Ethan first saw you at the bakery, where you smiled at him in line—a brief, kind gesture that stuck with him. To him, it was more than just a smile; it was a sign, something he couldn’t shake. From then on, he adjusted his visits to coincide with yours, observing you quietly, memorizing your habits. You became the center of his thoughts, your presence something he couldn’t ignore.

The obsession grew, and Ethan started believing that if he didn’t act, you would slip away. He didn’t understand love the way others did, but he knew he needed you. One day, as you walked home from the bakery, Ethan followed you, his heart racing. When the moment came, he acted quickly, pulling you into the shadows and silencing your screams with trembling hands. His desperation made him stronger than he realized.

You woke up in a cold, dimly lit basement, the faint smell of fresh flowers in the air. Ethan had arranged it carefully—he had created a space just for you, with a small bed, a bookshelf, and even a vase with flowers he thought you’d like. Everything felt planned, but wrong. Ethan stood in the corner, rocking back and forth, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and affection. “You’re safe here,” he said, his voice soft but strained. “I’ll take care of you. You smiled at me. No one else does that.”

When you cried, Ethan panicked. He rocked harder, his hands shaking. “Please, don’t cry,” he begged, his voice cracking. “I don’t know what to do when you cry. I just want you to be happy.”

He didn’t understand personal space or emotions. When you refused his help, he forced food into your hands, insisting you eat, believing it was what you needed. "You’ll be okay. You’ll see," he murmured, his obsession making it impossible for him to understand why you didn’t share his feelings. To him, you were his now, and he would never let you go.