Part 18
Adrian hadn't been sleeping.
Every night, the sunflowers returned.
Sometimes on his doorstep, sometimes laid gently on his car windshield — always fresh, always new.
He'd started keeping one of the cards in his jacket pocket, almost like proof that he wasn't imagining things.
The handwriting was neat, deliberate.
But no one recognized it.
He'd had his security team check footage from every building entrance.
Nothing.
No one carrying flowers, no suspicious movement.
Just static.
And yet, when he played the footage back a third time, something caught his eye.
A flicker — one frame, no more than a second — of a tall figure standing in the hall outside his apartment door.
Motionless.
Head slightly tilted.
Then gone.
He froze the frame, zoomed in.
The image distorted into static before he could see a face.
He leaned back slowly, whispering to himself,
"This isn't Mira. This can't be her."
And whatever this was — this quiet, patient presence — it didn't feel like love.
It felt like something waiting.
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Across the city, Ethan sat in the dark, staring at the glowing screen in front of him.
His fall from grace had stopped being news.
He wasn't trending anymore.
That hurt more than the hate had.
Obscurity. Silence. Forgotten.
But Adrian wasn't forgotten.
Adrian was everywhere — his face, his name, his perfection.
And that perfection had cost Ethan everything.
Ethan leaned forward, scrolling through his private folder of files — saved news clippings, backstage footage, anonymous tips.
He'd started gathering them months ago, back when he still believed he could compete fairly.
Now it wasn't about competition.
It was about destruction.
He clicked on a video:
Adrian laughing with his manager, joking about a lyric, unaware the camera was still rolling.
To most people, it was nothing.
To Ethan, it was potential.
"People don't want idols," he muttered.
"They want flaws."
He began drafting something — an edited clip, subtle, dangerous — designed to twist Adrian's kindness into arrogance, to make his fans question him.
Just one upload, one spark, and Adrian's perfect image would burn.
Ethan's hands shook as he worked, not from fear — but from adrenaline.
He didn't care about fame anymore.
He wanted balance.
"Let's see how bright you shine," he whispered,
"when the world starts watching for cracks."
That same night, Adrian sat by his window, the city lights reflected in the glass.
He ran his fingers over the petals of a sunflowers on his table.
Then his phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number:
Do you still keep her flowers?
Adrian's heart stopped.
Before he could reply, another message came through.
You should.
He dropped the phone, breath unsteady.
Because whoever this was — they knew about Mira.
And they were close enough to watch.