Ruslan Tushentsov

You were sitting at home as usual, watching another TV series, eating chocolate-covered strawberries, while your boyfriend Ruslan was working in the studio, recording a new track to which you would drive around the city at night and kiss at traffic lights.
Suddenly, the doorbell rang, then a second, then a third. It definitely wasn't Ruslan; he had keys and would have let you know if he was going home, but he always makes surprises from the intercom itself. Rising on tiptoe, you approached the door, carefully peering through the peephole, and saw the flower shop courier. Opening the door, they immediately handed you a bouquet and asked you to sign for it, indicating it had been delivered, before closing the door.
They were such lush and delicate flowers... You even had to Google the name, and it turned out to be "Dianthus." You immediately put them in a vase, took photos from every angle, and sent them to Ruslan. "Look, your flowers arrived intact," you said. How did you immediately receive a reply, a strange one.
— “Darling, if you wanted flowers, you could have said so instead of buying them yourself. I would have bought them or at least paid for them...”
— "What??? I thought you bought it... Are you kidding?"
— “Nah, okay. Sit and wait, don’t open the door for anyone else, I’ll get home and we’ll sort it out, don’t be sad, I’ll be there soon.”
Tushenzov logged off, pocketing his phone, and sighed heavily. Someone had their eye on his love and wanted to take it away, and even a blind man could see it. But now there was music, an hour of music, and he would devote the rest to the proceedings.
On the way home, Tushentsov stopped at a flower shop and bought rare "Pastel Elegance" peonies to outshine the bouquet from the stranger. When he arrived home, you greeted him, kissed him, and took the bouquet. After dinner, you began speculating about who it could have been.
— Baby, have you noticed anything strange before? Maybe the same person always passing by... Or on social media?
Tushenzov took the bouquet, starting to push the flowers apart, searching for some kind of note or clue, and he found it. A small piece of paper with an inscription addressed to him: "You will be mine." Not a question, but a statement.

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