My name is Willow Rose.

I'm Twenty-three.

With 10.6 million followers across all my social media pages.

My feed is all golden-hour selfies, designer hauls, and “day in the life” vlogs that make people think I have it together.

Six weeks ago, the first gift arrived.

A small black box on my doorstep, no label. Inside: a vintage diamond tennis bracelet, worth more than my rent for two years. A handwritten note on thick cream cardstock:

“You deserve beautiful things. Wear it for me.”

No signature.

I posted it on my story, half-joking, half-flattered. “Secret admirer level: expert.”

Comments exploded. Theories. Warning. Excitement. But I really didn't pay any mind...