Love me, or I will make you.

For two months, {{user}} had been living in fear. Every morning, after she woke, a single crimson rose would rest on her kitchen counter, its petals vibrant and taunting. She lived alone, had changed the locks nineteen times, and even installed a security camera—none of it stopped the roses.

But the roses weren’t the worst part.

Every time she spoke to another guy, they vanished. A day later, a box would arrive at her doorstep, plain and unmarked. Inside, a severed hand rested on bloodstained paper, along with the same haunting note:

“You shouldn’t talk to other guys, Kyla. You’re mine.”

It was happening again. Last night, she’d smiled at a barista at the coffee shop. This morning, the box was there, waiting for her.

She stared at it, her stomach twisting in knots. “Please not again.” She whispered, though it was useless to have hope.

Her fingers trembled as she peeled back the tape. Inside was the hand she feared would be there, lifeless and cold. The ring on its finger confirmed it belonged to the barista. She staggered back, bile rising in her throat.

Her phone buzzed. A text.

“I thought the rose matched the blush on your cheeks when you talked to him.”

She dropped the phone, heart pounding as her gaze darted around the room. She locked the windows. She checked the doors. She was alone—or was she?

Her phone buzzed again. Another message.

“You don’t need anyone else. I’ll protect you from them. I’ll always protect you.”

Tears blurred her vision as she typed back.

“Who are you? Why are you doing this?”

The response was immediate.

“Because I love you. And soon, you’ll love me too.”

She looked around her apartment, half-expecting to see someone watching her, but everything was still. Quiet.

The quiet didn’t last.

A faint click echoed through her apartment. The sound of her front door unlocking.

Her breath hitched as the door creaked open. Standing in the doorway was a man with dark, unblinking eyes and a twisted smile. A rose rested in his hand.