The steady, rhythmic click of my aluminum crochet hook had been the only sound echoing through my quiet apartment for hours. Outside, the night was dead still, the kind of heavy, oppressive silence that settles over the city long after everyone else has gone to sleep. Inside, the warm light of my small desk lamp illuminated a scattered battlefield of soft cotton yarn, measuring tapes, and fabric scissors.
My fingers were practically numb, aching with a deep, throbbing soreness that radiated all the way up to my wrists. But I couldn't stop. I couldn't afford to rest.
This was my very first real order.
I picked up the finished item, holding it up into the dim light. It was a handcrafted lily bag, every single petal delicately stitched with meticulous care, alongside a custom-tailored clothing set I had spent days cutting and sewing. A wave of profound, overwhelming pride bloomed in my chest, momentarily drowning out my exhaustion. I had actually done it.
Lifting my shaking hands, I snapped a few quick photos of the completed pieces and typed out a rushed message to my group chat.
To: Ilya, Nami
"¡Por fin lo terminé! Look at the lily bag! I'm so exhausted I could collapse, but it's done!"
I barely had time to watch Nami's instant barrage of excited heart emojis flash across the screen before my phone slipped from my weak grip onto the sofa. I fell back against the cushions, letting out a long, ragged breath. A deep, bone-weary ache settled into my muscles. My eyelids felt as heavy as lead, dragging me down toward a sleep I desperately needed.
A knocking sound smashed through the quiet room like a physical blow. I flinched, my heart leaping straight into my throat. The room seemed to plunge instantly into a cold, suffocating chill. I sat up slowly, my breathing hitching as my eyes darted to the small digital clock on my wall.
Almost midnight.
No one was supposed to be here. I wasn't expecting anyone. Panic, small and sharp, began to coil tightly in the pit of my stomach. "Who could that be?" I whispered to myself, my voice barely a thread of air in the empty apartment.
I stood up, my knees trembling so violently I had to catch myself on the edge of the table. Creeping toward the front entrance, I held my breath, placing my palm flat against the cold wood of the door. The glass insert near the top was frosted, but I squeezed my eyes tight, leaning close to peer through the small clear edge of the frame.
Moritz.
He was standing on the narrow landing, swaying unnaturally on his feet. His hair was disheveled, his coat hanging loosely off one shoulder, and even through the thick wood, I could sense the chaotic, unpredictable energy radiating off him. He was thoroughly, dangerously drunk.Every instinct in my body screamed at me to back away, to turn off the lights and lock myself in the bedroom. But my apartment was small, and the light from the living room was clearly visible beneath the door. Why he would come in midnight? If he had work with me,he would have called me rather than standing in front of my apartment door.
Swallowing down the rising lump of terror, I turned the latch with a sharp click and opened the door just a few inches, keeping the heavy chain engaged."Moritz?" I asked, keeping my voice as flat and guarded as possible. "What are you doing here? Do you have any idea what time it is?" He didn't answer. He didn't even look me in the eye. Instead, he slammed his heavy hand against the wood, forcing the door open wider against the chain, and stared down at me with dark, unfocused eyes. As long as i knew he was a good person but his this character was absolutely odd to me, "Open the door, Arora," he slurred, his voice thick and laced with a unsettling edge.
"No. You need to leave," I begged, trying to push the door shut, but he was far stronger. "You're drunk, Moritz. Go home. We can talk tomorrow." "I said open the damn door!" Before I could react, he threw his entire body weight against the frame. The small metal latch snapped with a sickening crunch of splintering wood. The door flew back, slamming hard against the wall, and Moritz stumbled into my entryway. He lunged past me, dragging the scent of stale whiskey and cold rain into my clean, safe sanctuary."Get out!" I screamed, my voice cracking with pure, unadulterated fury as I backed away into the living room. My hands were shaking uncontrollably, clutching at the fabric of my sweater. "I didn't give you permission to enter! You can't just break into my home! Get the hell out of here RIGHT NOW!"
Moritz slowly turned around, kicking the door shut behind him with the heel of his boot. He smirked, a cruel, mocking twist of his lips that made my stomach turn. "Permission?" he sneered, taking a slow, heavy step toward me. "Since when do I need permission from you?"
"Seriously?? Since when do you needn't permission from me huhh?? This is my apartment!" I yelled, tears of anger stinging the corners of my eyes. "Leave, Moritz, or I swear to God I'm calling the police!" He chuckled, a dark, raspy sound that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. "Go ahead. Call them. Tell them whatever you want. But first... you're going to answer my questions."
He stepped closer, backing me up until the back of my knees hit the small coffee table. I was trapped. "Why Rayn was in mall?" Moritz demanded suddenly, his voice rising into a harsh bark that filled the small space. His hands clenched into tight fists at his sides. "Answer me! Who is he to you?!"
"What?" I saw staring at him like a dumb "What are you talking about?" "Don't play dumb with me, Arora!" he roared, stepping into my personal space. I could feel the hot, alcohol-laced heat of his breath on my face. "I've seen the way he looks at you! I've seen the way you look at him! What is your relationship with Rayn? Are you sleeping with him? Is that it? You're giving yourself to him after everything I've done for your dream business?!"
"He's none of your business!" I spat back, terrified, but refusing to let him see me. My chest heaved as I fought for air. "My life is none of your business! How do you even have the audacity to break into my house at midnight and interrogate me like this?! I am so grateful to you that you help me to build my business- THANK YOU- I am TELLING YOU AGAIN my personal life is not your fucking business that you will break into my apartment, I even don't know you except from work,Moritz!" The words seemed to snap whatever thin thread of sanity he had left. His eyes turned black with rage.
"You don't know me?" he whispered, his voice trembling with a terrifying, quiet fury. "You think I'm nothing? Who do you think helped you start this little business, huh? Who pushed you? Who gave you the connections? I made you, Arora. I built you up. Which means I own a piece of you. That means I can do whatever I want with you!"
"No! You are a psycho! Get off me!" I shrieked.Before the horror of his words could even sink in, Moritz lunged forward. His massive frame slammed into mine, knocking me backward onto the couch. The force of the impact knocked the air entirely out of my lungs. I tried to scream, but his heavy, rough hand clamped violently over my mouth, suffocating my cries into desperate, muffled whimpers. "Shut up!" he growled in my ear, his weight pinning my legs down so I couldn't kick. "Just shut up and take it!"
"Mmff! Mmmgh!" I thrashed wildly beneath him, my hands tearing at his arms, digging my nails into his skin with everything I had. But it was like trying to move a mountain. He was entirely unyielding, driven by a disgusting, power-hungry madness.
With his free hand, he grabbed the neckline of my top and yanked downward. The fabric gave way with a loud, sickening rip, exposing my skin to the cold air of the room.
"No, please, God, no..." my mind screamed, panic exploding like fireworks behind my eyes. His rough, calloused hands pressed aggressively onto my bare body, violating every boundary, breaking every barrier I had built to protect myself. I twisted my neck, biting down hard on the fleshy part of his palm over my mouth. "Gah! You bitch!" Moritz yelled, jerking his hand back. "Get off me! Somebody help me!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. His face contorted into something monstrous. He didn't just want to control me; he wanted to destroy me. Moritz brought his hands up to my neck, his fingers locking around my throat like iron bands, and squeezed.
Hard.
"I said SHUT.UP.!" he hissed through gritted teeth.
The world stopped. The air in my windpipe was cut off completely. My lungs screamed for oxygen, expanding painfully inside my chest, but nothing came. I hit his face, scratched at his wrists, tried to shove his chest, but his grip only tightened, pressing harder and harder into my throat.
I can't breathe.
I'm going to die here.
The violent thrashing of my body began to slow. The terrible noise of his breathing began to fade away, replaced by an eerie, ringing quietness. Darkness started creeping in from the very edges of my eyes, a wave of black, suffocating dots that slowly swallowed the room, the ceiling, and Moritz's furious face.
And then, the present vanished entirely.
The terrifying, long-buried ghosts of my childhood trauma rushed out from the shadows of my mind, wrapping around my soul like icy chains. I was no longer a woman in her apartment; I was a helpless, terrified little girl again, drowning in an ocean of pitch-black fear, helpless against a world that wanted to break me.
Save me, my heart cried out into the void. Please, someone, save me...
In the deep, inescapable abyss of my mind, I felt something wet on my hands. It was slick, thick, and burning warm. I couldn't see my body, couldn't feel the couch beneath me, but through the dark haze of my dying vision, something appeared.
A rope.
A thick, silver rope hanging down right in front of me, glowing with a soft, distant light. It looked like a lifeline thrown into a dark, bottomless pit by a hidden hand. A voice, faint and far away, whispered through the void, pulling me back from the brink of death.
Reach out.
I reached out with everything I had left. I gripped the rope tightly with both blood-slicked hands and began to climb, pulling myself up out of the suffocating darkness, clawing my way back toward the light.
A ray of bright light pierced the shadows.
My eyes snapped open.
A massive, violent gasp tore from my throat as air rushed back into my starved lungs. My chest heaved up and down, every breath burning like hot ash in my throat. I was shivering, shaking so violently that my teeth were chattering together. I looked down at my hands. My fingers were locked in a vice-like grip around a thin piece of metal. It was my long, steel crochet needle-the one I had been using just hours ago to stitch soft petals of cotton yarn.Only now, it wasn't cotton yarn clinging to the metal. The entire length of the needle was drenched, dripping with thick, deep crimson blood. It coated my fingers, ran down my wrists, and painted the sleeves of my torn clothes in dark, sickening streaks.Slowly, terrifyingly, my eyes drifted upward.Lying flat on his back on the floor right in front of me was Moritz.
His eyes were wide open, staring blankly up at the ceiling, completely devoid of life. A dark, pooled sea of red was rapidly spreading outward from his neck and chest, soaking into the rug beneath him. His chest didn't rise. His lips didn't move. He was completely, utterly still.
I had killed him.
The realization hit me with the force of a freight train, but my brain refused to process it. I sat there on the cold floor, knees pulled tightly against my chest, staring at his lifeless body. I couldn't cry. I couldn't scream. A strange, terrifying numbness washed over me, turning my mind into complete stone. I became a statue, frozen in time amidst a horrifying scene of red and darkness.
BANG.
The front door, already broken, was kicked wide open. Heavy, hurried footsteps echoed in the hallway, but the sound felt miles away, muffled as if I were submerged deep underwater. Figures moved into the room, but I couldn't look up. My eyes remained glued to the dead man on my floor. Then, a shadow fell over me.
"Arora!" A tall figure dropped to his knees right beside me. I didn't have to look up to know who it was. The deep, commandingly sharp voice belonged to Rayn. He took one look at the bloody needle in my hand, the torn fabric exposing my shoulders, and the lifeless body on the floor. His face hardened into something terrifyingly lethal, a dark, murderous storm passing over his sharp features before he turned his head toward the door. "Clean this place," Rayn commanded, his voice cold, sharp, and deadlier than ice. "Get rid of the body. You have ten minutes. Not a single drop of blood stays in this room." "Yes, boss," a group of men wearing dark suits and black facial masks replied in unison.
They moved with terrifying, unbelievable efficiency. Within seconds, heavy plastic sheets were rolled out, gloved hands were pulling Moritz's body away, and specialized chemicals were being applied to the floor. They worked like ghosts, erasing a murder scene as if it were nothing more than a spilled glass of water.
While the room was being violently reset around us, Rayn turned all his attention to me.He quickly unbuttoned his heavy, expensive coat, slipping it off his shoulders. With infinite gentleness, he wrapped the warm, heavy fabric around my bare, shivering skin, covering my exposed shoulders and tucking the lapels tightly around my neck to hide the bruises starting to form there. The scent of his cologne slowly wrapped around me, battling against the metallic copper smell of blood.
"Arora... hey, look at me," Rayn whispered, his voice trembling slightly; a sound I had never heard from him before.
I couldn't. I couldn't move my neck. My eyes were locked onto the dark stain on the floor where Moritz's head had been just moments ago. My breathing was fast, shallow, and ragged, my pulse fluttering like a trapped bird's wings."Arora, please. Look at me," he pleaded again. I felt a sudden, gentle warmth brush against my icy skin. Rayn raised his hands, cupping both of my cold cheeks in his large, warm palms. His touch was firm yet unbelievably tender, anchoring me to the present, breaking through the frozen shell that had locked me inside my own head. He slowly, gently forced my head to turn away from the floor, tilting my face upward. I finally looked at him. Rayn was staring down at me, his sharp, dark eyes completely stripped of their usual distant, arrogant edge. Instead, they were filled with an intense, burning warmth, heavy with concern, relief, and an agonizing tenderness that made tears finally well up in my frozen eyes. Using his thumb, he carefully, delicately wiped away a wet streak of blood from my cheekbone, his touch as soft as a feather. "You're safe now," Rayn whispered softly, leaning his forehead gently against mine, his warm breath fanning over my lips. "I've got you. The nightmare is over, Arora. I'm right here."
As his warm hands held my face, and his powerful arms wrapped tightly around my trembling frame, the cold, suffocating darkness that had gripped my soul finally began to shatter. I closed my eyes, buried my face into his chest, and let the tears fall.