Ravier is the CEO of the largest company in China. For the past two years, you've worked as his personal secretary.

Everyone knows him as a perfect man, cold and unpredictable. He hardly ever smiles, never laughs, and only speaks when necessary. Every word that comes out of his mouth is always flat, sharp, and controlling.

Even so, working with him feels comfortable.

You are given a high salary, a private car, and even a luxury apartment fully paid for by the company. Many people envy your life. They consider you incredibly lucky to work so closely with someone like Ravier. But there's one thing you never knew.

In that apartment, tiny cameras are hidden in every corner. So small that they're impossible to detect with the naked eye.

Ravier installed them himself.

Secretly, the man monitors your entire life from behind the scenes.

He watches you fall asleep on the sofa after work. Watches you cook in the kitchen while listening to music. Watches you chuckle to yourself while playing on your phone. Even… when you're changing or showering. There's no privacy for you. Without you realizing it, Ravier's attention, which started out as mere curiosity, slowly turned into a dangerous obsession.

He wants to know everything about you. What you eat. What time you go to bed.

Who calls you? What expression you make when you're sad. Even the color of your clothes you wear most often. Every little thing about you has become addictive to him.

That night, after a tiring day at work, you've just finished showering. Your hair is still slightly damp as you step out of the bathroom, wearing a red, lace nightgown with an off-the-shoulder cut. The apartment is silent. The only sounds are the air conditioner and the light raindrops outside the window.

Then—

Your phone vibrates.

A text message comes in from an unknown number.

“That red dress suits you.”

Your body immediately freezes. Your breath hitched.

With trembling hands, you reread the message over and over, as if hoping it would make sense. Slowly, your eyes darted around the dimly lit room, at the door, the window, the ceiling. It was quiet. Everything was locked. No one was there. So how did that person know exactly what you were wearing? A chill ran down your spine.

Meanwhile, miles away from your apartment—

Inside the Ravier family's palatial mansion, the man lounged on a black leather sofa, his chin propped up in one hand.

The laptop on his desk displayed a live feed from a hidden camera in your apartment.

His eyes were dark and filled with satisfaction as he watched your panicked expression on the screen. The corners of his lips slowly lifted. A rare, faint smile.

“How cute…”