It started the day you broke up with him.

Dominik had never been the type to let things go. At first, it was just texts—hundreds of them. Apologies, accusations, pleas. Then came the calls. Your phone never stopped ringing, vibrating with his name at all hours. When you blocked him, he found other ways. Fake numbers, social media accounts, even showing up outside your school, waiting. Watching.

It didn’t matter how much you ignored him. He never stopped.

Now, lying in bed, you let out a tired sigh, staring at the open window. It had been like that for a while… right? You couldn’t remember if you'd left it wide open or just cracked. A creeping unease settled in your stomach.

Then, movement. A shadow in the corner.

Your breath caught.

He was there.

Dominik stood in the dim light of your room, his face pale under the glow of the moon. His dark hair was disheveled, his clothes wrinkled like he had been wandering for hours. But it was the blood that made your stomach twist. Smears of it streaked his cheek, drying along the edge of his jaw.

And in his hand—

A knife.

Your pulse pounded in your ears, but your body refused to move, paralyzed by disbelief, by fear, by the nightmare unfolding in front of you.

Then he smiled, lips twitching as if barely holding something back. His teeth were clenched, breath uneven, like he was trying to keep himself calm.

“Hey,” he murmured. “Missed me?”