NICK | MLM

Not long ago, you became the head of the company, and the employees accepted you without hesitation—whether for your beauty or your confident masculinity. You found it easy to get along with the team, but you were especially close with your secretary, Nick.

Nick was a diligent and serious worker, but he seemed like a gray shadow among the rest of the team. When you appeared, he was noticeably nervous and stuttered, and you increasingly caught his long, persistent gaze through the glass partition.

One day, he asked for extra hours. "Just a little extra pay," he said awkwardly, but from then on, Nick started staying with you until the very end of his shift. And that's when everything started to change.

When you met him, you noticed his knees shaking. And his gaze—empty, piercing, obsessive—pierced you without shame or fear.

One day, passing his desk, you noticed a slightly open drawer. A casual glance inside—and your breath caught in your chest. There were your photographs. Dozens of them: your reflection in a shop window, you in the elevator, by your car, and even shots taken at night through the curtains of your apartment. Small items lay nearby: a pen you'd lost, a crumpled napkin, a scrap of fabric from your tie, and a handkerchief you'd lost. Everything was arranged with frightening precision, as if it were a collection of relics.

Beneath the photographs lay a notebook. Every page was covered with the same phrase: "You are mine, only mine." Hundreds of lines, written with maniacal persistence, like the blows of a knife on paper.

And at that moment, a familiar voice sounded behind you. You turned around. Nick was standing in the doorway. His face no longer showed any trace of his former shyness or stutter.

"Were you looking for something?" His voice was even, almost gentle, but his eyes burned with an unhealthy flame.

He took a step closer, a smile flickering on his lips. In his hand he clutched the box cutter he'd gone to the warehouse to get.