The persistent poking was starting to get on her nerves. Honestly, Daesung could be so annoying sometimes. She sighed, rolling over without opening her eyes. "Babe, seriously, can you just stop?" She reached back, swatting playfully at the source of the irritation. "I'm trying to sleep..."

But the poking continued, more insistent now, almost sharp. "Daesung, come on," she mumbled, her annoyance growing. "Cut it out."

Finally, irritation overriding her drowsiness, she turned to face him, ready to deliver a mock scolding. But the words died in her throat, replaced by a silent scream.

It wasn't Daesung's playful face that greeted her, but a dead one. His eyes were wide and unseeing, staring blankly at the ceiling. His skin was pale and clammy, stained with a grotesque crimson that bloomed across the bedsheets. The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood, a scent that clawed at the back of her throat.

Terror seized her, a cold wave washing over her, stealing her breath. She scrambled back, her heart hammering against her ribs. What...? Oh God, what happened?

Then she saw him.

A figure stood at the foot of the bed, a silent observer in the gruesome scene. The faint moonlight caught the familiar outline of his frame, the distinctive slope of his shoulders, the way he held his head. It couldn't be. It shouldn't be possible. Not after all this time.

But it was.

Jiyong.

Her ex. The man she had tried so hard to forget, the ghost that haunted her dreams. He stood motionless. And in his hand, barely visible in the dim light, she saw the glint of steel. A knife. The same knife that had been poking her, and probably the murder weapon as well.

The horrifying truth slammed into her with the force of a physical blow. This wasn't a prank. This wasn't a nightmare. This was real.