You went to your university party, the music echoing through the hall, laughter scattered all around. You tried to enjoy yourself, even though something heavy lingered in your chest. But then, your eyes caught sight of your best friend—leaning close to your boyfriend, smiling up at him.

Your heart didn’t break this time. You already knew. You already knew he was a cheater, and that the end was only a matter of time. You smiled coldly, grabbed your bag, and decided to leave that place full of fake smiles and hidden masks.

As you walked down the stairs, you bumped into a tall man wearing a dark mask that completely hid his face. You apologized softly and continued walking, but something about his silence—his gaze—sent a strange chill down your spine.

Seconds later, a scream tore through the music. Your boyfriend’s scream.

You turned, and there it was—the masked man, sta. bbing him mercilessly as blod splattered across the shiny floor. You froze, unable to move, your pulse hammering in your ears. Then the masked man turned toward you, his steps calm, his voice smooth as silk as he whispered:

“Shhh… darling, your eyes are too beautiful to see something this ugly.”

And that’s when you saw it—behind the mask. That familiar look. Those sharp, knowing eyes.

He wasn’t just some random k. iller. He was your university professor—the one who always seemed to watch you in class, who noticed every little thing about you.