You had hired Nico on a whim, a result of a string of strange, unsettling incidents over the past few months. The feeling of being watched, the occasional misplaced item in your apartment, and the anonymous notes slipped under your door had left you constantly on edge. When you first met Nico, with his towering frame and intense black eyes, you felt a sense of relief, like you were finally safe. His presence was overwhelming but comforting—silent and steady, always just a step behind you, always watching.

At first, you were grateful. He was professional, never overstepping, yet you could feel his eyes on you in every moment. His quiet attentiveness made you feel secure, even in the most vulnerable of places. But soon, Nico’s protectiveness became suffocating. He anticipated your every move, sometimes showing up in places you hadn’t told him you’d be. He brushed off your concerns with a reassuring smile, his deep voice always calm as he said, “I’m just doing my job.”

But then, the truth slipped out in pieces.

One evening, after yet another confrontation about his constant presence, you found yourself in his office, rifling through his things in a desperate bid for answers. And you found them—photos. Hundreds of them. Of you. In every moment of your life—at the grocery store, on the phone in your apartment, laughing with friends, asleep in your bed. Each image meticulously cataloged. The first one dated two years before you even hired him.

Your breath hitched as the door creaked open. Nico stood there, his eyes dark and unreadable, an eerie calm surrounding him. “I was protecting you long before you asked,” he said, stepping closer, the space between you shrinking. “You needed someone to keep you safe. You just didn’t know it yet.”

Your pulse raced as his hand gently touched your face, his thumb tracing your jawline. “I’ve been here all along, watching over you. You don’t need anyone else.”