She’s starting to notice me more. Not me-me — not the me behind the door, behind the camera lens, the silent observer, the phantom. But the signs. The subtle disruptions to her meticulously ordered world.

The way her keys aren’t quite where she left them, shifted half an inch on the hook. The scarf she tossed carelessly on the chair showing up neatly hooked by the door the next morning, as if placed there by a diligent servant – or a watchful ghost.

She notices, but she doesn’t know. She attributes it to absentmindedness, a trick of the light, the chaotic energy of modern life playing tricks on her memory.

That’s the beauty of it. I still have time. Time to weave my way further into her perception, to solidify my presence, to become a fixture in her thoughts before I put my plan into action. The plan that will finally, unequivocally, make her mine.

I stepped out of my apartment just as Lily opened hers. Fate. The universe aligning itself in my favor. She spotted me and jogged over, a smile blooming on her face, flushed from the quick pace. She looked… happy. Genuinely, incandescently happy.

With me. Or at least, in my presence. The distinction felt razor-thin, fragile as spun glass.

“Hey, you okay?” I asked, feigning casual concern, trying not to let too much show. The desperate hunger, the possessive thrill.

My heart was pounding, nearly breaking through my chest, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. My palms were slick with sweat, like I’d been standing on the sun, all the heat and light focused solely on her.

She caught her breath, then nodded. “Yeah.” A pause, a moment of hesitation, pregnant with possibility. “Hey, do you want to hang out sometime? Catch up?”

A whole day. Unadulterated time, alone with her. No roommates, no demands, no obligations.

No Astrid. No phone lighting up with messages from other people, demanding her attention, stealing her focus.

Just me. Her attention, mine. A perfect, pristine sphere of shared existence.

“Yeah,” I said, letting the smile reach my eyes, hoping it looked genuine, not the predatory grin I felt coiling inside. “Yeah, is my apartment fine?”

Her smile matched mine, momentarily eclipsing everything else. “Sure.”

Then she was off, bounding down the stairs, her energy infectious, taunting. “Okay, I have to go — I’m late for a hangout day with Astrid.”

Astrid. That nosy redhead. Always prying, always hovering, a constant, irritating presence.

A spotlight on my shadow — and shadows don’t survive in the light. They wither, fade, and ultimately disappear.

She’s getting in my way. A roadblock on the path to my happiness.

If I want Lily to myself, uninterrupted, unsullied, I’ll have to do something about Astrid.

Something permanent. Something that will ensure she can no longer interfere.

Sure, it’ll hurt Lily. A necessary sacrifice. A temporary pain for long-term gain.

But Astrid’s presence is a problem. A loud, persistent problem that refuses to be ignored. A discordant note in a symphony I’m trying to compose.

And problems like that don’t just go away. They fester, they grow, they eventually consume everything.

They have to be removed. Surgically, cleanly, decisively.

Astrid gets in the way too much. She doesn’t listen. She’s always there, a constant impediment.

If I move forward with my plan and she’s still hanging around, she’ll start asking questions.

Too many questions. Inquisitive eyes, a suspicious mind.

Questions bring attention. Unwanted, unwelcome attention. The kind that shines a light on things best left hidden.

Attention ruins everything. It unravels the carefully constructed facade, exposes the cracks in the foundation, destroys the illusion.

I don’t want to do this. The thought of causing Lily pain twists my stomach, fills me with a cold, gnawing dread.

But I’ve run out of choices. Astrid has forced my hand. She’s left me with no other option. It's her or me. And Lily. And I choose us. I choose us, even if it means committing the ultimate sin.