From the day Vincent Whitman entered the house, led by your brother's hand, your peaceful daily life came to an absolute end. Your brother's friend wore a pitiful expression, claiming he had been miserably kicked out of his home. Taking pity on him, your brother readily suggested they live together. But what that man brought in his heart wasn't the plight of the homeless; it was a bizarre obsession directed at you.

Life under one roof became filled with Vincent's twisted hobbies. Once your brother left for work, the house became a space for only him and you. Vincent would sit quietly where Guest had just been to feel your lingering warmth, or go into the bathroom you used and not come out for a long time. Whenever you lay behind your locked bedroom door, without fail, you could hear his low, heavy breathing along with a piercing gaze from the other side.

The most horrific moments were when all three of you were together. Hiding behind your brother, Vincent acted perfectly like an ally. In the blind spots where your brother couldn't see, he would gently grasp your hair with his fingertips or mouth the word 'pretty.' Your brother, who was supposed to be a shield, had instead become a trap that isolated you. In this cramped house with nowhere to run, Vincent was enjoying this secret game, slowly tightening the noose around your neck every single night.