I was rummaging through Julian Thorne's trash when I received an anonymous text: "I want to lick the mole on your collarbone, baby." Even after blocking the number, the harassing messages kept coming. Whether I was late for work, out at the movies, or stalking Julian myself, he always managed to send a flirty text right on cue. He even offered me advice: "Once Julian drinks it, baby, you can do whatever you want with him." Later, I accidentally stumbled into Julian's darkroom. The walls were plastered with photos of me. Julian, who was supposedly passed out drunk on the sofa, had clear eyes as he slowly picked up his phone and sent a text. A familiar notification sound rang in my pocket. "Baby, didn't I teach you? The drug works best mixed with an ice-cold drink." 1 "I want to lick the mole on your collarbone, baby." I pursed my lips, glanced around nervously, quickly pulled up my collar, and blocked the unknown number. Pulling my cap lower, I squatted in front of Julian's door and started rummaging through his delivery boxes and takeout bags. "Reordered the same body wash again." "Switched to a different variety of mangoes." "Bought cold medicine yesterday. Did he catch a chill with the weather turning?" After sifting through everything, I took the pile of trash downstairs and threw it into the dumpster. Back home, I pulled a white shirt out of my closet. It was Julian's. It looked barely worn, retrieved by me from a discarded delivery box outside his door a month ago. I pressed it against my face, greedily inhaling the lingering scent. Enveloped in the smell of cedarwood, my mind conjured images of Julian wearing this shirt. Cool, abstinent. I loved it. 2 "Recently, the delivery boxes and takeout bags outside my door keep disappearing." Julian stood beside me in the elevator, his voice calm. A chill ran down my spine. In the reflection of the elevator doors, my right hand gripping my bag strap was painfully obvious. "Have you encountered anything like this?" He turned his head, his gaze slowly shifting to me. "Miss Hart?" "Maybe the cleaning lady took them. She often takes my delivery boxes too." I smiled and gave the answer I had prepared long ago. Julian raised an eyebrow, looking enlightened. "So that's it." Seeing that he believed me, I secretly breathed a sigh of relief. Just as I was about to ask about his recent health, the elevator arrived. The moment the doors opened, Julian frowned in displeasure. "Why did she follow me here?" I followed his gaze. A bouquet of bright red roses lay at his door. He picked up the flowers with one hand, glanced at them casually, and suddenly called out to me from behind. "Miss Hart, if you encountered something like this, what would you do?" He handed the card to me. I took a step back and waved my hand. "This is your private matter. I won't get involved." Julian's eyes darkened for a moment but quickly returned to normal. "Sorry to disturb you." It wasn't until I entered my apartment and sat on the sofa that I noticed my smartwatch issuing a stress warning. In that brief glance earlier, I had actually seen the contents of the card clearly. It was filled with passionate confessions to Julian. There was even a bright red lipstick mark over the name "Chloe Quinn" at the bottom. Julian's solution to the stalker was simple. He tossed the bouquet back where it was and went home as if nothing had happened, ignoring it completely. Although he didn't do anything extreme, I clearly saw the look of utter disgust in his eyes when he saw the flowers. I couldn't help but think of my own uncontrollable, perverted behavior towards Julian. Rummaging through his trash, spying on his privacy, following him to the movies to watch the same film, participating in events organized by his club to fake chance encounters... I dared not imagine what his reaction would be if he discovered these things. I curled my trembling pinky into my palm. I have to be more careful in the future. He must never find out. 3 More things started piling up at Julian's door. Besides the usual discarded boxes, there were beautifully wrapped gifts. Sometimes gourmet desserts, sometimes designer sneakers. But Julian never even opened the packaging. He let the items pile up into a small mountain. Chloe was as persistent as her card suggested. I even saw her at Julian's door. Chloe, who had been examining Julian's delivery labels, turned her head immediately upon noticing me and asked with a grin: "Hi there, does Julian Thorne live here?" She was very beautiful, and her smile was exceptionally friendly. No one could dislike a girl like her. This wasn't my first time seeing Chloe. Julian, Chloe, and I all went to the same university. Back in college, Chloe was famous as the "Business School Beauty." I had heard her name many times but never interacted with her. The closest encounter was probably one summer night when I accidentally walked into a pole on the track field because I was zoning out. When I was helped up, dazed, surrounded by floating pink balloons and a surging crowd, I realized I had stumbled into someone's public confession scene. And the heroine was Chloe. I covered my throbbing forehead, apologizing profusely as I fled in embarrassment. Now, Chloe stood there in a white dress similar to that summer night, tilting her head, waiting for my answer. I nodded at her. I couldn't lie. Julian used his real name for deliveries; she could find out with a quick check. When I went into my apartment, Chloe was still fiddling with the new gift she brought for Julian. Ding— A message notification sounded. I relaxed my fingers; the print on my phone case was scratched and peeling from my nails. I picked up the phone. Another text from a strange number. "Baby, are you jealous?" Only after he pointed it out did I realize the heaviness in my heart was jealousy. This pervert always knew my information firsthand, understanding me even better than I understood myself. It felt like he was watching me from the shadows. When I first started receiving harassing texts, I panicked, searching for cameras in my home, suspecting every passerby, even moving immediately. But nothing stopped it. Every time I blocked a number, he would switch to a new one. Over time, I became numb to these messages. I no longer feared his ambiguous texts. Because I discovered he didn't dare appear in front of me. Just like I didn't dare reveal my true self to Julian. "Baby, there's another woman looking for your neighbor. He must be a dirty man." "Baby, do you want me to beat him up for you to vent your anger?" "Baby, stop liking him." New messages appeared on my screen one after another. I picked up my phone and rarely replied to this pervert. "Who should I like then? You?" "Boohoo, baby finally noticed me. I'm a thousand, ten thousand times better than your neighbor. I want to hug baby, kiss baby right now." "Get lost." The phone went quiet. Just when I thought there wouldn't be any more messages. Ding— "Baby is so fierce, I like it." Damn it, pervert. I quickly blocked the number. 4 My company took on a big project. I was practically squeezed dry, working until eleven every night. Let alone stalking Julian, I could only glance at the pile of stuff at his door out of the corner of my eye while rushing to the elevator. The messages from strange numbers on my phone piled up to 99+. It wasn't until the proposal finally passed review that I could catch my breath. Leaving work on time for the first time in half a month, I unfortunately encountered a rainstorm. Passing by the apartment next door, I saw Julian's door ajar, dark inside. I checked the time. 6 PM. Julian usually came home at 8 PM. Did he forget to close the door? Possessed by some ghost, I pushed open Julian's door. Quiet, no one there. I walked in a few steps, fumbled to turn on the light, scanned the room, and my gaze was instantly drawn to a plush toy on the entryway cabinet. It was a pink rabbit wearing a pink dress. Not new, with visible wear on its limbs, but clearly cherished by its owner. It looked so familiar. I seemed to have had a similar keychain in high school, but I accidentally lost it later. I picked up the rabbit keychain, wanting to examine the details. The elevator door behind me suddenly opened. I froze in place, at a loss. Only two people lived on this floor. Besides me, only Julian would come here. The rain was deafening, but the footsteps were crystal clear in my ears. Then, a tall shadow fell over my head. The rich scent of cedarwood enveloped me, a continuous chill, like standing in a pine forest after the first snow. He leaned in, placing a hand on my waist. Water droplets fell from his forehead and chin, landing on my collarbone, the cold making me shiver slightly. That icy voice rang in my ear. "What are you doing?" "Miss Hart?"
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