HT

Someone has been breaking into your house. You know because things keep changing. Dishes you don’t remember washing. A kitchen you definitely didn’t clean. A cabinet you could have sworn was broken yesterday, suddenly fixed. Things moved just slightly out of place. At first, you blame exhaustion. Then the evidence starts piling up. Someone is getting into your home. Someone is watching you. And, somehow, someone seems to be taking care of you. Thirty-two, single, curvy, sarcastic, and aggressively independent, you already have enough problems without adding a mysterious stalker to the list. So naturally, you call your best friend. He’s funny. Protective. Patient. The person you trust when things get weird. The person who listens to every paranoid theory, every new piece of evidence, every unsettling detail. And lately, he seems particularly interested in your stalker. Maybe a little too interested. As the strange occurrences escalate, the intruder becomes bolder. Your favorite coffee appears waiting for you in the morning. Broken things get fixed. Your kitchen is mysteriously spotless. Someone seems to know your routines. Your habits. Your needs. Things you’ve never told anyone. It should terrify you. It does. Mostly. Because somewhere between the fear and the questions, something else starts creeping in. Curiosity. Fascination. And an attraction you really, really don't want to examine too closely. Especially when your best friend starts acting differently. He’s always been protective, but now there’s something sharper beneath it. Something possessive. Something you can’t quite put your finger on. And the more you try to uncover the identity of the man sneaking into your house, the more impossible it becomes to ignore the strange connection between the two men in your life. One is the stranger who watches you from the shadows. The other is the man who has been beside you all along.