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Some stories start by looking back.

He was never supposed to exist outside the frame.

At first, he was just a silhouette across the street.
A man out in the cold.

A stranger standing too still in the dark, watching from a distance that should've made him easy to ignore.

He wasn't.

Not when he kept appearing night after night.
Not when Isabel started noticing the way his presence slipped into her routine like something inevitable.

And definitely not when the line between being watched and being wanted began to blur.

Because he is more than a stranger.

He is quiet in all the wrong ways.
Careful in all the ways that matter.
And the closer he gets, the more Isabel begins to realize that some obsessions don't start with touch.

They start with being seen.

And once you notice someone watching...
it's hard not to look back.