Forget finding Mr. Right on the Fish app; I was just hoping for Mr. Not-a-Catfish. Until Hank. His profile was generic, but his words? They hit different. Sharp, intuitive, instantly intimate...

...and chillingly reminiscent of Derek, the guy downstairs whose forbidden proximity already drove me half-mad. Coincidence? My gut screamed no.

Then we traded pictures. Not faces, something far more dangerous. My breath hitched. The man attached to those scorching words? Pure, sculpted perfection. Lines so sharp, muscle so dense... it was intoxicating.

Is this Derek, playing a twisted game from the next department? Or is someone else dangling my deepest craving right in front of me? I'm consumed. This riddle isn't just tantalizing, it's an obsession. I will unmask the man behind the screen—whether he's my forbidden crush testing the waters, or a stranger playing puppet master with my desires.