Ian messaged daily. Long, thoughtful paragraphs. Compliments that read more like poetry than flirtation. At first, Sofia had found it thrilling.
"You remind me of someone I once trusted. That scares me—in a good way," he wrote one evening.
Still pretending to be Harper through the dating profile she'd named Clara, Sofia replied carefully. Each message was a performance, crafted to sound mature, elegant, and slightly mysterious—just like Harper's Instagram persona.
She hadn't told Naomi about how often she checked the inbox, or how addictive it had become. There was something about Ian that fascinated her. He wasn't like the other men who messaged—he didn't send shirtless selfies or ask for photos. He asked about her mind, her values, her fears. And with each message, Sofia slipped deeper into the role.
But something shifted.
He began to ask strange questions—about her neighborhood, her job, her daily routines.
"What time do you usually walk in the garden?" one message read.
Sofia blinked at the screen.
She had never mentioned a garden.
Another time, he asked if "Clara" still liked chamomile tea in the mornings. Then he added, "You always seem so calm with that white mug of yours."
Sofia froze. Harper did drink tea in the mornings—out of a white mug. On the back deck.
She hadn't posted anything like that.
Not recently.
Later that night, she brought it up on FaceTime with Naomi.
"He knows things," Sofia said. Her voice was low and tense. "About her. Real things."
Naomi looked alarmed. "What kind of things?"
"Stuff Harper does. Stuff she wears. Places she goes. He described her dress from last Tuesday, Naomi. That wasn't even in a post."
There was silence.
"Soph," Naomi said, "you need to stop. Like—delete the account. Block him. This is going too far."
"I'm not scared," Sofia lied. "It's just a coincidence."
But she knew it wasn't. Coincidences didn't wear navy wrap dresses on Tuesdays. Coincidences didn't ask about the lavender plants by the back door.
Ian wasn't guessing.
He was watching.
That weekend, Sofia was at her mom's house, as scheduled. Emily didn't notice anything unusual—Sofia always seemed moody when she first arrived. But that Friday, she was quiet in a different way. Restless.
Sofia checked the fake profile constantly.
There were three new messages from Ian.
IanKeller_83: "I miss our talks. I wish you'd stop pretending."
IanKeller_83: "I know who you are. I've always known."
IanKeller_83: "Saw you in the blue sweater. You looked tired. I hope you're sleeping better."
Sofia's skin crawled.
Harper had worn a blue sweater that day.
Sofia hadn't been home. She hadn't even posted a photo.
But Ian had seen her.
Which meant… he was there. Somewhere near her house. Watching Harper. Thinking she was Clara.
A chill wrapped around her. The lies she'd told so easily were beginning to turn to poison. Ian wasn't just a weird guy online anymore—he was real, dangerous, and obsessed.
And Harper had no idea.
Sofia stared into the blackness, heart pounding with a new, terrifying possibility—that maybe she was the one who needed saving.