To the rage that’s building like a storm.
“I’m going to kill you for this.”
And I mean it.
Even if I have to smile whilst I do it.
His shadow lingers even after he’s gone, like a stain that won’t fade.
The door clicks shut behind him, but the air doesn’t breathe again, doesn’t expand to fill the space he’s vacated. It stays tight.Taut. As if the walls themselves heard what I said—and they know it wasn’t a lie, wasn’t an empty threat.
I’ll kill you.
I meant it. I still mean it.
I’m alone, and silence isn’t silence here in this place. It crawls across my skin. It clings to my thoughts. It whispers promises I don’t want to hear.
I feel his presence in everything—etched into the grain of the walls, the scent of his cologne woven into the fabric of the bedding like it’s been soaked in it, the camera lenses that stare unblinking, knowing he’s still watching from wherever he is.
I don’t cry. That would be giving him something he hasn’t earned. And I’ve already given too much tonight.
Instead, I press the heels of my palms into my eyes and count backward from fifty, like I used to when I was a kid and the nightmares wouldn’t stop chasing me. Like if I could just make it to zero, the monsters would vanish into smoke.
But this time, the monster is real.
And he doesn’t vanish.
He waits.
When I drop my hands, I see it—something small and black resting on the corner of the bedside table. A single object I didn’t notice before in my haze. A wrapped sweet, the same kind that was in the bowl at the club where this nightmare started. Thewrapper glints like oil in the low light, folded into the shape of a rose with meticulous precision.
A message. A taunt. A game he’s playing.
I walk over slowly, picking it up like it might bite me, and I feel my stomach twist. He’s been here longer than I thought, longer than just the time I saw him. He’s been preparing this room. Leaving breadcrumbs. Sinking his claws into the space before I ever stepped foot in it.
I shouldn’t unwrap it.
I do anyway, fingers trembling.
Inside is a tiny silver key.
No note. No instructions written on paper.
Just the promise of something he wants me to find. Or open. Or regret discovering.
I stand frozen for a moment, then scan the room again with new eyes. Carefully. Meticulously. The key is too small for a door lock. But maybe…
I move towards the dresser, pulling open the drawers one by one until I find it. The last drawer has a lock. Small. Ornate. Brass that’s been polished recently.
It clicks open easily when I insert the key.
Inside, there’s velvet. Black. Soft. And nestled in the centre like something precious is a necklace. Thin. Delicate. With a pendant in the shape of a hook.
I let out a breath like a curse.
He’s branding me.
Marking me as his.
