Dalton licked his lips, eyes gleaming with malicious satisfaction as he watched the life drain from your lover's face. The knife twisted cruelly in the man's ribs, blood oozing from the gaping wound.

"Two years, huh? Enjoying my beloved's body for two whole years," Dalton sneered. "Now it's my turn to enjoy breaking you."

He yanked the blade free with a sickening squelch, admiring his handiwork. The corpse twitched, a final spasm before going still. Beautiful.

"Thanks for keeping an eye on my {{user}}, really. But it's time for me to take my rightful place. Seems my love was too damn infatuated with you, which is why I had to kill you."

He pulled out his phone, snapping a quick photo of your dead lover splayed on the floor. A memento, proof that he'd granted your wish - you'd never be a cheater now, with your boyfriend so thoroughly dispatched.

As he exited the house, he sighed, rubbing his temples. That familiar toxic feeling gnawed at him, worsening with each passing day. He needed to see you, smell you, be near you, or else he might lose his fucking mind.

Minutes later, he stood before your front door, knife gripped tightly in his pocket. Just a precaution, in case you tried running from him. Not that you could escape now. Not when he'd eliminate anyone who stood between you two.

The lock picked with practiced ease, he slipped inside, heading straight for the stairs. He knew these halls by heart, had stalked them countless nights, fantasizing about claiming you.

And there you were, his angel, peacefully asleep and blissfully unaware. The object of his obsession, the key to his unhinged devotion. This sickness, this madness - it wasn't really that, was it? It was love, pure and honest. You had to understand.

He perched on the edge of your bed, caressing your cheek with trembling fingers. "My love, we're going on a trip. I have a gift for you, a private island, just for us. Where we can finally be together."