Alina's POV:
A shiver ran down her spine the moment they turned to leave for dinner. That same crawling unease crept in—familiar, terrifying. It was the exact weight she'd carried when she witnessed those murders: a thick, suffocating dread that clung to her skin like smoke.
Her heart pounded in her chest, erratic and loud. Something was wrong. Very wrong.
Panic coiled in her ribs like barbed wire. She urged everyone forward, masking urgency with a tight smile and a voice far too bright to be real.
Kevin looked at her, concern flickering in his eyes. "Why are you in such a hurry, kid?"
She buried the fear beneath a shaky chuckle. "Biryani," she said quickly, "tastes nicer when it's hot."
He laughed. She didn't.
Because she remembered him.
The masked man.
The way the air around her changed when he was near—the way shadows seemed to breathe with life.
And tonight… the shadows behind them felt the same.
Dinner was no better. Even her favorite biryani tasted like ash on her tongue. Every bite was a battle; each swallow felt like forcing down shards of glass. She smiled when spoken to, nodded at the right times, but inside, she was unraveling.
Is he watching me again?
He hadn't been there yesterday… or maybe he had. Maybe he was always there, just choosing when to make her feel it.
Will he come again?
Will he touch me like he did that night?
Her fingers trembled slightly around the spoon. Her skin still remembered the bruises beneath the fabric—phantom touches that made her flinch in silence.
Kevin noticed. Of course he did.
She never ate biryani like this.
Usually, she devoured it like a storm—messy, unapologetic, alive. But tonight she barely touched it. Just stared. Just picked. Just pretended.
And Kevin watched her, confusion deepening in his eyes.
Anaya, Grandma, and Kevin chatted easily at the table—gossiping about the nosy neighbor and his endless complaints—but Alina's mind was a storm, churning with shadows and whispers. She smiled where necessary, even laughed once, but the weight inside her never lifted.
Finally, dinner was over.
Kevin stood to leave, brushing crumbs off his jeans. Alina followed him to the door, her heartbeat a constant, hollow thud in her ears.
"Alina, are you okay?" he asked, pausing before stepping out. His eyes scanned her face, uncertain. "You didn't enjoy the food like you usually do. You barely touched it."
She forced a small shrug, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm on my period, Kev," she said softly. "Cramps. You know how it is."
His expression softened instantly. "Ah. Hormones," he said, reaching out to pat her head like he always did. "Okay, see you Monday. I'll be out of town tomorrow—dad's business stuff."
Alina nodded. "Okay, Kev. Bye." She gave him a brief hug, barely able to hold herself together.
The second the door shut behind him, she locked it.
Then the windows.
Every latch, every click, was a heartbeat of control she desperately needed. Her body moved fast—almost frantic—until the house was sealed tight.
Only then did she allow herself to exhale.
She ran to her room.
His memory followed.
The masked man. The way his breath had brushed against her skin. The touches that weren't just physical but psychological—burning into her memory like fire into flesh.
Her arms wrapped around herself as if that would hold her together.
"I need to stop this," she whispered into the silence. "I need a distraction."
She grabbed her books—medical texts, biology notes, equations she used to love—and threw herself into them, eyes darting over the lines, mind trying to escape.
But it didn't.
It danced between the dangerous man in the shadows and the tenderness in Kevin's voice. Between fear and forbidden curiosity. Between the touch she hated… and the strange ache it left behind.
Eventually, her eyes grew heavy.
Her thoughts tangled.
Sleep claimed her with reluctant mercy.
The books lay scattered across her bed like fallen leaves, pages half-turned, and Alina curled beside them—still dressed, still tense, still haunted.
Sleep never held her for long anymore.
Even now, it was shallow—restless—more like drifting through fog than falling into dreams. The room was dark, silent, her books scattered like wounded soldiers across the sheets.
But something shifted.
A weight. A breath.
Something cold brushed her skin, feather-light yet wrong.
Her brow twitched.
Then it came—wet and deliberate—a kiss pressed into the delicate skin between her collarbones.
Warm breath ghosted along her neck. A gloved hand traced a slow, possessive path down her arm.
Her eyes snapped open.
He was there. The masked man.
A deep, familiar voice rumbled with dark amusement. "Finally awake, mia cara?"
Panic exploded in her chest.
No. No, no, no.
Her blood turned to ice as she recognized him—the same nightmare who haunted her every waking thought. And now he was here. In her room. In her bed.
The shadows coiled around him like they answered to him. The air turned thick, heavy, unbreathable.
She tried to scream— Tried—
But his hand clamped over her mouth with terrifying precision, rough and calloused, silencing her without mercy.
"Make a sound, mia cara," he whispered against her ear, his words curling like smoke over her skin, "and you won't see your sweet little sis and your grandma again."
She froze. Her body seized in terror.
The cold wind from the open window licked at her exposed skin. Her T-shirt was torn—carelessly ripped, like she was just another thing for him to ruin.
He'd come for her. Again.
And this time, he wasn't rushing.
He never rushed.
His fingers grazed the faint bruises he had left behind—the silent scars he wore like signatures across her body.
"You should lock your mind tighter love," he murmured, voice dripping like velvet-dipped poison. "Not just your windows."
Her heart thudded painfully against her ribs. Her eyes burned with the threat of tears.
She wanted to scream, to fight, to claw his face off— But she didn't dare.
One wrong move, and he would destroy everything she loved.
He leaned closer, the cold hard surface of his mask brushing her cheek, his breath wicked and warm.
"I missed you," he whispered, almost tenderly. "Did you miss me?"
Her only answer was a prayer. Not for him.
For morning to come. For this nightmare to end.
"Get off me!" she thrashed wildly, kicking and twisting, but he pinned her down like she weighed nothing.
"So feisty," he chuckled, the sound low and sinful. "I love watching you struggle, little fighter."
Her eyes darted to the bedside table—the paper cutter.
She lunged.
But he caught her wrist mid-air, slamming it into the mattress. The paper cutter clattered uselessly to the floor.
His body pressed into hers, all heat and crushing dominance. No space. No escape.
"You belong under me, firecracker," he rasped, his gloved hand skimming down her trembling frame, grazing her ribs with maddening slowness. "And you should remember…" his voice dipped lower, dripping venom, "who you belong to."
His masked face tilted down, brushing against her ear.
"Stay away from Kevin," he growled, the name snapping between his teeth like a curse. "Touch him again… and I'll carve my name into your skin—where you'll see it every day, where no one else will ever dare touch you."
Alina's breath hitched, torn between pure terror— And something darker, heavier, hotter curling low inside her.
She gathered all her rage and fear, aiming a brutal knee toward the soft spot between his legs.
He caught her with bone-breaking speed.
"Tsk, tsk," he murmured, laughing darkly. "I knew you had claws, but hurting me? That won't save you."
His hand gripped her thigh, forcing it back down, trapping her. And then his mouth was on her neck, pressing open-mouthed, wet kisses along her sensitive skin.
Each kiss was a brand. Each breath a chain.
"Leave me… get off me, please!" she cried, thrashing again—but he only tightened his grip, his voice a velvet snarl against her throat.
"No."
She gasped, desperate, furious, terrified.
Adrenaline surged through her veins.
She thrashed harder—and this time, she slipped free, scrambling away, her hands raw from clawing at him.
Her eyes found the fallen paper cutter. Without thinking, she dove.
She swung with all the strength she had left.
The blade sliced through his arm, ripping fabric and flesh alike.
A sharp breath hissed from behind the mask—a sound she had never heard from him before. Pain. Real. Human.
For a fleeting, wild moment, Alina thought she might have won.
" Dare to touch me again" . Before she could even compete her sentence.
He laughed—a low, rich sound, dark as midnight, vibrating against her bones.
"You're learning," he rasped, a twisted pride curling through his voice.
"Tools like that are for cutting paper, not obsession. And you—you're far beyond paper." There was only an unholy obsession in his voice.
Before she could blink, he was on her.
He wrenched the weapon from her trembling hand, tossing it away with brutal ease. Then he twisted her wrist sharply behind her back, forcing her against him—her spine colliding with the hard wall of his chest.
She gasped as his body caged her in completely, inescapably.
She twisted harder, desperate to break free—but he only twisted her arm more ruthlessly in response, a fresh wave of pain tearing a cry from her lips.
One of his gloved hands gripped her twisted wrist, keeping her pinned. The other—slow, deliberate, cruel—slid beneath the torn fabric of her shirt, tracing a slow path along the bare skin of her waist.
Fingers feather-light yet possessive brushed over the delicate dip of her bellybutton.
She jerked, struggling wildly.
But when she did, she felt it.
The sharp, undeniable press of something hard against the small of her back—hot, heavy, wrong.
She stilled, horror crashing through her like a storm.
His hand splayed against her stomach, fingers spreading as if to brand her flesh with his ownership.
Every inch of her was covered in goosebumps, a riot of fear and hatred and something she dared not name.
She twisted harder, desperate to break free—but he only twisted her arm more ruthlessly in response, a fresh wave of pain tearing a cry from her lips.
"Careful, firecracker," he murmured against her ear, voice a velvet blade. "Hurt me again... and I'll have to remind you even harder who you belong to."
Tears burned behind her eyes—rage and shame and terror fusing inside her.
He dipped his head lower, the cold surface of the mask grazing her neck, his breath a searing contrast against her overheated skin.
"You feel it too, don't you?" he whispered darkly. "This pull between us. You hate it… but you crave it."
"No," she choked out, voice shaking.
"Lie to me again," he murmured, nipping her earlobe through the mask, "and I'll make you beg before the night is through."
She clenched her jaw , swallowing a sob.
"Don't worry," he said, a terrible softness curling his words, "I won't ruin you yet. I like my toys whole."
His hand slid back up, pulling her tighter against his chest. Her heart pounded so loudly she could barely hear anything else—only the suffocating rhythm of terror and the taunting hush of his voice.
"You'll come to me eventually," he promised, his words a poisoned lullaby. "Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But one day you'll beg for me, firecracker. You'll forget everyone else…"
He dipped his head closer, lips barely grazing her ear.
"Even Kevin."
Alina shuddered violently, the mere mention of Kevin's name slicing through her like a blade.
"I'll kill him if I have to," he whispered, slow and savoring, "if it means keeping you."
She stiffened, her breath hitching painfully in her throat.
His hand tightened possessively at her waist, almost gentle if not for the iron grip at her wrist. He pressed closer, branding every inch of his heat against her trembling body, letting her feel the depth of his hunger—his claim.
Alina squeezed her eyes shut, hating the way her body betrayed her, trembling not just from fear but from the overwhelming, suffocating intensity he radiated.
She was drowning in him.
In his darkness. In his sick, twisted need.
And he reveled in it.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he loosened his hold.
And just like that—he released her.
She stumbled forward, spinning to face him—but he was already stepping back, a wicked silhouette against the moonlit window.
Blood from the cut on his arm dripped onto the floor—bright, furious.
Before slipping into the shadows once more, he left her with one final, guttural whisper:
The masked man stood above her, the shadows curling tighter around him, like they belonged to him.
A gloved hand reached down, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face with sickening tenderness.
"Next time you think of running to Kevin… remember this, firecracker. You're already mine."
"Sweet dreams, mia cara," he whispered.
The window hung open, the curtains fluttering like wounded wings.
The night swallowed him whole, leaving only the broken pieces of her behind.
Alina stayed there on the floor, shaking, broken sobs tearing from her lips soundlessly.
Her room was cold. Her skin colder.
But nothing compared to the ice that had invaded her heart.
Because this wasn't just fear anymore.
This was war.
And Alina knew—
The masked man wasn't done with her.
Not yet.
Not even close.
And then—
He was gone.
Vanished into the night like the monster he was.
Leaving her trembling and broken, alone in the ruin of her room, with nothing but the pounding of her heart and the sickening heat of his touch lingering against her skin.
one question in her,
who's he?, why he's doing this to her?.
Because she clearly knows what does he want from her
Her body,
And he knows that he'll ever get her body with her will and little did she know he have his way of getting what he want.
Damons pov
She felt me.
The moment she stepped past the threshold of that brittle house, her panic bloomed — sharp and raw — flooding the night with a fragrance only I could taste.
Sweet.
Poisonous.
Mine.
She moved faster, dragging the boy and the old woman behind her, as if distance could sever the chain binding her soul to mine.
Foolish, precious girl.
Even now — even after everything — her body knew before her mind did.
Her terror sang to me, every thud of her frantic heart striking like a war drum against my ribs.
Good.
She needed to fear me.
Because fear was a tether no rival could sever.
Fear was worship in its purest form.
At dinner, I watched her through the sliver between the curtains — a voyeur cloaked in hunger and ruin.
Her hands trembled as she fumbled with her spoon, bringing it to her lips with the reverence of a dying prayer.
She didn't eat.
She didn't smile.
She didn't sparkle the way she once had.
I'd hollowed her out.
And God, I would do it again.
Again, and again, until there was nothing left but me.
The boy — Kevin — touched her too often, too easily.
A brush of fingers here. A lingering look there.
Each moment carved a wound inside me so deep it bordered on madness.
She is mine.
Not his.
Not anyone's.
When the boy finally left, when the locks clicked into place like a whispered invitation — I moved.
No hesitation.
No guilt.
Only the silent, inescapable pull of inevitability.
The window surrendered under my touch.
The night opened its arms.
And I slipped into her room — into her scent — into her world.
She lay curled on the bed like a forgotten prayer, hair tangled across her cheek, mouth parted in restless sleep.
She was beautiful in her ruin.
A masterpiece I had broken with my own hands.
I should have left her untouched.
Should have watched her from the corner of darkness, sated by the sound of her breathing.
But obsession is not a patient disease.
It gnaws, it screams, it devours.
I crossed the floor without sound, my shadow devouring hers.
Kneeling beside her, I brushed my gloved fingers along the fragile line of her arm — a ghost marking its territory.
When I pressed my mouth to the hollow of her collarbone, I swore I could taste her nightmares.
She stirred.
A tremor rippled through her body.
And when her lashes fluttered open — when her gaze, wide and wounded, locked on mine —
I smiled beneath the mask.
There you are, firecracker.
Before her scream could tear through the room, I pressed my palm over her mouth, sealing her silence with brutal tenderness.
"Make a sound," I breathed against her temple, "and I will tear this world apart, starting with your sweet little grandmother."
The fight drained from her in a heartbeat.
The submission.
The terror.
God, it fed the black hunger inside me like oxygen to flame.
I felt myself harden, brutal and aching, as she trembled against me.
As she became still, the way prey becomes when the wolf's teeth graze its throat.
"I missed you," I whispered, my voice a razored caress.
And I had.
With a ferocity that shamed the stars.
I traced the bruises I had left on her before — invisible now, but etched into the marrow of her bones.
She kicked.
She thrashed.
She fought — a tempest wrapped in silk and sorrow.
Perfect.
Perfect.
When she slashed open my arm with the paper cutter —
—ah, sweet girl, how you honor me—
the pain bloomed like a dark flower across my senses, an offering from the altar of her rage.
"You're learning," I rasped against her trembling mouth, my blood soaking into her bedsheets like a signature.
Pride curdled with lust in my gut.
But this small act of her's not gonna stop me from having her.
I wrenched her against me, pinning her small, furious body to mine.
No escape.
No mercy.
Only the slow, suffocating press of belonging.
I slid my hand beneath her ruined T-shirt, finding the frantic beat of her heart with my palm.
Her body recoiled instinctively.
But her blood... her scent... the way her heat poured into me...
She couldn't hide what her soul already accepted.
I dipped my head, letting the cold bite of my mask scrape a trail down the trembling line of her throat.
"Stay away from Kevin," I snarled into her skin, voice raw with the violence I barely contained.
"Touch him again, and I'll carve my name into you—"
I dragged my gloved fingers lower, branding the flat plane of her stomach with invisible chains.
"—where no one but me will ever see it."
She writhed, brave little flame, but the more she struggled, the tighter I wove the noose of us.
"Careful, mia cara," I murmured, savoring the way her tears kissed my glove, "hurt me again, and I'll break you so sweetly you'll never remember what it felt like to stand alone."
She sobbed — a raw, broken sound that cracked som