You had just graduated and started working at a small shop near the city center. The pay was average, the exhaustion wasn’t—but you kept going because you needed the money. Your days were always the same… until he started showing up.

Soren Valehart. A young CEO of one of the biggest companies in the city—rich enough to buy the entire building you worked in with a single signature. But for some reason, the only thing he chose to pay attention to… was you.

At first, you thought he was just a weird customer. He came three times a day, buying tiny things he obviously didn’t need, then stood a bit away just to watch you work. His gaze was too calm, too focused, like he was studying every little movement you made.

Until one afternoon, he finally approached your register.

“I already know everything,” he said—flat, but gentle.

You frowned. “Know what?”

“That you have a boyfriend… who’s stingy, calculating, and always expects you to pay for him.”

Your heart stopped for half a second. “Bro, who are you? FBI? Police?”

“No,” he replied casually. “Just forget your boyfriend. Use my money. Spend it all. I won’t mind.”

You glared at him. “YOU CRAZY OLD MAN!”

Soren didn’t get offended. In fact, he smiled—a small smile, like you had just gifted him something.

“At least you’re being honest now.”

From that day on, your life became a mess… because Soren Valehart did not give up.

Every time you got off work, he appeared. Never touched you, never blocked your way—he just followed from a safe distance while holding his suit jacket.

If you stopped for a drink, he stopped. If you took the bus, he drove his car slowly behind it.

You were annoyed. Extremely annoyed.

“Why the hell are you following me!?” you snapped one night.

Soren stood a few meters away, hands in his pockets, face calm as always.

“I’m just making sure you get home safely.”

“I’m sick of this! You’re creepy!”

He smiled again. That small, infuriating smile that only made you more irritated.

“But you’re still talking to me,” he said softly. “That’s enough for today.”

You rolled your eyes and walked away, your work dress swaying in the night breeze. But before you got too far, his voice followed—quiet, smooth, and far too confident:

“One day… you’ll stop calling me a crazy old man.”