Feeding My Mafia Stalker

I was being stalked by a creep.

He picked my lock. Planted a camera under my bed. I didn't run.

Instead, I held a piece of paper right up to the lens. It read:

[Bro, order me a double cheeseburger combo with large fries, thanks.]

Chapter 1

The handwriting on the A4 paper was crooked.

[Bro, order me a double cheeseburger combo with large fries, thanks.]

I held the paper up and waved it at the tiny, glowing red eye of the micro-camera hidden under my bed.

[Anyone else would think I was provoking him. In reality, I was just starving.]

The red light froze.

I waited three minutes. Nothing. I let out a breath, flipped the paper over, and scribbled another line.

[If not, just slide your supplementary credit card under the door and I'll buy it myself.]

The camera remained dead silent.

I'm Wren, a terminal introvert. My life motto? As long as I stay inside, the toxic waste of human interaction can't kill me.

That peace shattered three days ago. I started noticing things in my apartment. Things that didn't belong to me.

Imported yogurt I never bought showed up in the fridge. My sneakers by the entryway were neatly straightened.

The wildest part happened last night. I fell asleep at my desk while rushing a drawing. When I woke up, a blanket was draped over my shoulders.

I live alone.

I called the cops. They showed up, did a sweep, and found zero signs of forced entry. They left me with a dismissive, "Miss Wren, are you sure you're not just under a lot of stress lately?"

I wasn't stressed. I was just lazy.

Then, this afternoon, I dropped my phone under the bed. I flattened myself on the floor and reached for it.

My fingertips didn't brush against a cold phone case. They hit something warm. Something tiny.

A live camera.

My brain flatlined for three seconds.

One: Holy shit, a creep.

Two: When did he plant this?

Three:

[Is this camera high-res? Can it see the blackheads on my nose?]

I calmly grabbed my phone, pulled myself up, and sat on the edge of the bed to reevaluate my life.

Run? No way. Moving meant packing boxes, dealing with real estate agents, and haggling with movers. That whole process would literally drain half my life force.

Was I scared? A little. But mostly I was just annoyed.

[Can you just let me sleep in peace?]

Right as I was about to post on Reddit: Being watched by a stalker, need advice ASAP but also not really that urgent, my stomach growled.

An idea struck. I grabbed that piece of A4 paper. Which led to the scene from earlier.

Five more minutes passed. The lens under the bed stayed unresponsive.

I clicked my tongue, ready to abandon this delusional plan and just order delivery myself.

Right then. Ding-dong. The doorbell rang.

My spine locked up. Who the hell was here at this hour? I crept over to the door and pressed my eye to the peephole. A delivery guy was standing there, holding a double cheeseburger combo.

I froze.

The delivery guy held his phone up, clearly on a call. "Sir, I'm at the door."

"You said not to ring the bell and just leave it here, right? Got it. Have a good meal."

The delivery guy left the burger combo at the door and walked away.

I stood glued to the spot for five full minutes before daring to crack the door open.

There, sitting quietly at the door, was a burger combo giving off a mouth-watering meaty aroma. Steam rose from the bag. A sticky note was slapped on top. The printed font was perfectly neat.

"Double cheese, with the bacon you like. Eat it while it's hot. Don't expect me to be this obedient next time."

I stared.

[Damn. Bro's got some sass.]

Chapter 2

I happily hauled my burger combo back inside, crossed my legs on the rug, and munched on a fry while texting my dramatic bestie, Willow. "Willow, I think I just found the perfect long-term meal ticket."

Willow replied in a second: "? Did you win the lottery?"

"Way better than the lottery. I think I just bagged myself an unhinged sugar stalker," I texted back.

Willow: "??? Send me your address! I'm calling the cops right now!"

I took my sweet time taking a massive bite of my dripping double cheeseburger. "Don't. Honestly I think this is a total win."

The next day, hunger physically woke me up. My pantry was wiped out. I couldn't even find a stray packet of instant ramen. I slumped on the couch, feeling like a severely dehydrated houseplant.

[Why isn't my stalker dropping off food today? His customer service is terrible. Zero stars.]

I dragged myself up, preparing to tackle the Herculean task of leaving the apartment to scavenge for food.

The second I pulled my door open, the door across the hall swung open too.

A guy stepped out. White button-down, denim jacket, carrying a faint, clean scent of cedar. He was tall and lean, with soft hair falling loosely over his forehead. When he saw me, he paused.

Then, a smile broke across his face, his eyes curving into attractive crescents. "Hey, I'm the new neighbor who just moved in yesterday. I'm Gideon."

Major boy-next-door energy. Absolute college-heartthrob vibes.

[Damn. This is exactly that harmless golden retriever boy the internet is always obsessing over.]

My social anxiety radar maxed out. My scalp prickled. "H-hi." I wanted nothing more than to shrink right back into my shell.

Gideon seemed to catch my awkwardness. A faint pink dusted his cheeks as he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "So I'm really bad at cooking, and I accidentally ordered way too much delivery. Do you want"

He held up the bag in his hand. Inside were flaky croissants and pour-over coffee from that high-end French bakery down the streetthe one that required a month-long reservation just to get a pastry. The rich, buttery aroma aggressively invaded my senses.

My stomach let out an embarrassingly loud growl.

The air went dead silent.

Gideon's face turned even redder, flushing like a ripe peach.

I was mortified enough to dig my own grave right there in the hallway.

[Social death. This right here is what it looks like.]

"I-I'll take it!" I practically snatched the breakfast right out of his hand and slammed the door shut.

Through the wood, I thought I heard Gideon let out a low chuckle.

I leaned against the door, my heart hammering against my ribs. Not from butterflies. From the sheer trauma of socializing.

[The air isn't toxic, but socializing definitely is. I swear.]

I bit into the incredibly flaky croissant while giving Willow a live update. "A cute guy just moved in next door. Major boy-next-door vibes, and he just brought me breakfast."

Willow called me immediately, her voice piercing through the speaker like a screeching alarm.

"Wren! Snap out of it! A hot guy appearing at this time, in this place?"

"He is absolutely bad news! Think about it, how could it be such a coincidence? He is definitely the stalker!"

I took a sip of the pour-over coffee, unfazed. "Have you been reading too many true crime thrillers? His eyes crinkle when he smiles, and he literally blushes. How could he possibly be a stalker?"

[Even if he is, with a face that gorgeous, it's not entirely unforgivable.]

Willow groaned over the line, sounding like she wanted to reach through the phone and strangle me. "You are blinded by a pretty face! Did you forget about the camera in your apartment?"

Of course I didn't forget.

I finished my breakfast, purposely walked over to my bed, bent down toward the floor, and whispered a single sentence. "Thanks for breakfast, pretty boy."

Chapter 3

The red light on the camera under the bed seemed to blink a beat faster.

Over the next few days, Gideon and I fell into this bizarre "elevator meet-cute" routine. I'd step out to take out the trash, and he'd just happen to be heading down for a run. I'd go downstairs to grab a package, and he'd just happen to be coming back from a grocery run.

He always managed to find a million different excuses to strike up a conversation.

"That box looks heavy. Let me grab it for you. Looks like it's going to pour today. Do you have an umbrella?"

"I bought too many snacks. Here, take half."

The snacks he handed me were the exact same ones sitting un-purchased in my online shopping cart. I stared at his warm, perfectly gentle smile, knowing exactly what was going on.

[Keep acting. Let's see how long you can keep this up.]

I didn't expose him. In fact, I was thoroughly enjoying the perks. Gideon was practically the savior of my social anxiety.

Willow fell into a long, heavy silence after I gave her the rundown. "Wren, let me ask you something. Do you ever get the feeling that you two have reversed roles?"

"He thinks he's boiling the frog, pulling off this slow-burn forced obsession. But from where I'm standing why does it look like he's running some extremely expensive charity relief program for you?"

The phrase "extremely expensive charity relief" must have struck a nerve. Even without hearing the feed from the camera, I could sense the shift in the atmosphere.

That night, a massive thunderstorm rolled in, rain coming down in sheets.

Halfway through my drawing, the hunger hit.

Just as I was about to pull my usual stunt with the camera under the bed, the doorbell rang.

I pulled the door open. Gideon was standing in the hallway. He hadn't brought an umbrella. He was drenched, his dark hair plastered against his forehead.

Drops of water slid down the sharp line of his jaw and disappeared into the collar of his white shirt. He looked like an absolute mess, utterly fragile.

[Tsk. Wet t-shirt contest no, wait, drowned rat.]

"What happened to you?" I asked.

He lifted his head. His eyes were glassy, clouded over like a puppy that had just been left out in the rain.

"My my phone died. The fingerprint lock on my door is busted too Could I stay at your place for a bit?"

A barely noticeable tremor ran through his voice.

I stepped aside to let him in.

[That excuse is even more ridiculous than the logos I design for my clients.]

The moment he stepped inside, he stood stiffly by the entryway, too awkward to move an inch.

"I'll go grab you a towel," I said.

I turned and headed for the bathroom. When I came back, I found him crouched in the corner of the room. Not standing. Crouching.

Curled up into a tight, pathetic little ball.

He looked up, holding a single Band-Aid, panic flashing in his eyes. "I I think I accidentally cut my hand just now."

I walked over and looked down at his pale finger. There was a faint, practically microscopic red scratch.

[His acting is way better than those A-list Hollywood actors.]

I didn't say a word. I just stared at him in silence.

He shrank slightly under my gaze. His eyes darted away, and eventually, he just buried his face in his knees.

Just like an oversized dog that had done something wrong and was waiting for its owner to hand down the punishment.

The room was dead silent.

Suddenly, I found the whole thing hilarious.

This was the creep who picked my lock and planted a camera in my room? Acting like a total psycho stalker, yet crumbling over a paper cut.

The second he got caught acting out, his first instinct was to squat in a corner and shut down.

Chapter 4

I let out a breath, crouched down beside him, and took the Band-Aid from his hand. "Give me your hand."

His body stiffened for a second, then he slowly, tentatively offered his hand to me. I peeled the wrapper off the Band-Aid and carefully pressed it over the cut. His fingertips were freezing. Mine were burning hot.

The second our skin met, his fingers instinctively took control, his grip locking around my wrist. The rough calluses on his palm scraped dangerously against my pulse.

His eyes darkened into something terrifyinglike a wolf right before it sinks its teeth into prey.

He jerked back as if electrocuted, snapping back to that harmless, innocent look.

"All done," I said, patting the back of his hand.

He didn't move. He kept that exact posture, his voice muffled against his knees. "Wren. Why aren't you afraid of me?"

I stood up and looked down at him. "Why would I be?"

[A free premium personal butler who handles my food, my rent, and all my social anxiety problems? I should be worshipping the ground you walk on.]

I patted his head, exactly like soothing an oversized pet. "Be a good boy and stop overthinking. I'm going to make you something to eat. Do you want a frozen pizza or instant mac and cheese?"

Gideon's head snapped up. The glassy, misty puppy look vanished from his eyes. Instead, they were consumed by an endless, unfathomable abyss. Strikingly bright.

He stared unblinkingly at me, grinding out every single word. "Do you know something?"

Of course I knew.

But I wasn't going to say a damn thing. The game had just started. Popping the bubble this early would completely ruin the fun.

I winked at him, grinning like a cat that just swallowed the canary. "I know you're starving, neighbor."

The dark abyss in Gideon's eyes evaporated, shifting flawlessly back into that gentle, harmless facade. He lowered his head, the corners of his lips curling up just a fraction. "Yeah."

That night, he devoured an entire frozen cheese pizza I baked for him. He didn't even leave a single piece of the tough crust.

Right before he left, he lingered at the door, hesitating. "Wren, it's not very safe out there lately. You shouldn't go out much."

I nodded, looking as obedient as a bunny. "Okay."

[Music to my ears. House arrest is literally my favorite aesthetic.]

The second the door clicked shut, I texted Willow. "False alarm. He's just playing the pity card to score some sympathy points."

Willow: "Why do I feel like you two are starring in some twisted psychological thriller, and I'm the only audience member who has no idea what's going on?"

That peace lasted exactly two days before an uninvited guest shattered it.

My ex, Colton.

A textbook narcissistic, slimy dirtbag. We broke up because he thought I was too "boring" and didn't give him enough face when he dragged me out in public. Now, he must have heard from somewhere that I moved into a bigger apartment, and he was shamelessly crawling back.

That afternoon, I was lounging on the sofa enjoying the afternoon tea Gideon had dropped off, when the doorbell started buzzing aggressively. I peeked through the peephole. It was Colton's greasy face staring back.

I instantly played dead.

He immediately started screaming from the hallway. "Wren! I know you're in there! Open the damn door!"

"What? You hooked up with some sugar daddy and suddenly you don't know me? Let me tell you, don't push your luck when I'm being nice!"

[Rolling my eyes so hard I'm seeing my own brain.jpg]

I shoved my earbuds in and cranked the volume to max. The world went blissfully silent.

About ten minutes later, the noise outside stopped. Assuming he finally gave up, I pulled out one earbud. A massive crash shook the walls.

Bang!

He had kicked my front door. Hard. Followed immediately by Colton's escalating, arrogant shouting.

"Not going to open it, huh? Try me, I will literally take this door off its hinges!"

I frowned.

[The quality of ex-boyfriends these days is truly in the gutter.]

Chapter 5

Just as I was debating whether to unleash Gideon no, wait, call the cops the door across the hall clicked open.

I immediately pressed my eye to the peephole. The show was about to start.

Gideon stood in his doorway, still wearing that crisp white button-down. His face was blank.

He looked at Colton. His voice was flat. "What are you doing?"

Colton looked him up and down, his eyes dripping with contempt. "Who the hell are you?"

"Her little toy boy? I'm looking for my girlfriend. Mind your own damn business!"

Gideon smiled. It wasn't that eye-crinkling, boy-next-door smile. The corners of his lips tipped up, but his eyes were absolute ice. "Your girlfriend?"

He took a single step forward. Despite his lean frame, his aura suffocated Colton's.

"Her name is Wren. She lives here. But"

His voice dropped dangerously low, like a demon's whisper, dripping with a bone-chilling ruthlessness. "She is not your girlfriend. Get out. Or I will physically remove you."

Colton froze, momentarily paralyzed by the sheer dominance radiating off him. Two seconds later, his ego flared into a humiliating rage. "Who the fuck do you think you are! You think you can talk to me like that!"

He swung his fist straight at Gideon's face.

My stomach dropped.

[Not the face! That face is a premium asset!]

But the image of Gideon getting knocked out never materialized. He merely shifted his shoulder, effortlessly dodging Colton's flying fist. Then, he struck like lightning, his hand clamping like a vice around Colton's wrist. He gave it a slight twist.

Crack

A sickeningly crisp snap of bone dislocating echoed in the hallway. It was instantly followed by Colton shrieking like a slaughtered pig.

"Ahhh! My hand!"

Gideon let go, his face devoid of any emotion, dropping his arm as if discarding a piece of trash. He raised his leg and drove his knee straight into Colton's stomach.

Colton flew backward like a broken sack of potatoes, slammed into the opposite wall, and slid to the floor.

Gideon closed the distance, step by slow step, staring down at him from a terrifying height. He lifted his long, straight leg.

The expensive, custom-made leather shoe on his foot stepped precisely onto Colton's dislocated wrist. He carelessly applied his full body weight, listening to the agonizing, teeth-grinding crunch of bones shattering.

"I'm going to say this one last time." His voice was absolute zero. "Stay away from her. Or next time, it won't just be your hand that breaks."

Behind the peephole, my jaw practically unhinged.

[Rabid attack dog on the streets, sweet puppy in the sheets I am absolutely obsessed with this character arc.]

Colton scrambled up and ran for his life, stumbling over his own feet.

The hallway fell dead silent.

Gideon stood rooted to the spot, his back facing my door, for a very long time. Under the dim, flickering light of the motion sensor, his silhouette looked solitary and cold. I could only imagine his expression right now.

It had to be shadowy, apathetic, violently churning with the anxiety of his perfect mask slipping.

I didn't open the door. I waited. Waited for him to regulate his emotions and seamlessly strap that "harmless golden retriever" mask back on.

Sure enough, about five minutes later, his posture straightened. He casually adjusted his slightly rumpled collar. Then, he knocked on my door.

Knock, knock, knock.

Neither too hard nor too soft. Perfectly polite.

I pulled the door open, pretending I had just woken up, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. "What happened? It sounded so loud out here."

Gideon stood on the threshold. That gentle, shy smile was perfectly pinned back onto his face.

It was as if the ruthless psycho from two minutes ago was nothing but my hallucination. "It's nothing. Just a stray dog barking up a storm. I chased it away."

His eyes were crystal clear, his smile radiating warmth. But I still caught a single, glaring detail out of place. On the crisp cuff of his white shirt, there was a tiny, dark red splatter of blood.

Colton's.

Chapter 6

My gaze lingered on that speck of blood for a single second.

He noticed. Without missing a beat, he hid his hand behind his back. "Sorry if I woke you up."

"It's fine," I shook my head. "Thank you."

He paused, caught off guard. "Thank me for what?"

"For chasing away the stray dog," I flashed him a smile.

He stared at my smile, a complicated dark look swirling in his eyes. After a long moment, he murmured, "You're welcome."

After that night, Gideon's "infiltration" into my life became blatantly obvious.

He was no longer satisfied with just dropping off breakfast or staging coincidental run-ins. He started finding every excuse in the book to actually get inside my apartment.

"My Wi-Fi went down. Can I borrow yours for a bit? I just bought a new projector, but I have no idea how to set it up."

"Think you could show me? I made way too much curry. I can't finish it alone."

I never turned him away.

When he came over, I'd slide my laptop right in front of him. "Help me color this draft."

When he came over, I'd shove an open bag of chips into his hands. "Help me destroy this junk food."

When he came over, I'd slump on the couch and order him around. "Gideon, pour me a glass of water. Gideon, hand me the remote. Gideon, I'm starving."

A few times, I caught him sitting at my desk, meticulously coloring my drawings, staring at me with this utterly blank look of Who am I? Where am I? Why am I doing this?

[Bro's CPU is fried.]

I even started using the camera under my bed to order takeout.

If I craved late-night tacos, I'd scribble on a piece of paper and shove it under the bed. Half an hour later, Gideon would be knocking on my door. "I was just walking past that taco truck you like, so I grabbed you some."

Willow was speechless. "Wren, you are absolute insanity. You're not dating him. You're literally domesticating him."

"Are you treating him like a Tamagotchi?"

I agreed.

[A digital pet that can cook, draw, fight, and spares me the agony of actual socializing? Who wouldn't want that?]

I even started feeling like the camera under the bed was a bit of a hindrance. It only let me issue one-way demands. It didn't let me see what Gideon was actually doing over in his own apartment.

Was he just a massive homebody like me? Or was his place actually a surveillance center? With its walls completely plastered in photos of me?

Thinking about that possibility didn't scare me at all. In fact, it gave me a slight thrill.

[I kinda want to go take a tour.]

An opportunity presented itself very quickly.

Willow, that flip-flopping drama queen, finally couldn't hold back anymore. She demanded to meet Gideon in person. "I have to see with my own eyes what kind of man has my Wren so obsessed!"

She stormed over, aggressive as hell, acting like a bitter wife catching a cheater.

But the moment she laid eyes on Gideon, she defected.

That day, Gideon was standing in my doorway, wearing a crisp white T-shirt and holding a plate of freshly cut fruit. Seeing Willow, he paused for a second before offering a shy, perfectly polite smile. "Hi, you must be Wren's friend, right? Please, come in."

Chapter 7

She stepped inside like a zombie, mechanically accepted the plate of fruit Gideon handed her, and stared blankly as he effortlessly glided into my kitchen to start prepping dinner. She leaned into my ear, dropping her voice to a harsh whisper. "Holy shit, Wren. Is this a live-in maid you hired?"

Me: "No, this is my free, premium private butler."

Willow: ""

Willow spent the entire dinner zoned out.

Gideon's cooking was incredible. He served up a perfectly creamy truffle risotto paired with a flawlessly seared tomahawk steak, and he even prepped a decadent dessert. He was meticulously attentive, too.

He remembered I hated cilantro and somehow knew Willow was deathly allergic to mangoes.

He didn't say much at the table, but he seamlessly caught every conversation thread we threw out. He even dropped a couple of deadpan jokes that had Willow practically vibrating with laughter. After we ate, he immediately gathered the plates and ducked into the kitchen to handle the dishes.

Willow stared at his tall, lean silhouette in the kitchen and let out a deeply genuine sigh. "Wren, I was so wrong. There is zero chance he's a stalker."

"He is so gentle, so incredibly considerate, and insanely hot. He has to be an angel sent from above to save your pathetic life!"

"I can't believe I actually suspected him. I deserve to rot in hell!"

I stared at her overdramatic, guilt-ridden face and silently took a sip of my water.

[What a total flip-flopper. She changes sides faster than the weather.]

After we shoved Willow out the door, Gideon got ready to leave too. "I should head back."

"Wait a second." I stopped him.

He turned around, a flicker of confusion in his eyes.

I pointed toward his door across the hall. "Is your Wi-Fi fixed yet?"

He froze, then slowly shook his head. "Not yet."

"Perfect. My projector just broke. You know how to fix those, right? Come take a look."

I reached into the shoe cabinet, pulled out a brand-new pair of men's house slippers, and dropped them right at his feet. "Put these on. You can't just keep leeching off my internet forever."

Gideon stared down at the slippers, then slowly dragged his gaze up to meet mine. A thick, impenetrable fog seemed to swallow his eyes. He didn't move a muscle.

I didn't push him.

A long, heavy silence stretched out before he finally, agonizingly slowly, bent down and slipped his feet into the shoes.

Then, he lifted his head and smiled at me. It wasn't that soft, shy boy-next-door smile anymore. It was heavy, dripping with a dark, suffocating possessiveness. An absolute certainty that he had won.

"Alright." He said softly. "Happy to help."

[Hook, line, and sinker.]

I successfully infiltrated Gideon's apartment.

It was nothing like the creepy "surveillance center" I had pictured. His place was obscenely clean. Almost aggressively empty. It was decked out in a stark, minimalist black-and-white aesthetic, every single item aligned with terrifying precision.

It looked like a showroom. Not a single trace of human life. And there was no stalker photo wall of me.

[Why am I actually a little disappointed?]

"What do you want to drink?" He pulled a bottle of sparkling water from the fridge and handed it to me.

"Whatever's fine." I pretended to casually scan his living room, but my senses were dialed to the max, hunting for clues.

The living room was sterile. The bedroom door was shut tight. The study door was also closed.

"Can I check out your study?" I pointed at the heavy, closed door.

Gideon's shoulders went rigid. But he smoothed it over instantly. "Of course."

He walked over and pushed the door open.

The study was massive. An entire wall of built-in bookshelves, and a heavy, imposing desk taking up the center. A multi-monitor computer setup sat on the desk, the screens dead black.

Chapter 8

Everything looked perfectly normal. Too normal.

I wasn't buying it.

I walked over to the heavy desk and "accidentally" bumped the mouse.

The monitors flickered to life.

It wasn't showing a desktop wallpaper. It was a video client. The screen was split into four live feeds. Top left: my living room.

Top right: my bedroom. Bottom left: my entryway. Bottom right: under my bed.

Four feeds, livestreaming every single corner of my apartment in crystal-clear HD.

Right in the dead center of the screen, a video file was paused. The file name read: Wren_Sleeping.mp4.

The oxygen vanished from the room