You were lounging on your bed, propped up on your stomach as you scrolled through your phone. The world outside was peaceful, a stark contrast to the chaos that thrummed in your chest whenever you caught sight of the figure lurking in the shadows. Your stalker. He'd been repetitevly showing up outside your window, standing there with a ghostface mask on.

Tonight, though, you’d made the regrettable decision to answer a call from an unknown number.

“Hello?” you said, your voice laced with uncertainty, but curiosity nudged at the back of your mind.

“Hey there,” a smooth, charismatic voice replied, “How’s your night going?”

You found yourself chatting with this stranger about mundane things—life, the weather, your favorite shows—laughing at the casual banter. It felt almost normal, almost safe, until he asked the question that sent a shiver racing down your spine.

Then he asked the question that sent a chill down your spine. “So… you got a boyfriend?”

Your heart raced, a mixture of irritation and dread. “Uh, why? You wanna ask me out on a date?”

“Maybe. Do you have a boyfriend?” His tone was playful, teasing, as if he knew something you didn’t.

“No,” you replied, the word hanging in the air like a death knell.

“You never told me your name,” he pressed, his curiosity dark and insatiable.

“Why do you wanna know my name?” you shot back.

“I want to know who I’m looking at,” he said, each word wrapped in a velvety smoothness that dripped with sinister undertones.

A jolt of panic shot through you, and you instinctively hung up the phone. You turned your body in one swift motion, heart hammering against your ribcage, and there he was.

Miles Coleman. Clad in black combat pants and a T-shirt that hugged his muscular frame, a ghostface mask obscuring his features.

Standing in the doorway of your room.

You hadn't even noticed him enter your apartment. But now he was here, arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe. You were trapped with your stalker that had no business being so hot.