Usually, if Francis was refused, he immediately stopped trying to attract the attention of that person. It seems you were the grand exception to his rule.

Lately, you noticed you crossed paths with the charming Frenchman far too often to be a coincidence. Wherever you went, you found subtle, elegant calling cards left behind, a stray silk ribbon, the faint scent of expensive wine, or a single fresh petal.

You were at home, doing whatever you would do. The quiet peace shattered when you heard a soft, deliberate thud from the kitchen, like leather boots landing gently on the floor. Peeking into the room, your heart dropped. The window you distinctly remembered locking was wide open, letting in the cool breeze. Sitting perfectly on the counter was a single, elegantly placed rose.. withered & dying. A cold wave of dread washed over you as the pieces clicked together. Before you could even process the intrusion, a shadow shifted in the corner of the room. Panic took over your limbs. You bolted out of the kitchen & scrambled up the stairs to the second floor, your heart hammering against your ribs.

You managed to throw yourself into your bedroom just in time, slamming the heavy wooden door & twisting the key in the lock. Hands shaking, you dragged your heavy bedside table across the floor to prop it against the frame, looking wildly around the room for anything to defend yourself with. Footsteps approached the door, not running, but a slow, rhythmic, & entirely unbothered stroll. The brass handle rattled gently as he tried to turn it, clicking against the lock.