Bound To The Devil

The faint city lights of Moscow blurred into streaks outside Luca Ivanov's window as he sat at his desk, the silence of his apartment heavy and unnatural. A sleek black watch, still in its velvet box, lay untouched beside his textbooks. It was the first gift. Then came the car, an Aston Martin, gleaming menacingly outside his building. Now, a black box sat on his doorstep, his name in gold lettering.

His heart hammered against his ribs as he picked it up, fingers trembling. Inside, nestled in silk, was a single black leather glove, identical to the one he'd seen on the menacing stranger who had been watching him. Beneath it, a note. He unfolded it with shaking hands, his breath catching in his throat as he read the elegant, sharp script: "Try to run, sweetheart. It excites me."

The hallway felt too quiet. He slammed the door shut, locking it with a desperate click. Who? How? He tried to calm his racing thoughts, but a chill ran down his spine. Someone was out there. Someone was watching. And they were just getting started.