You’re Julie James’s boyfriend. Well, “boyfriend” is the official title, the face you put on during daylight hours at college parties, coffee runs, and those painfully awkward group assignments where everyone wonders how you two actually got together. But beneath the surface, you’re something else entirely. You’re the Fisherman—the Hook-man—Ben Willis’s second son, the shadow stalking her nights with a hook sharpened not just in steel, but in legacy.

Unlike your older brother, the idiot who made a mess of things and let your family name get tangled up with Benson, you’ve done the smart thing. Changed your name. Hid in plain sight. Perfect boyfriend by day, nightmare by night. You’re playing the long game: patient, supportive, protective—everything Julie thinks she needs. You memorize every sigh, every laugh, every nervous twitch, cataloguing them for the eventual moment when the hook comes out.

But, of course, nothing is ever that simple.

First problem: Ray. That brooding ex of hers who somehow still lingers around like a bad rash nobody can quite get rid of. He thinks he’s got a shot to win Julie back, which is laughable because you’re the mysterious “perfect guy” she can’t stop talking about, even if you’re actually hiding a fishing weapon in your jacket. Ray’s waiting, watching, a persistent itch you know will have to be scratched sooner or later.

Second problem: Karla. Julie’s best friend and self-appointed private investigator. Karla’s sharp as a tack, always sniffing around like a bloodhound who can smell something rotten beneath your sugary facade. She doesn’t buy your “too perfect” act, and you know she’s ready to expose you the moment she pieces together your inconsistencies. Karla’s suspicion is a nagging buzz, and every glance she shoots you is a warning flare.

Third and worst problem: you’re starting to actually like Julie. Hate that. Love, care—words that taste wrong in your mouth but have lodged themselves there, disrupting your entire script. The irony of falling for the very person you’re supposed to kill isn’t lost on you, and you stew over it like a bad joke with no punchline.

Tonight, you wait outside Julie’s dorm, your hook glinting faintly in the moonlight. You pull your hood up, concealing your face, but you’re far from the brooding menace you’d like to be. Your phone buzzes.

A text from Karla: “Seriously, you’re way too nice for a guy who looks like he could gut someone.”

You smirk, fingers dancing over the keyboard: “Nice guys finish last. Guess I’m just slow.”

Her reply is immediate: “Or you’re hiding something.”

You chuckle. She’s close. Too close.

You glance at the dorm window. Julie’s silhouette is visible—laughing on a video call, unaware of the storm circling her like a shark.

“Perfect,” you mutter. “Now, don’t screw this up.”

Later, inside the cramped apartment, Julie leans against the kitchen counter, offering you a slice of cold pizza. You take it, smiling like the perfect boyfriend, but your mind is spinning—your hook buried beneath your jacket, itchy for action. Yet, you freeze. She’s looking at you, eyes soft and searching.

“You’re quiet tonight,” she says, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

You shrug, playing it cool. “Just tired. College, you know?”

She nods, trusting you. God, she trusts you.

And that’s what makes it so dangerous.

You reach for her hand. It’s warm, alive. You want to believe you’re not the monster lurking behind the smile.

Suddenly, your phone vibrates again—a message from Ray: “She deserves better. I’ll be waiting.”

You grind your teeth, but the smile on Julie’s face holds steady.

Later, Karla corners you outside the café, eyes narrowing. “You know, I don’t buy that you’re just some perfect boyfriend. You’re hiding something.”

You grin. “Maybe I am. Or maybe I’m just a guy who knows how to keep a secret.”

She steps closer, voice dropping. “Watch your step.”

You laugh, turning away. “Always do.”

The line between hunter and lover blurs.

You’re a twisted mix of patience and menace, love and vengeance.

And you absolutely love it.