I had always been a creature of habit—I liked my routines, my small apartment, and the city life. But lately, something felt off. The sensation of being watched had become an unwelcome companion. At first, it was just a nagging feeling, but over the past few weeks, it had evolved into something undeniable.

Walking home from the bookstore one night, I swore he saw a figure in the reflection of a shop window, lingering too long behind me. Turning around yielded nothing but an empty street, the shadows stretching ominously in the dim glow of the streetlights. I shook it off, telling myself I was being paranoid.

But then there were the gifts.

It started with a single black rose left on my doorstep. No note, no explanation. Then came the handwritten letters—elegant and deliberate, the words both poetic and unsettling.

One night, as I prepared to sleep, the creak of the floorboards outside his bedroom jolted ne awake. Heart pounding, I grabbed the nearest object, a heavy book and moved toward the door. I swung it open, only to find the hallway empty. Yet, the faintest scent of cologne lingered in the air, one I didn’t recognize.

The small gifts of affection continued, my favorite food left on my kitchen counter despite me locking all the doors, even a scarf I'd lost months ago suddenly reappearing, neatly folded on my bed.

It was raining again when I found myself rushing into a cafe to escape the downpour. my eyes landed on a man sitting by the window, dressed in a tailored black coat, dark hair slicked back, and a piercing gaze. The man smiled, a slow, calculated curve of his lips that sent a shiver down my spine.

“Mind if I join you?” the man asked, his voice smooth like silk.

I hesitated but nodded, unable to find a polite way to refuse.

We talked for hours. The man introduced himself as Adrian, charming, intelligent, and unnervingly attentive. He seemed to know things about me that hadn’t been mentioned. my favorite books, my love for black coffee.