I stopped going to college altogether.
I stayed in my room, curtains shut, lights off, blanket pulled over my head like it could protect me from a man who could break doors—break people—without blinking.
Every time someone laughed in the hallway, I jumped.
Every time someone knocked on the wrong door, my heart dropped.
Every time a car engine hummed outside, I froze.
I didn't know how far his influence reached.
But I remembered how he kidnapped me in broad daylight, in the middle of a public road, like it was nothing.
If he could do that… he could reach me anywhere.
But then the exam schedule came out.
Mandatory attendance.
No excuses.
No exceptions.
I didn't have a choice.
So I forced myself to go.
Day 1 — nothing happened.
Day 2 — nothing happened.
And for a second… I thought maybe, maybe he was just trying to scare me.
Maybe he wouldn't actually come.
But then came Day 3.
I finished my exam early and left the hall alone.
My bag felt heavier than usual as I walked, each step slow, cautious, my breath trapped in my chest.
The sky was turning orange.
Students were leaving in groups, chatting, laughing.
For one moment, I felt normal.
Then I saw him.
Leaning against a wall across the street.
Chestnut hair glowing faintly under the evening light.
Cigarette between his fingers.
Smoke curling lazily into the air.
His eyes were already on me.
I stopped breathing.
My feet moved first—backwards, then turning completely.
I walked fast.
Then faster.
Then I ran.
My pulse slammed against my ears, drowning everything out.
My breath came out in painful bursts.
I didn't dare look back, but I could feel him behind me—
that calm, unhurried presence.
I finally risked a glance.
He wasn't running.
He was walking.
And somehow…
Somehow…
His footsteps covered the same distance as my frantic sprinting.
Like the space between us didn't exist.
Like gravity bent for him.
My lungs burned as I kept running.
My legs shook.
The path to the dorm stretched endlessly.
I could hear my own heartbeat, my breath, my panic—
but underneath, faint, steady—
his footsteps.
Getting closer.
Suddenly,I turned sharply into a narrow lane,
then another—
my shoes slipping on the pavement as I zig-zagged desperately, hoping the confusion would slow him down.
Left.
Right.
Through a shortcut between two old shops.
My breath tore out of my chest.
For a moment, it felt like I lost him.
I stopped, chest heaving, and stepped backward into a wider alley—
And froze.
Five men were standing there.
Gang types.
Tattoos.
Piercings.
Cheap liquor smell in the air.
One of them grinned the moment he saw me.
"Hey, sweetheart," he said, taking a step forward.
"What are you running from?"
I swallowed.
My legs trembled.
"I—I'm not—sorry—wrong way—"
They closed in.
A ring of bodies tightening around me.
I backed away slowly—my heart pounding so hard it hurt—
until my spine collided with something solid.
Warm.
Unmoving.
My breath hitched.
Aiden.The name i learnt not from him,not during my stay at his estate,but from his latest victim,his ex-maid,when we were at the hospital.
I didn't have to turn to know.
His presence was unmistakable.
My entire body reacted before my mind did—
fear blooming through every nerve.
But he didn't speak to me.
His voice went cold, slicing through the air like ice.
"Back off."
The gang members paused, looking him up and down.
Then they laughed.
"Who the hell are you to tell us anything, huh?" one scoffed.
Aiden didn't react.
Not even a twitch.
"I said," he repeated, voice low and deep,
"back. off."
He stepped forward—placing himself between me and them—his hand curling slightly like he was restraining something violent inside.
The men exchanged glances.
One of them lunged.
Aiden moved faster than sight.
His hand snapped out—
a precise, brutal twist—
CRACK.
The man's scream ripped the air apart at the same moment his arm bent the wrong way.
I flinched so hard I almost fell.
The others stumbled backward in shock, cursing.
Aiden didn't blink.
Didn't look away.
Didn't even seem winded.
He simply stood there, strand of chestnut hair falling over his eye, the broken-handed man writhing at his feet.
Then he turned his head slightly toward me—just enough for me to see the dead, calm look in his eyes.
"Stay behind me," he said softly.
But everything in me screamed run.
Run.
Run.
Except my knees wouldn't move.
Not with him there.
Not with them in front of us.
Not with the alley feeling like a trap slowly closing from both sides.
His fingers curled.
He was ready for the next one.
And the next.
And the next.
Because this was nothing to him.
And they had no idea who they were about to fight.
I don't know how I managed it—
maybe fear made me think faster, move faster.
The moment Aiden's back turned, attention fixed on the gang regrouping,
I slipped sideways into the shadow of a narrow, rusted doorframe.
My breath was locked inside my chest, my body shaking so hard it hurt.
This is my chance… my only chance…
He finished with them too easily.
Too quickly.
Like he barely needed effort.
And then—he turned.
To check on me.
Except I wasn't there.
His eyes sharpened, scanning the alley like an animal sensing the shift in air pressure.
"Misty," he called quietly, almost amused.
His boots stepped over gravel, approaching the corner.
"You really think you can run from me?"
I pressed a hand over my mouth to silence the trembling breath escaping me.
My other hand tightened around the knife hidden in my bag—the same one I grabbed from the dorm kitchen because I hadn't felt safe sleeping without something sharp nearby.
His shadow moved.
Closer.
Closer.
I swung out from the side before I could lose my courage—
And plunged the knife into his side.
He staggered—shock flashing across his face—
his hand instantly flying to the wound.