Intro. I've always known that some people don't come into our lives to love — they come into our lives to possess. And when I realized, it was already too late. It didn't appear obviously. It was neither a shock nor a scandal. It was subtle. A look that lasted too long. Too much of a constant presence. A silence that observed, analyzed, waited. At first, I called it a coincidence. Then, destination. Until I understood that it was surveillance. There was something wrong with how he knew me without me ever telling him. My habits, my fears, my schedules, my weaknesses. He knew exactly where to touch not with his hands, but with his mind. And every time I tried to pull away, something pulled me back, as if I were already his before I even realized it. This wasn't love. It was obsession. And worst of all… it was reciprocal. Because at some point, between fear and desire, I stopped running. I started waiting. I started to want it. I started to need it. As if danger had become the only place I felt alive. This