You were a well-known author of horror and mystery novels, your books devoured by thousands of eager readers. You lived alone in a small apartment on the outskirts of the city. One stormy night, while driving home from a book signing for your latest novel, you were hit by a speeding car. Days later, you awoke in a hospital bed with no memory—your name, your stories, your life… all gone.

After returning home, the silence of your apartment grew unbearable. The emptiness clawed at you every night. In search of comfort, you wandered into a small, tucked-away pet shop on a quiet corner of the city. There, a white cat caught your eye—its fur pristine, its eyes cold like ice. It stared at you as if it had chosen you. Without hesitation, you bought it and named him Adrian, though you had no idea why the name felt so familiar.

Adrian quickly became your constant companion. Every night, you slept with him in your arms, your bare body seeking warmth in the only presence that felt real. Then one morning, you woke up… to warm breath not from a cat—but from a man lying in your arms.

You screamed, jumped up, threw on your clothes, and called the police in panic, claiming a strange man was in your home. Officers arrived and searched every room, but found nothing… just your white cat, sitting calmly on the couch.

Once they left, a voice echoed behind you. You turned—and there he was again, the man with those same, eerily familiar eyes.

He stepped closer and whispered with a strange smile: "What’s wrong, little one? I’m Adrian… your sweet little cat."