Last thing I saw before dying is his face.
Rain crashed against the windows like it was trying to warn me.
The sky outside was dark, split again and again by flashes of lightning. Each thunderclap shook the walls of the mansion, but inside the room, everything was unnaturally quiet.
The lamps were off.
Only a single light from the corridor slipped in through the half-open door, stretching my shadow across the cold floor.
And his...
He stood in front of me.
Still and silent.
The corridor lamp flickering behind him is dim as if it was afraid of him too. I am not able to saw his face because of the darkness.
I can only she his outline. A tall man standing in front of me. Wearing white shirt tightened around his chest and arms.
His one hand is clean and not shaking.
Than i saw his another hand.... A knife!!!
It scared me more than ever.
I tried to step closer, desperate to see his face, to confirm he was still the man I loved but he didn't move. He didn't let the light reach him.
Thunder flashed.
For a split second, the shadow shifted, but his face remained hidden, like the darkness itself was protecting him.
I realized then:
He didn't want me to see him.Not like this.
Not at the moment he decided I would die.
The air around him felt heavy, suffocating, as if the room had chosen his side. Even the rain outside seemed to fall harder, louder, drowning out my breathing.
I swallowed.
"Say something," I whispered.
He didn't. He just stood there, a silhouette carved out of shadow and rain, watching me as if I was already gone.
The knife caught the light first.
Rain hammered against the windows. Thunder rolled low, like a warning that came too late.
He stepped closer.
His face stayed hidden, swallowed by shadow, but his arm lifted slowly calmly as if this was something he had practiced many times in his head.
My breath stuttered.
"What are you doing?" I whispered.
He didn't answer.
The knife hovered between us, steady in his hand. Not trembling. Not rushed. There was no anger in the way he moved.
Only certainty.
I took a step back, my heel scraping against the floor. The sound echoed too loudly in the dark room.
"Please," I said. "Look at me."
He didn't.He moved forward instead.
The moment stretched long enough for me to realize something terrible.
He had already decided.
The knife pressed against my chest.
Cold.
Not painful yet just shockingly cold.
For one desperate second, I believed he would stop.
That he would lower his hand.
That this was some cruel test.
Then he pushed.
The air tore from my lungs. My body went numb, as if it refused to understand what was happening. The pain came a heartbeat later deep, suffocating, unreal.
I gasped, clutching his coat.
"You promised," I breathed.
He leaned close, so close I could feel his breath near my ear.
"I know."
That was all he said.
He pulled the knife back.
My legs gave way.
I fell to the floor, the room spinning as the shadows swallowed the ceiling above me. The rain outside grew louder, drowning out my shallow breaths.
I looked up at him.
He stood there, still hidden, watching me collapse like this was the natural end of things.
No apology and no hesitation.
As my vision faded, I understood the most horrifying truth of all...
He didn't kill me in a moment of rage.
He killed me because, to him,
I was already dead.
And then everything went dark.....