Chapter 1 The mystery of the anonymous writer
Dear readers, I'm sure you too feel that need and that rage to know what goes through a person's mind when fantasy gets out of hand.
I didn't write these stories for mere entertainment; I wrote them because I felt every word coursing through my body, every soft touch, and every hot sigh. But the game turned dangerous when one of you decided to step out of the shadows and onto the street to hunt.
That night, I went out wearing that red silk dress that caught everyone's eye from meters away. I felt footsteps echoing behind me, heels clicking on the pavement, the scent of my perfume wafting through the air, and adrenaline coursing through my veins. I knew I was being followed. I wasn't running out of fear; I was running because I was fascinated by the game of being pursued by someone so hungry to possess me.
When they cornered me in the doorway of the apartment, the air between us became suffocating. He grabbed my arm tightly, pressing his burning body against mine as I felt his breath burn my neck and the hardness of his cock against my hip. "I finally got you..." he said hoarsely, his lips close to my ear as his hands slid desireously down my curves.
I tried to meet his eyes, but the dim light prevented me. He slowly unzipped my red dress, exposing my breasts, and pulled me inside, his hand over my mouth, making me choke until I fainted. I vanished without a trace. Only the red dress remained, lying on the floor.
To find out what really happened, there are three suspects at the scene, but no one knows which one took me in the end:
• Suspect 1: A dominant, cold, and impulsive ex-boyfriend who was watching me from a dark car outside the building. He had a sick obsession with possessing me and the strength to drag me out of there without letting anyone else touch me.
• Suspect 2: The obsessive ghost reader who read my texts in the dim light at 2:15 AM and managed to pinpoint the exact location from which I was writing. He was hungry to verify if every erotic detail in my stories was real and he wasn't going to leave empty-handed.
• Suspect 3: A writer friend frustrated with his own creations. He had direct access to the building and the ability to manipulate the situation to leave me cornered with no way out.
The clues at the crime scene:
• Clue A: A glass with traces of my perfume was found on the hallway table, and right next to it, a fresh mud stain on the floor, identical to the one left by Suspect 2's shoes after hurrying through the alley behind the building in the early hours of the morning.
• Clue B: On the front door frame, police discovered violent grabbing marks and an engraved silver lighter lying on the floor—the same object Suspect 1 always carried in his jacket pocket.
• Clue C: The laptop from which all the sexual stories were uploaded completely disappeared from the table. However, minutes before the site went offline, someone posted a final sentence on my story wall that read: “Now the story is written behind closed doors and only for my eyes.”
They both had the rage, the motive, and the desire to devour me forever. The clues strongly point to two of them, but the door was left ajar, and anyone could have entered.
The question that must be burning in your heads right now is: Was it the ex who stormed in, or the reader who waited in the shadows to claim their turn?
Who do you think caught the girl in red? Let me know in the comments.
