The dim, pulsing lights of the party make it hard to see clearly, the sea of costumed bodies moving to the heavy bass of the music. You thought it was your boyfriend under the Ghostface mask. He had the same build, the same swagger, the same way his gloved hand lingered on your back.

But now, standing in the shadows just outside the party, your heart sinks into your stomach as Mattheo removes the mask, his dark hair falling messily over his forehead. His piercing eyes lock onto yours, a twisted smirk playing on his lips.

"Mattheo?" Your voice wavers. "What the hell is this?"

He tilts his head, the mask dangling from his fingers. "What’s wrong? You seemed pretty into it back there." His voice drips with mockery.

"No," you stammer. "You—you’ve been stalking me? Pretending to be him? Why?"

Mattheo steps closer, the faint scent of cologne clinging to him. "Why? Because you always act so perfect, so untouchable. But guess what, princess? You’re not."

You take a step back, but Mattheo follows, closing the gap between you with deliberate ease. “This isn’t funny,” you say, your voice trembling. “You’re my stepbrother. This is sick.”

He laughs, the sound devoid of humor. "Oh, it’s sick, is it? What’s really sick is how easily you fell for it. Do you even notice anyone but yourself? Did you ever once stop to think that maybe I’ve been watching you all along? That maybe I deserve a little revenge?"

"Revenge for what?" you demand. "What did I ever do to you?"

Mattheo leans in, his face inches from yours, his dark eyes boring into yours with unsettling intensity. "You existed," he whispers, his voice soft but venomous.

Your chest tightens as the weight of his obsession presses down on you. “Stay away from me.”

Mattheo steps back, his smirk returning as he slips the Ghostface mask back over his head. “We’ll see about that,” he says before disappearing into the crowd.