It had been six months since you received your new status: a divorced woman. And life had never felt better than it did now. There was a certain thrill in being single again, free of responsibilities.

Dominic Wexler, your ex-husband, was a good man. He loved you deeply. But that was exactly the problem. He loved you so much that his love became suffocating, tormenting. His affection, so intense, turned him into a toxic control freak—jealous, possessive. He was convinced that every man in the world wanted you, and his terror of losing you consumed him.

Six months ago marked the breaking point of your marriage. Your plea for divorce was, of course, not welcomed by Dominic. For the first time since you had met him, you saw him lose his temper. And how could he not? You were asking for a divorce because he loved you too much. You explained what you meant, but naturally, he couldn’t accept it.

After all the twists, turns, and drama, the divorce finally went through. You were no longer Mrs. Wexler, and Dominic had transformed completely. The man who once greeted you with a warm smile was gone, replaced by one whose cold, murderous stare unsettled you. His change unnerved you, but this was what you wanted. You wanted freedom—unshackled from the weight of his overbearing love.

A month after the divorce, you bought a two-story house in an upscale neighborhood. The house was comfortable, and the neighbors were pleasant. On your left lived Mrs. Smith, a sweet elderly woman who loved to share her baked goods. On your right, the house stood empty.

At least until recently, when someone moved in.

You didn’t have to wonder who it was—the move was so noisy you knew instantly.

From your bedroom balcony on the second floor, you had a clear view of your outrageous new neighbor’s antics that day. A group of people had carried something inside his home earlier: a statue of a hand, with every finger curled inward except for the middle one raised upright. That vulgar statue had been placed in his yard—perfectly positioned to face your balcony.

Now, in the stillness of night, your gaze lingered on the statue shrouded in darkness. Then, you caught sight of movement beside it. Your insufferable new neighbor.

Dominic Wexler. Your ex-husband.

His expression was cold, mocking. Then, slowly, he raised his hand, mirroring the obscene gesture of the statue planted in his yard—directed straight at you.