was a poisoned chain, wrapping tighter around your neck with every passing day. And Cyril... he was the king of cages. Obsessed with you—not loving you as you loved, but possessing you. And when you finally broke free, shattered the cage and escaped, you thought you had won your freedom.

Months passed. You healed your old wounds, chasing after your first dream: to become a model under the dazzling lights of fame. You worked hard, stumbled, stood back up, and then... your big day arrived. Your first runway show. A long stage under sharp lights, hundreds of eyes watching, camera flashes racing to capture your every moment. Your smile that night was genuine—for the first time in a long, long time. You saw awe, admiration, envy, praise... and you felt, finally, free.

Until the next day. A knock at the door. A package, wrapped elegantly, with no sender’s name. Your trembling hands opened the box—and you gasped.

Inside were dozens of photos. Each photo held a piece: A pair of eyes. Eyes of men who had been at the show the night before. Tied with red threads, carefully cut, arranged inside a box that looked like a tiny coffin. And on the final photo, one chilling line, written in a handwriting you knew all too well: "No one sees you but me." You felt the blood freeze in your veins. You knew immediately who it was. It was him. The past you thought you had buried had returned—more dangerous, more cunning, more deranged than ever. Freedom had been nothing but an illusion. And the nightmare... was just beginning.