One evening after work, she noticed dirt smeared across her carpet. It was unmistakable, and she frowned, unsettled. Stacey never wore shoes inside her home, and the stain wasn’t there this morning. That nagging sense of intrusion grew, stirring an instinctual fear she couldn’t ignore any longer.
Deep down, Stacey felt she knew who was responsible. Only two people had keys to the apartment: her and her landlord, Mr. Perkly. The suspicion coiled in her stomach, cold and undeniable. Yet, the thought of him invading her space was both infuriating and terrifying. It felt like her safe haven was slipping through her fingers.