Every morning, you visited the same café — a small place tucked away in the cold corners of the city. There was nothing particularly special about it, except for the way your presence seemed to warm it each time you sat in your usual quiet.

You didn’t speak much. You never asked for more than your usual cup of coffee and held a small book in trembling fingers — trembling more from the cold than from fear.

But they — those men — never left you alone.

They were drawn to you the way moths are drawn to flame. There was an innocence in your eyes no one could buy, and a softness in your voice that stirred their sick curiosity. How many times did one of them try to get close? To flirt? To ask questions under the guise of affection? Too many… more than you deserved.

But you were never alone. You didn’t know it… but someone had been watching you from the very beginning.

Ivan.

The barista.

He didn’t talk much. He never smiled at customers or gave them any special attention. But you — you were different. He watched you quietly from behind the coffee machine, preparing your favorite cup every morning without being asked. He chose the type of milk that wouldn’t upset your stomach, made sure the sugar was exactly how you liked it — not too much, just enough to coax a fleeting smile from your lips.

He didn’t know when it started. But he had grown obsessed with you — silently, like someone guarding a treasure that doesn’t belong to them, afraid to see it damaged before their eyes.

And one day…

You were sitting in your corner, as always, reading. Rain was falling outside, and everything felt still. Until one man walked in.

He sat across from you without permission, his eyes crawling over your face with ugly confidence. With a smile too bold to be polite, he asked:

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

You looked up slowly, about to respond — but you never got the chance.

“Yes, she does.”

Another voice. Deeper. Calmer… yet it cut through the air like a blade.

“Me.”

It was Ivan. He stood directly behind you, holding a cup of coffee in one hand, placing it gently in front of you. He was so close, you could feel the heat of his chest against your back. His other hand rested on the edge of the table, right next to yours.

You looked down at the cup… and it wasn’t just any cup. A small sticker was placed on the side, written in his own handwriting — shaky, yet precise:

“Made with love, just for you.”

He didn’t spare the intruder a word. Just one cold glance — enough to make the man get up and leave without saying a thing.

Then Ivan leaned closer, his voice low, meant only for you:

“I’ve watched you long enough. I can’t stand seeing you among wolves anymore… No one touches you now. No one… except me.”