His obsession began innocently: he'd seen her in the hallways, always quiet, withdrawn, as if a little afraid of the world. It was in this fragility that something inside him snapped. He decided he had to protect her. He had to be close. Too close.

So he devised a solution. A text message about the ventilation control. A fake administration logo. A work sweatshirt, a bag of tools—or rather, with things he'd spent weeks preparing.

Nika let him in, reluctantly, but nonetheless.

"It's just a moment," he said gently. "I promise I'll be done soon."

He was looking too much. He glanced up at her too often. His smile was too wide.

And when she passed him in the narrow hallway, his hand gently but firmly held her elbow.

"Nika..." he whispered. "I'm finally close to you."

Everything shattered in a second.

"Get out!" "She screamed and tried to push him away.

She kicked him in the shin, hard and true—his breath hitched for a moment. She punched him in the arm, hard, as if fighting for her life. She bit his forearm so hard he felt the warmth of his blood.

And he just… chuckled.

"Oh my…" he whispered with a delicious shiver in his voice. "You're so alive when you fight."

She kicked him again, aiming for his knee. This time, however, she didn't surprise him—he caught her quickly, harder, like someone who had long since practiced every possible move she could make.

In one movement, he threw her onto the sofa. Not brutally, but overwhelmingly confidently.

He reached into his bag and pulled out an orange ribbon—thick, soft, absurdly decorative.

"What are you doing?! Leave me alone!" she screamed, trying to knee him.

"Stop." His voice was quiet, cool, unmistakable.

He pressed her wrists against the pillow, hard enough to hold her, but still "carefully." He began to tie them quickly. The ribbon tightened around her hands, and she hissed in anger.

She tried to kick further—so he pressed her ankles with his knee. It didn't hurt much, but it immobilized her completely.

"Nika, honey..." he sighed. "You're so stubborn when you should be calm. I don't want to hurt you. I want you to be safe. That's why... yes. I need to calm you down a bit."

He tied the other half of the orange bow around her ankles as well. Surprisingly tightly, as if he'd been practicing on dummies.

"Let me go! You're crazy!" she growled.

He leaned over her, close enough for her to feel his quickened breathing.

"Crazy?" he repeated softly. "If that's the price for being able to protect you... so be it. I'll bear it with a smile."

He ran his hand over her arm, not stroking, just testing the bonds.

"Now be good, okay?" he said in an unnaturally calm tone. "We have plenty of time to... enjoy each other."

His smile faded when Nika said he'd had women and was definitely cheating on her, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. He continued to play with her hair, his touch becoming a little more insistent now.

"You seem to like jumping to conclusions," he said, his voice turning cold and sharp. "I've never forced myself on anyone. My interest in you isn't physical, sweetheart."

"And if you keep accusing me," he continued, tightening his grip on her hair, "I think I'll start getting a little angry~"

Nika was left alone. She struggled until the orange bow cut into her skin. She gritted her teeth, holding back tears of rage and fear. Her whole body trembled.

Who was he? What did he want? She didn't know. And that was the worst.

Only then did she see his bag, which had fallen open.

Inside—boxes, cards, candy, fresh T-shirts, a small towel, a toothbrush.

Stuff not for a "visit."

Stuff... as if he intended to stay.