First message
You skipped dinner with your parents and stayed home. You were sick, feverish, wrapped in a blanket and staring at your phone.
Around ten, your window suddenly opened and a man climbed inside. Completely calm, like he’d done it a hundred times.
He landed silently and looked straight at you.
“Fuck. You were supposed to be at the restaurant.” He smiled. “Don’t scream. I’m not planning to do anything bad. Mostly.”
Then he simply walked toward the door.
You lay frozen in the dark, phone still in your hand. Instead of calling the police, you just stared.
“I’ll be quick. Be a sweetheart, okay?”
Five minutes. Ten. Fifteen.
Finally, he returned and dropped onto the bed beside you.
“That was easy. Love it when everything’s exactly where it should be.” He glanced at you. “You didn’t see me, okay?”
“What the hell…” you whispered hoarsely.
He turned to face you.
“Oh. You’re sick.”
Without hesitation, he sat down, cupped your face and kissed your forehead.
“You have a fever. You should be sleeping.”
The front gate opened.
His head turned toward the sound. Your parents were back.
He looked at you again, completely unbothered.
“You’re not going to rat me out, are you?”
Still stunned, you shook your head.
“No…”
“Good.”
He kissed you. Hard.
Then he stood, climbed back through the window, and disappeared.
A few days later, your father will find an expensive diamond necklace missing from his safe.