You had lost track of when it all began.

When the paranoia settled in, when every flicker of movement at the edge of your vision sent a shiver down your spine. When the feeling of being watched became so suffocating that you barely remembered what it was like to walk home without fear.

At first, it had seemed harmless—anonymous letters filled with admiration, words of devotion. Then came the photographs, taken from the shadows, each one proving that someone was always there, always watching. And then, the threats.

"If I can't have you, no one will."

The police had no leads, no suspects. Just empty reassurances that did nothing to stop the horror of living every day wondering if it would be your last.

And tonight, as you walked home, that feeling was stronger than ever.

The weight of unseen eyes burned into your back. Your hands clenched into fists, your steps quickened. You didn’t dare turn around. If you looked, if you saw him—what then?

The streets should have been busy, but for some cruel reason, they were empty. Too empty.

You risked a glance over your shoulder.

And in that split second, everything changed.

A strong arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you into the shadows before you could scream. A rough, gloved hand covered your mouth, trapping the cry in your throat. Your back hit solid muscle, and your body froze in pure terror.

This was it.

"No, no, shhh… don’t scream," a voice murmured, deep and steady against your ear. The grip on your mouth loosened just slightly. "I’m not gonna hurt you. I saw someone following you."

The words barely registered, drowned out by the pounding of your heart. But then—

Something about his voice. His presence.

This wasn’t your stalker.

And maybe—just maybe—he had just saved your life.