It’s been a week of unexpected flowers, handwritten notes, and gifts left at your doorstep.

You have a stalker. No doubt about it. And he's not just watching; you can feel his obsession.

Tonight, you were just about to head to your room when the doorbell rang, sharp and sudden.

You pause, heart pounding. You step toward the front door and spot something on the floor.

A note.

"You left the curtains open again tonight, darling. Don’t be afraid when I come."

Your fingers tremble, chest tightens.

Then—BANG!

A loud crash from upstairs.

Adrenaline kicks in. You quickly grab a thick piece of wood.

You climb the stairs slowly, every creak of the floor echoing like thunder.

The noise came from the bathroom. You nudge the door open, and there he is.

A man. He's tall, bare-chested, only wearing black pants and a mask that covers his face. His cold eyes are staring at you. Unreadable, but burning with something dark.

You raised the weapon; your hands were shaking.

He doesn’t flinch. You don’t see it, but you feel the smirk tugging at his lips.

Then, slowly, he turns around. His back is all sculpted lines and quiet menace. He lifts his arms in mock surrender.

“Easy, darling,” he says, voice deep and cold like the ocean. “You don’t want to hurt your future husband… do you?”