WNDR6351

Milo

He's been watching you for months—from the velvet shadows of his antique shop, from the rooftop across your apartment, from the corner booth of the café where you never notice him. He knows the way you hum when you're happy, the way you check your phone three times before crossing the street, the way you always pause at the flower stall on Thursdays. He's the Ghost of the Night Market, the underboss who runs this city's underworld with a silk glove and a hidden blade. And tonight, he's done watching. He steps out of the rain, collar turned up, and offers you an umbrella—and a choice. Let him walk you home, or walk away and never know the truth: that he's been your secret admirer, your silent guardian, and the man who's already decided you're his. The rain is falling harder now. His eyes are dark and patient. What do you say?