Alina stepped out of the bathroom, her bare feet making barely a sound against the cold wooden floor. Steam curled behind her in ghostly tendrils, dissipating into the dimly lit room. The bathrobe hung loosely around her trembling frame, her damp hair clinging to her skin like tendrils of a nightmare she couldn't escape. Her fingers tightened around the robe's edges, knuckles white with the effort.
Her breath hitched as she moved toward the mirror, each step an act of defiance against the icy dread spreading through her veins. The warm water should have soothed her, washed away the night, but instead, it had only heightened her awareness—of the bruises, the lingering heat of his touch, the possessive grip that had held her captive in the dark.
Her stomach twisted violently, nausea clawing at her insides. The moment she reached the vanity, she hesitated. She didn't want to see. Didn't want to confirm that it had been real. But the weight of it pressed against her, suffocating, leaving no room for denial.
With agonizing slowness, she parted the robe, letting the soft fabric slip from her shoulder. A strangled gasp escaped her lips.
Dark bruises bloomed against her pale skin, shadowy fingerprints branding her collarbone, her shoulders, her wrists. Faint red marks—marks made by his lips, his teeth—burned across the delicate curve of her neck. Her fingers trembled as they ghosted over the evidence of his presence, of his claim.
A choked sob wrenched free from her throat. The memories crashed over her like a violent tide.
The weight of his body pressing her down. The scent of him—dark, musky, intoxicating—invading her senses. A voice, deep and possessive, whispering against her skin: "You're mine, baby girl."
Her knees buckled. She barely managed to brace herself against the vanity before collapsing to the floor, her body curling in on itself. Her breath came in ragged gasps, panic clawing at her ribs. She hugged herself tightly, as if she could squeeze him out of her, as if she could force away the ghost of his touch. But it was still there—coiling around her, seeping into her, branding her from the inside out.
Her mind reeled, trying to piece together the fragments of the night.
He had touched her. He had held her down. He had whispered things that made her skin crawl. And yet, he hadn't… he hadn't finished whatever cruel game he was playing. Instead, he had left her trembling, marked, and drowning in fear.
Why?
A sharp knock at the door made her flinch so violently that she bit down on a whimper.
"Alina?"
Her grandmother's voice was gentle, but in her current state, it felt like an intrusion. She pressed her hand over her mouth, desperate to silence the sobs that threatened to break free.
"Are you okay, sweetheart?"
Alina squeezed her eyes shut. No. She wasn't okay. She was falling apart. But she couldn't say that. Couldn't let her grandmother see her like this.
"I… I'm fine," she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.
A pause. Then, hesitation lacing the next words, "Are you sure?"
No.
She forced herself to swallow the lump in her throat. "Y-Yeah. I'll be down soon."
Her grandmother didn't sound convinced, but after another moment of silence, the soft shuffle of footsteps retreated down the hall. Alina remained frozen, her arms wrapped tightly around herself.
She needed to move. She needed to get dressed.
But the idea of letting go of the bathrobe—of exposing herself to the world again—terrified her. The thought of fabric dragging over the marks made her shudder violently.
She clenched her teeth. No. She couldn't let this break her. She had to act normal. For Ana. For Grandma. For herself.
With shaking fingers, she reached for a black turtleneck and a denim skirt. The high collar would hide the bruises. No one would see. No one would know.
She dressed slowly, every movement deliberate, as if the fabric might burn her. By the time she was fully clothed, her limbs felt heavy, her heart still a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to straighten, to push the fear down where no one could see it.
But as she turned to the mirror, her own reflection stared back with wide, haunted eyes.
The air in the room suddenly felt different. Heavy. Stifling.
Her breath caught in her throat. The hair at the nape of her neck prickled. A chill crawled down her spine, despite the warmth of her sweater.
The feeling of being watched slammed into her with full force.
She spun toward the window, her pulse hammering.
Nothing.
The curtains swayed slightly, though the windows were shut. The outside world was a blur of city lights and shifting shadows. But something in the darkness felt... wrong. Like it was staring back.
Last night's memories flashed through her mind—the weight of him, the whispers, the way he had vanished without a trace. Had he truly left?
Or was he still here, lurking just beyond her sight?
HER DREAM WHICH SHE THOUGHT BUT WAS NOT
Alina drifted into uneasy sleep, exhaustion weighing down her limbs as she curled beneath the blankets. The room was silent, save for the rhythmic sound of her breathing, the slow rise and fall of her chest.
Then, somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, she felt it.
A warmth—heavy and consuming—hovering over her.
Her dreams twisted, dark tendrils wrapping around her consciousness, luring her into something deep, something inescapable. She felt the bed shift, the faintest pressure against the mattress, as if someone was there. Watching. Waiting.
She tried to move, but her body wouldn't respond.
A shadow loomed over her. A presence so overwhelming, so suffocating, that it sent chills dancing across her skin.
Then—heat.
Lips brushing against the curve of her neck. A ghostly caress, almost reverent in its slowness.
Her brows furrowed. The sensation was too vivid, too real. A dream shouldn't feel this real.
And then—a sharp sting.
Teeth sank into her flesh, claiming, branding. Her breath hitched, a soundless gasp caught in her throat. She was still trapped in the in-between, unable to wake, unable to fight.
A warm tongue flicked over the bite, soothing the ache, only to be followed by another. Then another. A slow, tormenting rhythm—bite, lick, kiss—dragging across her sensitive skin.
Her body shivered, every nerve ending aware, raw. She wanted to wake up, wanted to move, but the darkness held her captive.
Then, she felt something else.
The delicate brush of fingers against her chest.
The faintest click of a button slipping free.
Then another.
And another.
Cool air kissed her fevered skin as her blouse came undone, parting inch by inch until she lay there in nothing but lace.
She whimpered, lost in the haze of dream and reality.
Then, lower.
Warm lips trailing down, past her ribs, down to her hips. A soft kiss pressed against the delicate skin there. Then—bite.
Sharp. Possessive. Enough to leave a mark.
She jerked, a strangled sound escaping her lips.
Bite.
Lick.
Kiss.
His voice, deep and dark, ghosted over her skin like a cruel whisper from the abyss.
"You're mine, baby girl. Even in your dreams… I'll make sure you remember me."
Then—darkness.
A soft creak echoed from somewhere in the apartment.
Alina's heart slammed against her ribs. She held her breath, straining to listen.
Kevin was waiting outside when she and Ana stepped out.
His usual smirk faltered the second he saw her. His sharp blue eyes took in the turtleneck, the way she held herself—stiff, guarded, like she was bracing for a storm. His jaw tightened. Something was wrong.
"Angel," he started, voice softer than usual, "why the hell are you dressed like it's winter?"
Alina's fingers instinctively curled into the sleeves of her sweater. "I just… felt like it."
Kevin's jaw clenched. "Bullshit."
Ana, ever the oblivious one, chimed in. "She was in the bathroom forever too."
Alina shot her a sharp look, but it was too late. Kevin's eyes darkened, his entire posture shifting. His usual playful confidence was gone, replaced by something serious. Protective. He stepped closer, his voice dropping so Ana wouldn't hear.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"Alina."
"I've been watching your back for years, but this… this feels different"
The way he said her name sent a shiver down her spine. It was firm, commanding, laced with something deeper. She swallowed hard, avoiding his gaze.
"I… I think I'm being watched."
Kevin froze. His body turned rigid, his hands curling into fists. He grabbed her wrist gently, pulling her closer. "What do you mean?"
She hesitated, then told him everything—the alley murder, the presence lurking in the shadows, the unshakable feeling of being followed. The nightmares that felt too real.
By the time she finished, Kevin's breathing had turned heavy, his grip tightening ever so slightly. His knuckles turned white against the steering wheel as he exhaled sharply, trying to control the storm brewing inside him.
Kevin's eyes lingered on her neck, then dropped to the sleeves she wouldn't uncurl. His jaw tightened. 'Did…' He stopped himself.
Then, without warning, he pulled her into his arms. His embrace was warm, solid, like a shield against the cold fear curling inside her.
"It's okay, Alina," he murmured against her hair. His voice was low, rough with emotion. "I've got you."
She stiffened for a second, then melted against him, letting his warmth seep into her bones.
"I won't let anything happen to you," he promised, pulling back just enough to look into her eyes. His hand lifted, hesitating for a second before brushing a strand of hair from her face. "You hear me? No one is going to hurt you while I'm here."
Her breath hitched. The way he looked at her—like she was the most precious thing in the world—made her heart stutter.
"But what if—"
"No." His thumb traced over her knuckles. "There's no 'what if.' You're safe with me, Angel."
Alina blinked back the sting of tears. "Kevin, I—"
"I'd burn this whole damn city down if it meant keeping you safe," he cut in, his voice a quiet vow. His fingers tightened around hers. "And I'm not just saying that because I'm your best friend."
Alina's heart pounded. The air between them shifted, heavy with something unspoken.
Kevin sucked in a breath, like he was about to say more. But then Ana cleared her throat loudly from the car.
"Are we going or are you two going to stare at each other all day?" she teased, oblivious to the tension crackling between them.
Kevin let out a rough chuckle, his eyes lingering on Alina for a moment longer before stepping back.
"This isn't over," he murmured, voice softer now. "We'll talk later."
She nodded, but as Kevin drove them toward campus, she couldn't shake the sensation crawling up her spine.
Third person POV
Somewhere in the city, hidden in the shifting shadows, someone was watching.
Waiting.
And this was only the beginning
Silence.
Too much silence.
Something inside her whispered that this was far from over.
And in the dark, behind the veil of the city, Damon smiled.
Because fear… was the beginning of love.