Adelaide used to believe that monsters only existed in books. She spent years crafting them-twisting ink into shadows, breathing life into the kind of men who made hearts race for all the wrong reasons. ,,Tempting Rose "had been her masterpiece, a story drenched in obsession, power, and the intoxicating thrill of danger. But that was fiction. This? This was real. The rose was the first sign. A single bloom, blood-red and fresh, left outside her apartment door. No note. No explanation. She had stared at it for too long, unease settling deep in her bones. It was probably nothing. A harmless gesture. A mistake. The second time, it was inside. On her nightstand. A place only she should have been able to reach. Now, as she stood frozen in her dimly lit apartment, her breath hitched. The air felt heavier, suffocating. She wasn't alone-she could feel it. The weight of unseen eyes pressing against her skin. She swallowed hard. "You wrote this story, Adelaide." The words slithered through her mind like a whisper from the dark. "I'm just playing my role." She had spent years writing about obsession. Now, she was living it. And she didn't know if she'd survive the ending. ❗️❗️🔞