Lilith woke with a splitting headache, her temples throbbing in a rhythm that felt like punishment. She dragged herself to the mirror, staring at the pale woman who looked back at her. The bruises on her neck and collarbone still lingered in deep hues of violet and crimson. She sighed, layering foundation carefully until her skin looked passable, though the tenderness beneath betrayed the illusion. Pulling her blouse up higher to conceal what makeup could not, she straightened her spine and whispered to herself, "You can do this. You have to."
At the office, the storm began immediately. Cheryl, her direct superior, exuded power with every step of her stiletto heels. She was striking, intimidating, and cruel in ways she made sure Lilith alone felt.
"You're late," Cheryl said coolly, though Lilith had arrived five minutes early. A stack of thick files landed on her desk with a sharp thud. "These need to be revised before lunch. I don't care what else you had planned."
Lilith blinked at the mountain of paperwork, her chest tightening. "But I—"
Cheryl cut her off with a smile that never reached her eyes. "No excuses. Unless, of course, you want me to inform the director that you're falling behind again."
Heat rushed to Lilith's cheeks, but she swallowed her pride and nodded silently. Around her, colleagues lowered their gazes, unwilling to meet her eyes. No one dared cross Cheryl.
The hours dragged with endless corrections, nitpicking, and Cheryl hovering at every turn. During the team meeting, Cheryl made a point of correcting Lilith publicly, twisting her words until she looked incompetent. "What Miss Steele meant to say," Cheryl said with an arched brow, "was something far more coherent." A ripple of laughter moved through the room.
Lilith clenched her fists under the table. Her pride bled, but she could not afford to fight back. Not now. Not with so much at stake.
By the time the workday ended, she felt like a shell of herself, drained of all color and strength. She returned home with dragging feet, her head heavy, her spirit heavier.
She cooked a simple meal, though she barely tasted it, her mind too weary. After tidying the dishes, she changed into something soft and collapsed onto the bed. The cool sheets welcomed her, and she surrendered to sleep.
But the night was never kind.
The lock on her door clicked silently, turning under a hand that was not hers. The door opened without resistance, and the darkness swallowed the figure that entered. Rhett Barone moved like a shadow, his presence overwhelming the room without a sound.
He stood over her bed, watching her chest rise and fall in steady rhythm. In sleep, she looked so fragile, so untouched by the hardness she carried when awake. His hand reached out, brushing her cheek, fingers gliding down to trace the hollow of her throat. His gaze darkened as he felt the pulse fluttering beneath his fingertips.
Slowly, deliberately, his hand traveled lower, pressing against the curve of her breast, possessive and unyielding. He leaned down, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that was deep and burning, stealing her breath even as she slept.
For a fleeting moment, she stirred, her lashes trembling, lips moving faintly under his. Rhett pulled back just in time, retreating into the shadows of her room.
Lilith's eyes opened, heart racing. She sat up, clutching her chest. Her lips tingled, her body shaking. "A nightmare," she whispered, though the words sounded hollow even to her own ears.
Seeking air, she stumbled to the window, pushing it open. The night breeze cooled her flushed skin—until she froze.
Across the street, a black car sat idle, headlights off, its darkened windows facing her apartment. Watching.
Her breath caught. She blinked, and the car began to roll away, disappearing into the night. But the paranoia it left behind lingered, crawling up her spine. She locked the window shut, pressing her back against the wall.
"A dream," she whispered again, trying to convince herself. Yet the phantom heat of a kiss remained on her lips, and deep down, she knew the truth: nightmares didn't kiss you, and nightmares didn't watch from the street.
Meanwhile, inside that very car, Rhett Barone reclined in his seat, his gaze sharp and unyielding. The memory of her lips lingered, her softness seared into his skin. He adjusted his cufflinks, his jaw tightening.
"Soon little Steele," he murmured to the darkness. " soon, there will be no running."
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