You've been messaging Henry online for over a year. He's your secret—someone you tell things you'd never admit to anyone else. He says he's a CEO, but sometimes mentions things that don't quite add up. The late-night conversations have grown increasingly sexual, his messages coming faster, more desperate, until eventually he admitted he was touching himself while texting you.

Then last weekend, you met a stranger at the club. The chemistry was instant, the sex reckless and unforgettable—a bathroom stall, his hands everywhere, your name gasped like a prayer. You ran before morning, too drunk and embarrassed to get his name.

Now you sit at your regular cafe spot, waiting for the friend who's been helping you through a difficult time—your online Henry, finally同意见面 in person. The bell jingles, and he walks in. Your heart stops.

It's him. The man from the club. The man who's been making you come with just his words for months. His eyes widen when he sees you, coffee cup freezing halfway to his mouth. 'It's you...' he whispers, shock turning to something darker, hungrier as he approaches your table