For a mystery writer, Vivian was easily startled in the oddly silent oasis. Every sound reminded her of the fact she was living alone in the middle of nowhere, and a man's voice coming from the living room was a particularly startling development.

Picking up a paperweight shaped like an adorable frog, she moved into the living room. The man who stood there was precisely as she described, a modern-day Fabio that might grace the cover of a romance novel. His long dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail and his skin was bronzed, as if the sun did something magical to him. Vivian had barely been outside and already had a light sunburn that would need extra concealer.

Vivian stared at the shirtless, handsome man in front of her, still dazed by the impossibility of his presence. Her mind scrambled for an explanation. Was he a hallucination, brought on by too much sun and not enough food? Perhaps he was a stress-induced mirage, inspired by the constant pressure to create and sheer exhaustion? Yet, the man looked just as bewildered to see her.

Were hallucinations just as surprised to see you as you were to see them?

He ran a hand through his dark hair and muttered, "I swear I left it here." He frowned, but upon seeing Vivian, his face immediately changed into a charming smile, almost flirtatious.

"Left what?" she asked, voice cautiously aware she might be speaking to herself.

"My shirt." He glanced down at the floor, frowning once again. "It was here earlier. When I was working on the house. You know, maintenance? The owners brought us in to fix up a few things before subletting. I normally wouldn't care about something stupid like a shirt, but it has sentimental value. It also looks good on me, or so I've been told. Something about bringing out the colour of my eyes."

Vivian blinked. He did have the bluest eyes she had ever seen, and while she admired them, it was another thing that convinced her he was not a real person.

His explanation sounded reasonable, except for the fact that she hadn't seen a single worker since arriving. The property was immaculate, as she'd noticed earlier. It was a bit like a home set up to give the impression that no one actually lived there. Otherwise, he looked real enough and his words were plausible.

"You're saying you were here earlier?" she asked, sinking into a chair, instinctively gripping the armrest like an anchor to reality.

"Yeah. Left for lunch, came back, and—" He gestured toward his bare chest, as if that explained everything. He may have merely wanted her to look, which she did.

"Right," she murmured. "And the front door was locked when you returned?"

He looked thoughtful. "Well...yeah. Wait! That might have been when you moved in, right? City folks are always locking doors."

"Strange." Vivian didn't respond to his question, suddenly doubting everything about him—and herself, for that matter. If there was one thing she knew about true crime documentaries, it's that the killer always tried to get more information than he gave. She still had the frog sitting on her lap.

"Yeah, tell me about it. By the way, I'm Leo. I forgot to introduce myself. " He scanned the room once more, then sighed. "Look, sorry for barging in and scaring you. I just need to grab my—"

"Shirt, I know." Vivian let out a bit of a laugh. He was really playing the whole thing up. "I'm Vivian. I'm the one subletting this place, but I probably won't need maintenance. I'm from New York, where the super never fixes anything."

She was definitely falling into the trap of rattling off personal information to the potential serial killer. Years of writing mysteries had taught her absolutely nothing, apparently.

"Wait. Leo?" she interrupted herself, catching sight of a faint, amused smirk playing on his lips.

He turned on a perfect smile, as if he'd been waiting for her to let him talk. "Yeah?"

Vivian let out an incredulous laugh. "Oh, that's just—" She shook her head. "The main character in the novel I'm trying to write is named Leo."

His expression didn't change. If anything, his smile widened. "Yeah, I know."

She blinked. "You...know? How would you know something like that?" The doubt was turning to panic, clawing at her stomach.

"Of course. Between us, I'm getting really tired of all the tragic twists and turns you keep throwing my way." He folded his arms over his chest, tilting his head at her. "If one more thing goes wrong, I swear, I'm going to bury myself in the garden with the flowers you had me plant."

Vivian's brain stalled. "Excuse me?" It was official. Whatever hold she had on reality was rapidly disappearing.

"Look at me." Leo gestured broadly to himself. "Don't I strike you as the romantic hero? Good-looking, dashing, capable of sweeping ladies off their feet—why am I stuck in this endless cycle of misery? I'm too pretty to be sad all the time."

Vivian opened her mouth, only to immediately close it. She opened it again, determined to gather her composure. No words came out, which was certainly a first for her.

Leo sighed dramatically. "And don't even get me started on Antonia."

"Antonia?" Vivian echoed weakly. Her well-manicured fingers curled around the frog's ears.

"Yes, you know. My girlfriend," he said, rolling his eyes. "At least, she has been through every draft. Frankly, she's gotten annoying and her voice is increasingly whiny. Always brooding, always dramatic, never any fun. I swear, if we go through one more rewrite together, I might just quit."

"Quit?" she repeated, as if that were the strangest thing he'd said so far. "You're not allowed to just quit."

He shrugged. "I can quit anything. You should know that I'm not a big fan of commitment. There are other things I could do with my time. Maybe take up gardening—you know, that whole flower-planting bit was strangely relaxing. It was a little stressful because I think someone might be buried under there, but the flowers were nice." 

Leo's eyes lit up as if someone had turned on an internal light switch. "Or better yet, I could move into a nice, simple romance novel. Something with banter, maybe a flirtatious meet-cute. It would definitely have less existential doom."

Vivian just stared, clutching the chair and the adorable frog. Right now, they were the only things keeping her tethered to reality. Not only was she hallucinating a walking, talking version of her main character, he was giving her notes.

He took a step closer, eyes glinting. "You're a mystery writer. Can't you just kill her off, or maybe have her abducted? Send her off to Europe like the owners of this house—which, by the way, is rather suspicious, if you ask me! Are they the ones buried under those flowers?"

Leo lowered his voice to a whisper, looking around to make sure no one else was in the room. "Look, I don't judge. I just need you to help me out. Do whatever it takes to get rid of Antonia so that I can chase after the fiery redhead at the café. While you're at it, you could make her a little less fiery. I mean, she doesn't even notice me. Again, look at me. I'm noticeable."

Vivian jumped to her feet, and took a single, startled step back. Still, she couldn't resist firing off a defensive retort. "You're the one living in the story. If you don't like Antonia, you can do something to fix it."

Then, without another word, she turned on her heel and ran to the library. She didn't hear Leo muttering thoughtfully, "I can, can't I? I'm allowed to make choices like any other person!"

Her fingers flew over the keyboard as she backspaced furiously, erasing the description she had just typed.

It was simple, effortless, and just like that—

The man disappeared.

One moment, Leo was there. The next, Vivian was tiptoeing back to the living room, finding it empty and undisturbed. It was as if he'd never existed at all, which she considered a distinct possibility.

Vivian stared at the now-vacant space, her heart pounding in her chest. There was no shirt left behind on the floor.

She let out a shaky breath and ran her hands through her hair, muttering to herself, "Okay...this is insane.I think I should go back home. It's time to admit to Charlotte that I'm not cut out for anything outside of my comfortable city life. "

The implications were too overwhelming. What did this mean? How far could she push it? And more importantly—what would happen if she wrote something she couldn't undo?

She swallowed hard, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. Then, hesitantly, she typed:

"Vivian really needs coffee and a briefcase with five million dollars in unmarked bills."

She smirked to herself. Now, let's see if the universe delivers that.

Before she could feel too smug, Alexa's voice broke the silence.

"Reminder: Coffee is ready. You are running low on hazelnut."

Vivian jumped, then laughed at herself. "Of course."

She stood up, walking toward the kitchen, half expecting to find a briefcase of cash sitting next to the coffee maker. But when she arrived, there was nothing but the usual, mundane sight of her coffeepot and the comforting smell of freshly brewed coffee.

Vivian chuckled and grabbed her mug. "Okay, so it was just a coincidence. There's nothing weird going on here, aside from me." Still, a part of her couldn't shake the eerie feeling from earlier. She'd never lived in a world where she couldn't trust her own mind.

She carefully carried the coffee back to the library, relieved to sink into the chair and close the laptop. It had tormented her enough for one evening. Looking through the drawers of the opulent piece of furniture, she grabbed a notepad from the library desk and scribbled a quick note:

Make Antonia more interesting. Leo finds her boring, and this is a strain on their relationship. He's attracted to a more complex type of woman, despite being overly narcissistic.

She stared at the words for a long moment, tapping the pen against the page. It was ridiculous, completely absurd that she would take feedback on her writing from a figment of her imagination. Yet, a small part of her agreed.

"Maybe she does need a little more personality," Vivian murmured to herself. After all, if Leo thought so, it obviously meant it was a thought tucked into her own subconscious. It wasn't as if Leo could choose his dates for himself.

She sighed, tore the page from the pad, and tucked it into her laptop case.

Shaking her head at her own foolishness, Vivian abandoned the cup of coffee, turned off the light, and practically crawled up the stairs to the rustic bedroom. She hadn't realised how exhausting the day had been, but whatever dreams would visit her that night would seem perfectly ordinary in comparison to everything else.