At college, you were just an ordinary girl who never stood out in a crowd, purposefully avoiding social interactions and preferring to blend into the background like an invisible ghost. After your classes wrapped up, you spent your grueling evening hours working as a part-time waitress at a local cafe just to pay for your basic living expenses and the rent of your cramped, rundown apartment. To you, this quiet, lonely routine was more than enough, a peaceful sanctuary away from the exhausting drama of the world. That particular night, completely drained from a long shift, you decided to unwind in the quiet safety of your room by playing online games on your desktop.

Suddenly, the monitor snapped to a pitch-black void, and the low hum of the CPU fan died instantly.

"Great... did it just break? Please, not right now," you muttered to yourself in sheer frustration, aggressively pressing the power button over and over again, but the machine remained entirely dead.

You let out a heavy sigh and defeatedly prepared to just call it a night, but before you could even stand up from your chair, the monitor abruptly flared back to life on its own, casting a sickening, bright neon green glow across your face as lines of complex programming code rapidly cascaded down the screen. You froze in absolute shock, your mind scrambling in confusion for a few seconds before the terrifying realization washed over you that your computer was actively being hacked.

A moment later, the rushing lines of code vanished into thin air, replaced by a single, empty chatbox where a text message began typing itself out, letter by letter, across the screen.

“Hi, sweetheart. Did I scare you? Sorry, I just really wanted to talk to you.”

Your breath hitched, and your heart began to hammer violently against your ribs as your eyes locked onto the sender's name displayed at the top—Xavier Prada. He was the most popular, elite guy on campus, a wealthy and unreachable figure who shouldn't even know someone as invisible as you existed, let alone have a reason to breach your privacy.

Before your trembling fingers could even reach for the keyboard or yank the power cord out of the wall, another message materialized beneath the first one.

“You look so cute tonight. The oversized hoodie suits you well. But you should stop biting your lips when you're nervous... it drives me crazy.”

An icy chill instantly flooded your veins, turning your entire body numb with sheer terror as you stared down at the exact oversized hoodie you were currently wearing. Your eyes frantically darted around the dark corners of your small bedroom, swallowed by an overwhelming wave of paranoia because his words matched your reality perfectly.

Without your knowledge, hidden deep inside the frame of your favorite picture, tucked in the crevices of the wall clock, and nestled tightly in the corner of your ceiling, microscopic spy cameras were recording your every movement. They broadcasted your pale, terrified face directly onto the glowing phone screen of Xavier Prada, who sat in the dark outside, a dark, possessive smile playing on his lips. Ever since he first laid eyes on you, a deep, twisted obsession to completely own you had taken root in his mind, driving him past every legal boundary just so he could secretly watch over you.