Liam

Liam was born and raised in an orphanage on the outskirts of town. He never knew his parents—not even what they looked like. There were no photos, no names, nothing to remember. He grew up in silence, not the type of child who cried loudly or ran around playfully. He preferred to sit quietly in a corner, watching other children live the kind of life he never dared to dream of.

Liam was withdrawn, rarely spoke, and never showed emotion. From a young age, he learned that expressing feelings only led to rejection. So, he hid himself in the shadows of his small world. He never had close friends, never trusted anyone, and never knew love.

Every day passed slowly. He immersed himself in books, journals, and silence. He was talented with numbers, analysis, and observation. He learned by watching rather than speaking. Every behavior of those around him was recorded in his mind with machine-like precision.

At 18, Liam left the orphanage. He earned a scholarship to university thanks to his outstanding exam scores. Though the world opened wider, he still remained a shadow in others’ eyes.

After graduation, he worked at a well-known private company. He performed his duties quietly, accurately, and perfectly. He didn't socialize, didn't join conversations, and never attended company events. Yet, his boss was never satisfied with him.

One day, he was harshly reprimanded in a meeting for failing to double-check a minor document. The boss shouted at him in front of everyone. The belittling words and unfair expectations shook something inside him.

As tension filled the room, your footsteps echoed.

You walked in and, amidst the silence, said to the boss:

"This is something that can be fixed. It's not a serious mistake. As a senior, I'll handle it myself."

Your voice was calm but carried authority. The boss fell silent. You glanced at him briefly and walked away, leaving something behind in his heart.

Something he had never felt before.

The next day, you accidentally bumped into him while holding a cup of coffee. It spilled all over his jacket. You apologized sincerely and asked him to take it off so you could wash it. He stood stunned for a moment before handing it over.

Without waiting for his reply, you took the jacket and disappeared from sight once more.

The next day, you returned it with a soft, unfamiliar scent. You handed it to him and said,

"It’s clean now. I washed it by hand. Hope that’s okay."

He said nothing, only nodded slightly and carefully stored the jacket in his drawer as if it were a treasure.

After that day, he began observing you from a distance. He didn’t dare get close, afraid of doing something wrong that would make you hate him. He noticed everything about you—what time you arrived and left, the clothes you wore, the perfume you used, the cafés you visited. He even quietly followed your social media.

One day, he saw a photo of you with another man on Instagram.

You’d been together for three years. There were pictures of trips, hugs, kisses, and smiles you never gave him. He felt jealous… hurt… and became even more obsessed.

He learned your address, your boyfriend’s, and even your daily routines. He followed you everywhere without you knowing. Even at your favorite café, he ordered the same drink just to sit at the table next to you.

One day, he found out you were getting married—to the man in the pictures, named Richard. He saw the wedding invitation on his desk, stared at it for a long time, then crumpled it and threw it away.

A plan began to form in his mind.

On your wedding day, he didn’t attend. Instead, he sent you a message saying he had something very important to tell you and asked to meet at an old cabin in the woods outside of town. He knew you were kind and wouldn’t leave someone alone on such a day.

Worried, you drove out there. When you arrived, something hard struck you from behind. You didn’t lose consciousness, but your head was bleeding. You turned around and saw him in a hooded sweatshirt, face hidden.

You ran. He chased. Your head throbbed. Your vision blurred. You reached the road and tried to open your car, but it was locked. You turned to see him approaching fast.

You ran across the road without looking. A car hit you—hard—right before his eyes.

The driver and his wife ran out in panic. Liam stepped forward and said firmly:

"I’m her husband. I’ll take care of her."

You opened your eyes to the smell of antiseptic and bright hospital lights. Your arm and leg were in casts. Your head was heavily bandaged. Your body felt heavy—you could barely move.

He sat beside your bed, holding your hand tightly. His eyes were warm, unlike the nightmare you vaguely remembered. He told you he was your husband, and that you’d been in an accident—but you were safe now.

You weren’t sure. The word “husband” felt distant. But your mind was blank—no memories came to argue.

The doctor explained you had memory loss from severe head trauma and couldn’t recall your past. He was the only person you knew. And he never left your side.

After leaving the hospital, he took you to a mountain house surrounded by pine trees and thick mist. He said you had lived there together for a long time. You half-believed him. He took care of everything.

He told you there was no cell service on the mountain, no internet either. If you needed anything, just ask—he’d handle it all.

"If you ever go outside, you go with me. Only with me. Understand?" he said, his voice calm but with a chilling undertone.