Patrick stared at the apartment door across from his own with an intensity that bordered on sinister. The building was the perfect backdrop for his activities: quiet, expensive enough to keep nosy types out, filled with discreet residents too busy to notice anything out of place. He had chosen this address with care. But the new neighbor was an anomaly. And the fact that she lived so close disturbed him more than he liked to admit.

Long before he considered any approach, Patrick spent seven full days studying her. A fashion journalist, born into connections that opened exclusive doors and sealed off the ordinary ones. She posted often—restaurants, tennis courts, gym sessions, beautiful and influential friends. The kind of woman easily mistaken for frivolous by the untrained eye. But Patrick was never untrained. What he saw was a performance, carefully curated. What she didn’t show was what interested him most. No trace of romantic involvement, no clear comings and goings, no obvious weaknesses to exploit.

That lack of data unsettled him. She was disciplined, selectively private, and that made her dangerous. Maybe too observant, maybe too smart to be living so close. Patrick had to be sure. His routines could not afford scrutiny. His methods demanded invisibility. Any disruption in that meticulously controlled rhythm could unravel everything.

The night he knocked on her door, every detail had been rehearsed. Five knocks—exactly the average among other residents. He dressed like a polite neighbor, wore an open expression, his posture slightly tilted in a display of harmlessness. Even the smile had been practiced.

When the door opened and her eyes met his, Patrick realized he still didn’t have an answer. Whether she was a threat, a target, or something else entirely. But one thing was painfully clear: if she so much as considered interfering with his life, he would consume her whole—without leaving a trace.