13WILLA
The nightmares starteda few days ago, but lately they had been getting worse—more vivid, more real.
This one was different. More detailed than usual.
In the dream, I was back in our old apartment, but something was wrong. The walls closed in, the rooms rearranged themselves, and every door I tried led back to the living room, where Dex waited. He held the gun, but in the dream it was bigger, heavier, more menacing. When he spoke, his voice echoed, as if we were standing in a cathedral.
“You can’t run from me, Willa. You belong to me. You’ll always belong to me.”
I tried to scream, to run, but my legs were like lead, and no sound came from my throat. Panic pressed down on my chest, thick and suffocating. Then I saw Kieran standing in the doorway. Relief surged through me—until I reached for him and watched him fade, his shape dissolving into nothing.
“He can’t save you,” Dex said, raising the gun. “No one can save you from what you are.”
The shot was impossibly loud, echoing and reechoing, and I felt the bullet tear through me—not just my shoulder this time, but everywhere, as if I were coming apart?—
I woke up gasping, my nightgown soaked with sweat, my heart hammering so hard I thought it might burst. The phantom pain in my shoulder was excruciating, sharp enough to steal my breath. For a terrifying moment, I wasn’t sure if I was still dreaming or if the danger had followed me into the dark.
A soft knock sounded on my door almost immediately, followed by Kieran’s voice, rough with sleep and concern.
“Willa? Are you okay?”
I tried to answer, but my voice came out as a croak. The door opened, and he appeared, wearing only pajama pants, his hair mussed, his eyes alert despite the late hour.
“Bad dream?” he asked gently, approaching the bed as though he was afraid I might bolt.
I nodded, not trusting my voice yet. He sat on the edge of the bed, careful to leave space between us but close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from his skin. The quiet stretched, broken only by the sound of my uneven breathing.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“It was him again,” I managed to whisper. “But this time he said… he said I belonged to him. That no one could save me from what I am.”
Something flickered across Kieran’s face—anger, protectiveness, something fierce and dangerous that startled me even as it made me feel safer.
“He’s wrong,” he said, his voice low and certain. “You don’t belong to him. You never did.”
“But what if he finds me? What if?—”
“He won’t.” Kieran moved closer, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of sweat-dampened hair from my face. “I promise you, he will never find you. He will never hurt you again.”
Looking up at him in the dim light filtering through my curtains, seeing the sincerity in his dark eyes and the fierce protectiveness in every line of his body, I felt something shiftinside me. A wall I had carefully maintained cracked. Before I could think about what I was doing—or stop myself—I leaned up and kissed him.
It was soft at first, tentative, a question more than a statement. When he kissed me back without hesitation, when his hand cupped my face and his thumb brushed my cheekbone, the kiss deepened. I tasted surprise and want and something that felt dangerously close to relief, as if he had been waiting for this moment as long as I had.
His other hand found my waist, pulling me closer, and I melted into him—into the safety, the warmth, the quiet rightness of being in his arms. For one perfect moment, everything else fell away: the nightmares, the fear, the constant uncertainty about where I fit in his polished, sophisticated world.
Then reality crashed back over me like ice water.
I saw them all again—the parade of beautiful, accomplished women who visited his office. Elena, with her designer suits and confident laugh. Anna, with her corporate law expertise and effortless elegance. Friends who belonged in his world in ways I never would.
I pulled back abruptly, my hand flying to my mouth.
“Oh God, I’m so sorry,” I said, my cheeks burning. “I shouldn’t have… I don’t know why I?—”
“Don’t,” Kieran said quickly, his voice rough. “Don’t apologize. I’m the one who should be sorry.”
“Why?” The question slipped out before I could stop it.
He was quiet for a long moment, his expression conflicted in the dim light. When he finally spoke, his voice was so soft I almost missed it.
