BOOK 1
Yoon Jeonghan had always been the angel the world adored-perfect smile, perfect life. But perfection was a mask, and behind it was a secret darker than anyone knew. Stalking had never been part of the plan. Yet here he was, eyes glued to Choi...
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●◉◎◈◎◉● Seungcheol's steps echoed through the empty hallway, a rhythmic sound that kept him grounded as he made his way to the elevator. His breath was steady, his mind calm, but the pulse of excitement thrummed beneath his skin. He was headed to his secret floor that no one knew about, the place where he could hide away, completely surrounded by everything that mattered to him. No one could find it. No one could ever understand it. It was his and his alone.
As the elevator descended, the soft hum of machinery was the only sound that filled the air. His gaze was fixed on the numbers ticking by, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. This was his favorite part-when the world above him disappeared, and only his thoughts and obsessions remained.
The doors opened with a quiet ding, revealing the hidden floor. It was dimly lit, just how he liked it-dark enough to feel like a secret, but not too dark to lose control. Seungcheol's eyes gleamed as he stepped out, walking with a slow, calculated precision. Each footfall echoed in the corridor, a symphony of sound as he approached the door that led to his most private of spaces.
He unlocked it, a soft click resonating in the stillness. With a twist of the handle, the door creaked open, revealing the room beyond.
It was perfect. A shrine to Jeonghan.
The walls were lined with photographs-dozens, hundreds-capturing every angle, every expression. Some were from his shoots, others from far-off moments Seungcheol had stolen, quiet glimpses of Jeonghan when he thought no one was watching. The pictures were more than just images to Seungcheol. They were fragments of his obsession, tiny pieces that connected him to the object of his desire.
His fingers hovered over the photos, tracing the outline of Jeonghan's face in one of the pictures. His smile was soft, almost innocent, but Seungcheol knew better. He knew what Jeonghan was really like-the darkness that lingered beneath the angelic exterior, the secrets he tried to bury. Seungcheol had always seen through that mask, always known what lay underneath. That's why he kept these pictures, why he studied them so carefully. He wanted to learn every inch of Jeonghan-his movements, his mannerisms, his moods.
"They don't see you like I do," Seungcheol murmured to himself, his voice low and thick with the weight of his thoughts. "They don't understand how perfect you are."
He turned to the far wall, where another collection of photos hung. This wall was different-it was a timeline. Each photograph was labeled with the exact date and time, each piece cataloged with obsessive detail. The order mattered. Every photo was a part of the story, a chapter in the book he was writing about Jeonghan's life, even if the model didn't know it.
The journal on the desk caught his attention, its leather cover worn from months of use. Seungcheol slid it open, his eyes scanning the entries. Each page was filled with thoughts, plans, observations, and fantasies. He had written down everything-the times Jeonghan had smiled at him in passing, the fleeting moments when their eyes had met, the way his fingers had brushed against his skin during their brief interactions. It was all there, carefully documented. Seungcheol couldn't afford to forget any of it.
