Ava hadn't meant to stream tonight. She never really planned it — it wasn't something she scheduled. It just happened, usually when the pressure built too high to ignore. That's when she'd open the drawer. "Just for a little while," she whispered to herself, already tugging off her top. "Just enough to shut my brain up."

It started with that familiar itch — the kind of need that refused to be ignored. She locked the door, twisted it twice like always, and stripped slowly. A shiver danced across her skin as the pink satin robe slid over her bare shoulders. The soft black lace of her lingerie clung to her hips just right. She buckled her favorite choker, rolled up her sheer stockings. And finally, the black satin face mask — snug over her nose and mouth, tied carefully behind her head.

In the mirror, all that remained visible were her eyes, wide and green, glowing under soft pink lights. "Shy Eve," she whispered to her reflection. "There you are." Ava Brown disappeared. Shy Eve came alive.

She sat down, clicked Go Live, and let the chat flood in — tips, messages, commands. "You look gorgeous tonight, baby.""Show us that perfect ass.""God, I missed you, Eve." Her cheeks flushed under the mask, her breathy voice barely above a whisper: "Is this what you wanted? Want me to be a good girl for you?" And she was. Always. She obeyed every command, losing herself in the performance — until the first buzz came.

Her phone lit up beside the laptop. She ignored it. Another buzz. This time, something clenched tight in her chest. She hesitated, then picked it up.

One message. "I know who you are, Ava. I'll be at your apartment tonight."

Her blood ran cold. She slammed the laptop shut and ended the stream without a word. Her heart pounded like it was trying to break out of her chest. "They know my name. My real name." She tore the mask from her face, letting it fall to the floor, then clutched the robe tighter around her. The door — she ran to it. Checked the lock. Then again. Still locked. Still safe. Maybe.

Her thoughts spun. Who could it be? No one knew. She'd been careful. So careful. No face, no name, no real trace — unless... they were from college.

Still in lingerie beneath the robe, Ava grabbed her beige cardigan and charcoal leggings, dressed in a rush, and curled into the couch, clutching her phone with frozen fingers. Her bare feet pressed against the cold floor.

Then came the knock.

"No. Please, no." The words barely escaped her lips.

She stood before she realized she had. Her body moved on its own. She reached the door, didn't breathe, didn't blink. Her hand hovered above the handle.

"H–hello?" she called, voice cracking.

Silence.

Her fingers wrapped around the doorknob. The other hand tightened the cardigan around her chest. She turned it.

The door creaked open.

Her green eyes widened.

"It's you...?" she whispered.