Zara pov:
Waking up was a process of pain.
First, the ache in my throat—a deep, bruised reminder that last night wasn't a nightmare. Then, the memory settled over me, not of the grey-eyed man's hands, but of the shadow that came after. Soren. His hand over my mouth, not to hurt, but to calm. His voice in the dark, low and solid. The way my panic had actually eased when I realized it was him.
That shameful, terrifying sense of safety with the most dangerous person I knew.
I pushed the thought away, burying it under the physical pain. I moved through the morning like a ghost. A high-necked black sweater covered the evidence. In class, I kept my head down, my scarf pulled up. Every unfamiliar face made my heart stutter. Grey eyes, sharp profile. I saw him in every stranger.
When class ended, I didn't wait for Isa. The guilt was a rock in my stomach. What if he'd already made good on his threat? What if my silence wasn't enough? I hurried across campus, my head down, a mantra in my head: Just get home. Lock the door.
I was so focused on the ground that I didn't see her until I was almost at my dorm steps.
Juniper.
She was leaning against the brick wall, her usual vibrant energy replaced by a jittery stillness. Her magenta hair was a flag of distress. Our eyes met, and she pushed off the wall, closing the distance before I could bolt.
"Zara," she said, her voice low and frantic. Her fingers closed around my wrist, not harshly, but with a desperate strength. "Wait. Please."
I tried to pull back, but she held fast, her eyes wide, pleading. "You can't tell anyone. About last night. You have to understand—if anyone finds out, I'm dead. We're dead."
The fear in her voice was real, scraping away her usual polished bravado. She wasn't threatening me. She was begging.
"I won't," I whispered, the words scraping my bruised throat. "I promised."
"Not just promised," she hissed, glancing over her shoulder. "You have to forget. You saw nothing. He's not… he's not someone you cross. And he's paranoid. If he thinks you're a risk…"
She didn't finish. She didn't need to. The memory of his hands was enough.
I nodded, a stiff, jerky movement. "I understand."
Some of the tension left her shoulders. She released my wrist, her fingers leaving faint, cold impressions on my skin. "Good. Just… keep your head down, okay?" She gave me one last, haunted look before turning and disappearing around the corner, moving like someone being chased.
I finally made it inside, the lock clicking home a small, futile comfort. I dropped my bag and pulled out my phone. The screen lit up with notifications. 17 Missed Calls. 23 Unread Messages.
All from Elio.
My thumb hovered over the screen. I wanted to hear his voice, to tell him everything. But the fear was a clamp around my lungs. If a whisper of this leaves your pretty little mouth… I dropped the phone on the counter as if it were hot. I couldn't. Not yet.
I took a long, scalding shower, trying to wash the feeling of violation from my skin. I changed into soft, worn cotton pants and an oversized hoodie, pulling the collar up high. I tried to lose myself in a design sketch for my portfolio—a flowing evening gown with intricate lace panels. My pencil moved automatically, but my mind was elsewhere, tracing the lines of a different kind of design: one of fear, threats, and the unsettling calm I'd found in a monster's presence.
My phone rang, the shrill sound slicing through the quiet. I ignored it, focusing on the curve of a sleeve.
A familiar, warm voice, laced with playful hurt, echoed from the speaker. "Really? Giving me the full ignore treatment? I'm wounded, Zara. Deeply."
My head snapped up.
Elio was leaning against my bedroom doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest. A slow, familiar smile was on his face, but his dark eyes were watching me closely, missing nothing.
I jerked back, my pencil skidding across the paper. "How did you… the door was locked."
He held up a key, dangling it from his finger. "Isa. She said you blew her off after class and looked… off. She was worried. Gave me her spare." His smile faded as he stepped into the room. "She was right. You look like you haven't slept."
"I'm fine," I said automatically, my hand flying to the neck of my hoodie, pulling it tighter.
His gaze tracked the movement. The easy warmth in his eyes cooled, hardening into something sharp. "What's wrong with your neck?"
"Nothing. It's just a rash. Allergic reaction to—" The lie died on my lips as he crossed the room in two strides.
"Zara." His voice was quiet, but it held a tone that brooked no argument. Gently, but with a firmness I couldn't fight, his fingers hooked under the edge of my hoodie collar and tugged it down.
The bruise was exposed in the afternoon light, a lurid purple-black bracelet around my throat.
The air left the room.
Elio's face went completely, terrifyingly blank. All the warmth, all the gentle brotherly affection was wiped away, replaced by a stillness more frightening than any outburst. His eyes, fixed on the mark, turned to chips of obsidian.
"Who," he said, the word a flat, dead sound, "did this to you?"
The protective urge to lie rose again, warring with the sheer, desperate need to tell someone who wasn't Soren. I shook my head, tears burning behind my eyes. "I can't. He said he'd hurt Isa. He'll know if I talk."
"He won't touch Isa." The promise was absolute, iron-clad. "Tell me. Now."
"Elio, please." My voice broke. "Not here. Juniper's… someone might be around."
He studied my face, reading the genuine terror there. The lethal stillness didn't leave him, but he gave a single, sharp nod. "Get changed. We're going for a walk."
I pulled on a proper high-necked sweater and a coat, bundling the evidence away. We left the dorm, walking in silence toward the quieter, tree-lined paths at the edge of campus. The tension radiating from him was a physical force.
After five minutes of silent, angry strides, he finally spoke. "Right. I'm bribing you."
I blinked, thrown. "What?"
"You're clearly not going to talk for free. So I'm bribing you." He stopped walking and turned to face me, his expression serious. "Tell me what happened. The whole truth. And I'll…" he thought for a second, "I'll get you those ridiculously expensive Japanese shears you've been mooning over in the art supply catalogue. The ones that cost more than my phone."
He remembered. I'd pointed them out weeks ago, a passing comment. The bribe was so specific, so him, that a startled, wet laugh escaped me. It hurt my throat. The dam broke.
"Okay," I whispered.
I told him everything. About the car, seeing Juniper with the man, his grey eyes, his hands. The threat to Isa. I poured it all out, the words tumbling over each other in a hushed, frantic stream. The only thing I held back was Soren's midnight visit. That secret felt too tangled, too charged with a shameful dependency I couldn't name.
When I finished, I grabbed his arm. "You can't do anything, Elio. Please. He was serious."
Elio's jaw was so tight I could see the muscle jumping. The deadly look was back—a promise of violence that made my breath catch. This was the King they whispered about.
Then, he took a deep breath, and the mask settled back into place. "Alright," he said, his voice forcibly calm. "First, food. You look like you haven't eaten."
He steered me to a small, cozy café off campus. He ordered for both of us—a hearty soup for me, a strong coffee for him. We sat in a corner booth. He watched me until I took a few spoonfuls.
"Right," he said, his tone softer now, edged with that familiar London lilt that usually made me smile. "The shears are yours. But here's the real deal, Zara." He leaned forward, his dark eyes holding mine. "You don't ever ignore me like that again. No matter what. Phone on fire? Call me. Think you're being followed? Call me. Have a bad dream? Blimey, call me. I don't care if it's three in the morning. You don't shut me out. Not after this. Understood?"
The command was wrapped in such genuine worry that I could only nod, my throat too tight to speak.
"Good." He sat back, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. He nudged the bread basket toward me. "Now eat. Then we're going shopping."
After we left the café, he didn't take me to a fabric store. He took me to a boutique I'd only ever window-shopped, filled with beautiful, tactile things—soft cashmere throws, handmade journals, linen dresses.
"Pick something," he said, his hands in his pockets. "Not to cover up. Something that just feels good."
I was about to protest, but my fingers had already brushed against a scarf. It wasn't silk or jacquard. It was a simple, incredibly soft merino wool in a deep charcoal grey. It felt like a cloud. Like a gentle shield.
Elio saw my hesitation vanish. He nodded to the shop assistant. "We'll take that."
"Elio, you don't have to—"
"I know," he said simply. He paid, took the bag, and handed it to me. "Consider it part of the bribe. And a reminder."
We walked back toward campus as the sun dipped lower. The new scarf was tucked in the bag, a weightless promise against my arm.
As we reached my street, he stopped. "The man with grey eyes," he said, his tone casual but his eyes serious. "You're sure you don't know his name?"
I shook my head. "No. But… he was at your house. The night of the party."
Elio went very still for a second, then nodded slowly. "Okay." He squeezed my shoulder, his touch warm and anchoring. "Remember the deal. No more silence."
He watched until I was inside.
I climbed the stairs, the scarf in its bag feeling like an anchor to something good and normal. For the first time since the hands had closed around my throat, I felt protected in a way that didn't terrify me.
But as I closed my dorm room door, leaning against it, the other memory surfaced—the one I hadn't told Elio. The shadow at my bedside. The voice in the dark. The perverse, undeniable ease I'd felt with him.
I had a protector now who asked for honesty.
And I had a haunting who demanded everything else.