Peace sprinted on the treadmill for the twentieth time, her legs trembling and her muscles screaming in protest.
Her breaths came in ragged gasps, her chest heaving as if it were about to collapse.
The audacity of him—of tucking her back into bed as though he hadn't chased her through the dark forest until she was on the verge of collapse—made her blood boil.
He'd pursued her relentlessly, his shadow looming over her as she tripped over roots and branches, the trees scraping her skin raw.
The owls had hooted mockingly above, their indifference a cruel reminder of her helplessness.
It was pathetic.
She was pathetic.
And yet, her mind betrayed her, circling back to the tenderness in his touch as he tucked her in.
The way he'd stripped off his shirt, cleaned her scratches with care, and massaged her aching limbs while she lay there, too drained to resist.
The ghost of his lips on her forehead lingered, a contrast so jarring it made her feel unhinged.
How could the same man who had hunted her like prey turn around and treat her with such gentleness?
She hated him.
She hated herself more.
The thrill of the chase had ignited something dark and twisted within her, something she wanted to purge but couldn't. Therapy couldn't fix this. Maybe she needed brain surgery.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of an energy drink in front of her. She looked up to see the gym instructor watching her with a mixture of concern and curiosity.
"Drink up. You look like you're about to collapse," he said, handing her the bottle.
She took it, gulping it down without hesitation, desperate to quench her thirst.
"You trying to kill yourself?" he asked, his tone light but his eyes heavy with judgment.
She didn't respond, wiping the sweat from her brow.
"I see the way you work out. The way you push yourself past the limit," he continued, his gaze lingering too long on her thighs.
Her stomach churned as his voice dropped, dripping with insinuation. "The way you arch your back, giving me those looks..."
She froze, the bottle slipping slightly in her grasp.
"What?"
"Don't play coy," he said, stepping closer. His hand brushed her arm, and her skin crawled.
"I think I should go," she said, her voice firm as she tried to step away.
But his hand shot out, gripping her arm tightly. "Don't pretend! I see the way you look at me. I know you want this."
Her stomach twisted with revulsion. "Let go of me," she said through gritted teeth.
When he didn't, she moved without hesitation. Her elbow connected with his jaw, and he stumbled back with a grunt of pain.
She followed up with a swift kick to his shin, sending him to his knees. But he recovered quickly, grabbing her leg and pulling her down with him.
They struggled on the floor, his hands clawing at her sports bra as she screamed, thrashing beneath him.
"Shut up!" he spat, slapping her hard across the face.
The world spun, her vision blurring as pain exploded in her cheek.
And then it happened.
A wave of heat, suffocating and thick, filled the air.
Flames licked the edges of her vision as a deafening roar consumed her senses.
When her eyes fluttered open moments later, she saw him—a shadowy figure shrouded in smoke—standing over the gym instructor's broken body.
Her assailant lay crumpled amidst the scattered weight plates, blood pooling beneath him.
The shadow turned toward her, and darkness swallowed her whole.
When she woke again, she was bound to a wooden stake, her wrists tied with coarse rope.
She wore a long white dress, its pristine fabric brushing against her bare feet.
Across from her stood him, dressed in a sleeveless shirt and an apron spattered with blood. He held a butcher's knife, its edge gleaming as he methodically chopped chunks of raw meat on a wooden block.
Her stomach turned.
"Where are my clothes?" she demanded, her voice hoarse.
He glanced up, a smirk curling his lips. "No 'thank you'? No 'where am I?' or 'what happened to me?' Just 'where are my clothes'?"
He slammed the knife into the cutting board, leaning forward with a predatory grin.
"Your clothes, my bride? Let's just say they're... unnecessary."
Her breath hitched. "Bride? What are you talking about?"
He wiped his hands on the apron, the fabric already stained crimson. "I came to save you," he said cheerfully, spreading his arms wide.
"No," she whispered, tears streaming down her face. "You're here to burn me."
Her tears sparkled in the dim light, and his grin deepened, his voice dropping to a reverent whisper.
"You're absolutely right, my bride. I'm here to burn you alive."