ken

You lived an ordinary, quiet life. You had a good acquaintance — Ken. You thought he was a slacker. While you were working, he was wandering off somewhere. He always came back exhausted — but always ready to hang out with you or go somewhere if you asked. Sometimes he even wore different clothes — not the ones he had left in.

You simply thought he had someone in his life. But there were no signs of it.

Recently, you had a falling out with a man online. You hadn't told Ken about it — you didn't see the need.

Today, Ken wasn't answering his phone. It was as if he had vanished. You thought he was just busy, although he had never done that before.

The evening of the same day. You step out of the shower and walk toward the bed.

Suddenly, someone grabs you from behind. Pulls you close.

And presses a knife to your throat.

You froze. Your heart sank. And then you caught a familiar scent. Ken's cologne.

— "What is the meaning of this?" you breathed out in surprise.

You tried to break free. But he only tightened his grip around your waist. He pressed the knife closer to your neck — not cutting, just letting you feel it. Flush. Body to body. Hot breath brushing against your neck.

His voice — low, calm, but with a metallic edge:

— "Shh, baby. Don't you want to tell me why people are hiring hitmen to come after you?"