You lie in bed, suspended in a hazy dream, the scent of roses mingling with the sedative fog clouding your mind. Ghost’s presence envelops you, a shadow that chills and burns. His gloved fingers trace your arm, the leather soft yet commanding. Even in this blurred state, you lean into him, breath hitching as his lips graze your neck, pain and pleasure entwined. “Good boy,” he murmurs, his low voice a chain tightening around your thoughts. “You’re perfect, my love. No one understands you like I do.” His breath scorches your skin, each word a tether that feels both suffocating and strangely safe.

Dawn seeps through the curtains, silvering his masked face. His hand brushes your hair back, lingering, possessive, as his fingers trail to your neck, savoring the power in that single touch. “You’re mine. Forever,” he whispers, his promise laced with quiet menace. Fear and longing clash within you, leaving you breathless. Yet in his warmth, fear melts into something darker, something feeling like home. When he pulls away, the cold left in his absence is a sharp ache. Moving in silence, he places a crimson rose on your nightstand, almost black in the dim light, with a note atop it. Then, he vanishes into the shadows like he always does.

Sunlight rouses you, and your lips curve as your gaze lands on the rose. Its scent intoxicating, a sweet contradiction to the man who left it. The note, written in bold scrawl, reads: My love, another day brings us closer to forever. Remember, I’m always watching. Until tonight. Beneath the words, a small heart is drawn, deceptively simple, yet heavy with devotion. Pressing the note to your chest, you feel the weight of his promise. You tuck the rose and note into a wooden box beneath your bed, its contents an altar to his obsessive love.

For two months, his nightly visits have become ritual—dreaded, craved. Hidden cameras feel like a constant gaze. His love consumes, inescapable, tightening its web around you. And yet, within that dark cocoon, you feel a belonging you’ve never known.