"You think you can beat me?" he growled.
"A fragile little orange head? You're nothing."
He stepped closer, licking his own blood off his lip.
"But before I kill you… I'm going to feel you."
His hands tore at my jacket, ripping the fabric apart like paper.
He grabbed my face and crushed his mouth against mine—violent, bruising, suffocating.
I pushed, clawed, screamed into his lips, but he only pressed harder.
Then—
A soft sound.
A shadow.
A rush of breath.
THUNK.
He froze.
His eyes rolled up for a second.
Then his head jerked violently to the side as something heavy smashed into his skull.
The maid.
Barefoot, shaking, bloodied, but standing.
In her hands—a metal fire extinguisher.
She didn't stop.
She raised it again and slammed it down with all the strength she had left.
THUNK.
THUNK.
THUNK.
His body crumpled.
His knees buckled.
His torso hit the ground with a dull thud.
Blood spread beneath his head like a dark halo.
I crawled toward him—my breath shaking—my palms trembling as I pressed two fingers to his neck.
Nothing.
"I think—he's dead," I whispered.
The maid's eyes were empty, hollow, and terrified all at once.
"We need to go," I said, grabbing her cold hand.
"We need to get out before he wakes up—or someone finds us."
The room had a small first-aid box.
My hands were shaking too badly, but I still managed to wrap her wounds—loose, uneven bandages just enough to stop the bleeding.
"Come," I whispered.
We ran.
Down the hallway.
Stumbling down the stairs.
Breathing like hunted animals.
Alarms blared behind us.
Guards shouted.
"STOP!"
We didn't look back.
The forest was too far.
The driveway too open.
But then—
Headlights.
A massive lorry parked by the gate, engine off, doors open.
And the driver—somewhere in the bushes, peeing.
"Now—inside!" I hissed, pushing the maid up the metal steps.
We climbed into the back—into a dark storage area filled with sacks.
I pulled the door almost shut.
The maid whispered, voice trembling, "Will they find us?"
Before I could answer, the driver returned, humming, buttoning his pants.
He climbed into the driver's seat.
The engine roared to life.
The truck moved.
We were leaving the estate.
For the first time in days, I felt a breath of hope.
---
The truck finally stopped at a small town.
The driver hopped out to buy a drink at a roadside stall.
We slipped out quietly.
Dusty. Bleeding. Barefoot. Half-dead.
We approached a woman near the stall, her eyes widening the moment she saw us.
"Please," I said, voice cracking, my hands trembling as I held onto the maid.
"Help us… please."
____
The police questioned us for hours.
But they found nothing.
No body.
No trace.
No blood.
No evidence that anyone named Aiden even died.
When they told us the basement was empty…
when they said the house looked untouched…
when they said "maybe you girls were confused"…
I felt the floor slip under me.
He was alive.
Somewhere.
The maid—still trembling, still pale—gripped my wrist so hard it hurt.
"It was Aiden," she whispered, voice cracked.
"He'll come after us. He never lets anyone go."
Her words echoed in my skull.
Aiden.
Aiden.
Aiden.
Even though I knew inside…
it wasn't exactly him.
But the world didn't know his lookalike existed.
So her fear became my fear too.
I told them I needed to leave.
She told them she needed to leave.
No one could protect us if he was alive.
______
For a while, I tried to go back to normal.
I attended school.
Sat in classrooms.
Talked to teachers.
Pretended like nothing happened.
But inside, I was always looking over my shoulder.
And one afternoon…
it happened.
I stepped out of the building—books in my arms—when something made my heart freeze.
He was there.
Leaning on a black car.
Chestnut hair catching the sun.
Hands in pockets.
Looking straight at me.
Like he had been waiting.
Our eyes met.
I dropped my books.
I didn't breathe.
My feet moved on their own.
I ran—straight back inside the school gates—past students, past teachers, past everyone, breath shaking so hard I almost collapsed.
I locked myself in the restroom until the bell rang.
And that night…
I didn't sleep.
The next morning my grandfather insisted I stay with him for a while.
I didn't argue.
For days, I didn't step out of the house at all.
Not even once.
I stayed behind closed doors, curtains drawn, every noise making my heart jolt.
My grandfather noticed my stress, but he didn't know the reason.
I couldn't tell him.
I couldn't put him in danger.
What if Aiden came here?
What if he followed me?
What if he hurt my family?
The thought alone made me sick.
So when my admission letter arrived from a big university far away from the city, I cried.
Not out of sadness.
Out of relief.
A new place.
A new life.
New people.
Distance—finally, finally distance—from him.
I packed my bag early.
I covered my bandage with makeup.
I forced a smile when my grandfather wished me luck.
Maybe… maybe I was finally lucky.
Maybe this time, I could escape him for real.
Maybe.
______
A few days passed in the dorm.
Quiet, peaceful, almost unreal.
Classes were exhausting, walking across the huge campus kept my mind busy, and for the first time in weeks…
I didn't wake up in the middle of the night sweating.
I almost believed I was safe.
Until the knock.
A soft, polite knock on the dorm door.
Too gentle.
Too deliberate.
I froze where I was sitting—my pen slipping from my hand.
My roommate wasn't home.
No one was expecting me.
No packages.
No friends visiting.
My heart thudded painfully against my ribs.
Slowly, I walked to the door and cracked it open.
The hallway was empty.
But something was placed right in the center of the floor.
A bouquet.
Not normal flowers.
Jet–black lilies.
Black orchids.
And in the center—
one single, perfect black rose wrapped in a dark ribbon.
My breath caught.
My knees almost buckled.
I forced myself to crouch, hands shaking so badly I almost dropped the bouquet.
A small envelope was tied to the rose stem.
I swallowed hard and opened it.
Inside was one sentence.
"Found you."
My blood turned to ice.
The hallway suddenly felt too quiet, too long, too suffocating.
I whipped my head left, then right—searching for a figure, a shadow, anything.
Nothing.
But he had been here.
He knew where I lived.
He knew what dorm.
He reached me inside a secure campus.
My throat closed.
I backed into my room and locked the door three times, pressed my back against it, sliding down until I was sitting on the floor.
My hands wouldn't stop shaking.
I stared at the letter again, my heartbeat pounding against my skull so loudly it felt like it echoed through the room.
He found me.
He found me.
He found me.
I pressed my hand over my mouth to stop the sound I didn't realize was escaping—half a sob, half a broken breath.
There was no running anymore.
He wanted me back.
And he was coming.