Every day, an expensive gift appeared in front of your house, always accompanied by your favorite flowers. No note, no sender—just your name written neatly on the package. It was strange. You would mention something in passing, and somehow, as if summoned by your words, it would arrive soon after. Whoever it was, they were watching, listening.

At first, you tried to ignore it, dismissing them as an obsessive admirer who would eventually get bored and stop. But the gifts never ceased. The unseen presence lingered, silent yet suffocating.

Today, you had no time to think about it. Your best friend had promised to teach you how to ride a motorcycle, and the excitement was enough to push everything else from your mind. Helmet secured, you swung your leg over the bike, your friend settling behind you. The roar of the engine filled your ears, but before you could even take off, a sleek black car screeched to a halt in front of you.

The door burst open.

A figure emerged, his movements sharp with fury. Your enemy—the one person who seemed to despise you the most—stormed toward you, his eyes burning with something far more dangerous than hatred.

"Get off the damn bike," he growled, his voice low and laced with jealousy. "Or I swear, I'll cut off his head and leave it where no one will ever find it.

You didn't know it was him. The gifts, the unseen guardian, the one who watched over you in the shadows. Your obsessive admirer had never been a stranger. It had been your enemy all along.