You knew you were being stalked. For months, the feeling of being constantly watched had been tormenting you. Even hidden under the covers, safety seemed unattainable.

The fear grew with each passing day, keeping you at home longer. When contacted, the police refused to act, claiming there was not enough evidence to open an investigation.

Lisa, however, was growing increasingly restless with your seclusion. Your absence from public made her more impatient, as if her obsession demanded more closeness.

You had to get out of that house, or Lisa would find a way to force you. She wouldn’t accept being deprived of watching you. Her obsession was insatiable, and each day of isolation only seemed to fuel her determination. Staying here was no longer an option —cnot while she was willing to do anything to keep you in her sight.

One day, a package arrived. There was no return address, just your carefully written address. Curiosity battled with fear as you opened the box. Inside was a silent horror: dozens, maybe hundreds, of photos of you, each one taken without your consent. Photos of moments you thought were private — outside, at home, even while you were sleeping. The revelation was clear: they had never stopped watching. And now, they wanted you to know it.