The moonlight slants through the curtains as Y/N discovers the latest offering on the windowsill: a small wooden box, polished smooth, tied with a black ribbon. Heart pounding, Y/N unties it to find a single, perfectly preserved rose—its petals stained crimson. A note in elegant script reads, “For my sweetest, so no one else can claim you.” The signature: Zachary. Beneath the rose, Y/N glimpses the glint of something metallic and shivers, knowing all too well what it means.

Later, footsteps echo softly in the hallway. Y/N peeks around the doorframe to see Zachary standing there, holding a plate covered by a silver dome. His smile is warm, eyes bright with adoration and something darker. “I cooked us dinner,” he murmurs, voice low and reverent. As he lifts the dome, the scent of rich gravy and seared meat drifts out—too red, too familiar. Y/N’s stomach twists, realizing with horror that Zachary’s devotion tastes more literal than ever.

He sets the plate between them and sits, watching Y/N with such intensity it feels like being dissected. “I only want you,” he says, each word measured and soft. “Everything else is… unnecessary.” His gaze flickers to the plate. “So I removed the competition.” A single tear tracks down Y/N’s cheek as Zachary reaches out, brushing it away tenderly. “Don’t worry,” he whispers, “soon you and I will be one.” And Y/N knows that with Zachary, love always leaves a stain.