Lana's pov:

I pull the curtain shut so fast the rings clatter. My heart’s beating in that jumpy, uneven way it does when I don’t know if I’m angry or afraid. 

Layla stirs in bed, squinting. “Lana? What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing.” My voice sounds thin. “Just too bright.”

She yawns, stretching. “It’s almost ten. Mom’s making pancakes. You know how rare that is.”

That’s true. Mom only makes pancakes when she’s in a really good mood, or when she wants to make sure everyone eats together before someone disappears again.

I force a small smile. “Okay, I’ll be down soon.”

Layla studies me for a second longer but lets it go. “Don’t take too long or I’ll eat yours.” She leaves, humming some pop song, her steps fading down the hall.

As soon as the door clicks shut, I move to the window again. My fingers hover over the glass, right above the petal. 

For a moment, I think about keeping it, but that will only remind me of him. So I stopped.

And I do the opposite.

I throw it away in the bin, pretending it never happened, even though I know it’s useless.

Not because I want to throw it away, exactly.
But because keeping it would feel even worse.

Downstairs, the smell of pancakes hits me before I even reach the kitchen. Butter, sugar, cinnamon, it’s almost enough to make me forget everything. Almost.

Layla’s already at the table, eating like she hasn’t had food in days. “Finally,” she says with her mouth full. “Mom was about to send Dad to wake you up.”

Mom smiles when she sees me. “Good morning, sweetie. You feeling better today?” 

I nod, sliding into the chair beside Layla. “Yeah, much better.”

Dad looks up from his newspaper. “Good. No fever?” 

“Nope. All gone.” 

Mom places a plate in front of me, stacked high with pancakes and a tiny slice of butter melting on top. She gives me that gentle, suspicious look mothers have when they know you’re hiding something but decide to let you breathe.

“So,” she says, sitting down. “What are you girls doing today?”

Layla shrugs. “I’m taking Lana out for brunch later. Maybe shopping.” 

I choke on my juice. “Shopping?” 

She smirks. “You need new clothes anyway. Half of your wardrobe is full of old used clothes.” 

Dad chuckles.

Mom shakes her head but smiles. “Go. Have fun. You two don’t get much time together anymore.”

Layla winks at me, but I know she has other motives. Shopping isn’t her style, it’s code for sister interrogation part two. Also because she thinks I’m still a fourteen-year-old who cried when she left for college. 

After breakfast, I shower and change into a white turtleneck and jeans, slipping my hair into a low bun. The bruise on my neck has faded a little, but the turtleneck has to stay on. I’m not taking chances.

Before we leave, I grab my phone. No new messages from Aiden.
That should make me feel better.
It doesn’t.

The silence feels heavier than the words ever did.

Layla drives us to a small café near downtown. It’s quiet, cozy, full of plants and sunlight. The kind of place where everything feels safe and ordinary.

We order iced lattes, then sit by the window.

Layla sips her drink, eyes on me. “So,” she says, drawing the word out. “Want to tell me what’s really going on?” 

I groan. “You’re unbelievable.” 

“Yeah, I get that a lot.” She leans back. “You’ve been weird all morning. I can tell. You keep zoning out, checking your phone, and flinching every time it buzzes.”

I stare down at my coffee. “It’s nothing.” 

“Nothing doesn’t make you look like you saw a ghost. And I’m very much worried about my little sister.” 

Her tone is soft now, not teasing. I sigh. “It’s just… he texted again. Last night.” 

She frowns. “What did he say?” 

“Just texted ‘good night’ and asked if I’m okay.” I say. It’s not the full truth, but at least it’s not a lie. I don’t want to tell her about how he showed up last night, the obsessive texts, the stalking.

Because strangely enough, it makes me feel safe. Like I’m protected. 

You don’t need protection, Lana. Is this what you learned self-defense for? 

I bite my lip, humbled by my own mind, but I do feel safe… and I can’t help it. 

Layla frowns. “So like, normal?” 

“I don’t know.” I reply, I know nothing when it comes to him. 

“Lana.” She says my name quietly but firmly. “You need to get your mind off of him.” 

“I know.” 

“No, you don’t.” She gets up, pulling me with her, my iced latte still in my hands. 

I swallow hard. “Where are you—” 

She cuts me off. “Shh, we’re going to have some fun. Girl’s day out, baby!” 

I smile. It’s good to see her like this, she was always the responsible one, until Dante. He made her more playful, unserious, and even funny. 

She drives to a mall nearby, and we walk through a few stores. Layla picks clothes I usually wear on occasions, not in daily life; short skirts, cropped jackets, colors that actually stand out.

I dress boldly, depending on my mood. I’m gothic, basic, girly, literally everything. I don’t care too much about showing my skin, as long as it’s comfortable. 

“You can’t keep dressing like a Victorian ghost,” she says, holding up a short dark red dress. “Try this.”

I roll my eyes but take it. She grins, triumphant. 

I change in the dressing room, the dress barely reaches my mid thighs. I like it though, it looks hot. I snap a few pictures, and post one on my public Instagram story.

It’s a selfie where I’m looking up at the camera, a hand on my neck where the hickey rests to hide it, the outline and cleavage of my breasts visible, and showing where the dress ends on my thighs. I post it with no caption and no music, and the next moment, comments are filling in. 

User_670: My eyes have been blessed.

I_love_hotties: Mommy?

Lanalover: Be my girlfriend.

Evelynevans: That’s my girl right there!

Lanalover_69: Be my wife instead. 

Jude.reeve: Oh my god.

Stella_hearts: gorgeousss!

Evelynevans: I (s) creamed. 

Leftbuttcheek: Damn.

Stella_hearts: my baby.

Im_outof_here: Reeve is going to kill y’all. 

I smile at the compliments, scoffing at the dirty comments by anonymous people, but anyway.

I decided to get that dress. 

Layla and I shop for a long time, going through different stores, definitely over-consuming, but it’s okay. I barely shop on my own.

By the time we’re done, the backseat is full of shopping bags and I’m exhausted.

“Want ice cream?” Layla asks. 

“Yes!” My period cravings are still present.

She smiles, driving to our favourite ice cream place. When we go in she orders for both of us, getting our usual order but I excuse myself to go to the bathroom since we accidentally meet one of Layla’s friends. 

I finish my business in the bathroom, about to head out when he enters.

I freeze, no words escaping me as he approaches me. 

He really has a problem with barging into girl’s bathrooms. “Lana.” He says.

“W-what are you doing here?” I’m obviously intimidated by his presence, and honestly, who wouldn’t be? I notice he has an ice cream cup in his hand, vanilla flavoured. 

“You threw my gift away, you posted that picture, and now you’re wearing a turtleneck to hide my mark on you. Take a guess, sweetheart.” He says, his voice is low and dangerous. 

“I… Well, it’s my choice.”

He nods. “It is. But don’t hide my mark on you. Show it to me.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Are you stupid? Why would I?” 

“Show it to me, Lana. It belongs to me.” He says, not backing away.

“No.” 

“I’ll have to do it myself then.” He smirks, his hands coming to my sides.

“No! Ugh, fine.” I pull the turtleneck down a little bit from the collar. 

He rolls his eyes. “Not good enough.” 

I try to pull it lower but Aiden’s fingers pull it out and over my head. I stand in front of him in my jeans and black bra. 

I snatch the turtleneck from his hand, covering myself with it. He leans in closer to my neck.

“I draw too baby, only on you.” He says. Then I feel cold liquid trailing down my collarbone and I realize it’s him spreading ice cream on me. 

“W-what… are you d-doing?” I shiver from the cold sensation.

He doesn’t reply, licking the ice cream off of my neck and collarbone, trailing his tongue down to the outline of my breasts. He sucks and licks every drop off, while maintaining eye contact with me and I dare to look into his eyes, biting my lower lip. 

He repeats the process, and I can feel his eyes on me. His gaze is heavy, controlling, his eyes drooping as if he’s drunk. 

“It’s getting harder to control myself, sweetheart.” He whispers, his voice raspy and deep with restraint. 

I notice his condition, my cheeks heating up as I look at him. 

Then, as if I’m hit with sudden realization, I remember how he just barged in the bathroom again and took me. And once again, I let him. It’s pissing me off how he can manipulate my mind, my body, and sometimes… even my heart. But I can’t do this. For the sake of myself. 

I put my turtleneck back on, and took a step forward, refusing to let him intimidate me. I’m already annoyed because of my period, and he’s not helping. “How did you know where I was? You can’t just follow me everywhere and—”

“Follow? I was simply making sure you’re okay,” he interrupts, voice dropping an octave, sending shivers down my spine. “You missed school. You never miss school, so consider me… concerned.” 

“I didn’t come because I didn’t want to, okay? I’m tired of dealing with your drama every day! Maybe seek help and learn how to care without using psychopathic ways.” 

“Call it what you want, Lana. I call it… claiming what’s mine.”

I snap, anger flaring. “MINE?” I spit the word out like it’s poison. “You don’t get to say that. You don’t get to own me! And I’m not a freaking child!”

He tilts his head, amused, those golden-brown eyes boring into mine. “Not own… protect. Watch. Mark.” His hand lifts, fingers grazing the curve of my shoulder, not touching, just teasing, testing. “And yet, you fight it so beautifully. That’s what I like about you.”

I take a deep breath, voice low and dangerous. “Fight it? I’m not just fighting it, Aiden. I’m fucking furious that you think you can dictate me, think you can claim me like a prize.”

A flicker of surprise crosses his face, quickly replaced by that calm, lethal smile. “Oh, I don’t think, Lana. I know.”

My hands clench into fists at my sides. “You think because you’re strong? Because you’re… dominant? Because everyone’s afraid of you?” My voice trembles with frustration and something darker. “You don’t get me that easily!” 

He steps closer, the heat from his body hitting me, the muscles beneath his clothes radiating power. “Try me,” he whispers, voice rough, almost a growl. “I dare you.” 

I glare up at him, refusing to back down. “You’re dangerous, Aiden. And controlling. And toxic,” I pause, my chest heaving. “And I hate you!”  

He smirks, amused by my defiance, by the fire radiating from me. “Good,” he says. “Because I like my woman, dangerous, fiery, unafraid to fight. You belong to me, with me, and beside me, Lana, whether you like it or not. That doesn’t mean you’re weak or dependent. It means you’re mine.” 

“I AM NOT YOURS!” I roar, stepping forward until we’re just inches apart, the heat of his body nearly unbearable. “I’m not anyone’s property, Aiden. I’m not a toy you mark, or a prize you claim, or some fragile little thing you decide belongs to you!”

His chest rises as he laughs softly, that deep, dangerous sound that vibrates against my chest. “And yet,” he says, voice low and lethal, “here you are. In front of me. Fighting. Breathing. Alive. And every bit of you wants me.”

I bite my lip, swallowing hard against the heat rising in my throat. “You think I do?” I hiss. “Do you really think I crave the chains you put around me? Or the way you think you control everything?” 

“Yes.” He steps closer again, until our noses almost brush, the scent of him intoxicating, dangerous, impossible. “I know you do. And I don’t ask for permission, Lana. I take it because you let me. Even when you scream, even when you fight, you let me.”

I snort, furious, my hands balling into fists. “You’re insane. Completely insane and totally ridiculous.”

“And you love it,” he says calmly, smirk curling his lips. “You hate me. And you love me. And you’ll fight me. And I’ll push until you break. And you’ll still come back. Because, deep down, you know who owns your fire, and who can match it.” 

My chest tightens, and for a second, I feel the pull, the raw pull of his dominance, but I force myself to step back. “Get this inside your head: I do not belong to anyone, Aiden. Not even you.”

He tilts his head, unreadable, and a small, dangerous smile creeps over his lips. “We’ll see about that.”

And just like that, he steps back, smirk never fading, leaving me panting, furious, trembling, not from fear, but from the intensity of being seen, challenged, and wanted all at once.

I sink to the floor, pressing my back against the cool tile, hands clutching my knees, mind racing. He’s toxic. He’s controlling. He’s dangerous. But God, he’s impossible to forget.

The echo of his words linger in the bathroom long after the door swings shut behind him: “We’ll see about that.”

And in some dark corner of my mind, I already know… the fight isn’t over.

I leave the bathroom once I have calmed down, returning to see my sister waiting for me. She’s no longer talking to her friend, but looking at her phone impatiently. 

“You’re finally back!” She says.

I nod as she hands me my ice cream.

“Lana?” She looks sheepish. 

“Hmm?” I hum, savouring the taste of my favourite ice cream.

“I might not come back home today,” She pauses. “Dante was calling… and something came up.” 

I rolled my eyes, smiling, of course something came up. “It’s okay, just let me finish my ice cream.” 

She nods absentmindedly but once her phone buzzes, her eyes widen and she gets up. “Nevermind, we’re leaving right now.” 

“But my ice cr—” 

She grabs my arm and forces me up, mumbling something under her breath. 

“What’s wrong?” I ask once we’re seated in the car. 

“Just some… work stuff, baby,” She smiles. “Don’t worry about it.” 

I nod, not believing a word. But I know it’s probably another thing with Dante. 

The rest of the drive is filled with us singing along to songs together until we reach home. She drops me off at around three, hugging me tightly. We exchange ‘I love yous’ and she kisses my cheek before she leaves. 

The house feels too quiet without her. 

I drop the shopping bags in my room and sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the folded curtains. The petal still hides in my trashcan like a secret.

I should feel relieved that he hasn’t texted since last night. Instead, there’s this strange emptiness sitting in my chest, like something’s missing.

I hate that I feel that way.

I spend my time doing the school work I missed and preparing for finals. Evelyn calls me in the middle, ranting about how she made another bet with Easton and she hates herself. Later we call on the girl’s group chat and seeing and simply talking to them, automatically makes my mood better. 

Evening comes faster than I expect. The sky outside turns a pale orange, and the air hums with the sound of distant cars. I sit by the window again, sketchbook open, pencil in hand, but my mind keeps drifting back to the same thought. 

What if he’s still watching? 

I glance outside. Nothing but trees and shadows. No figure this time. No movement. 

Still, the thought lingers like smoke.

Dinner is quieter than last night. Mom and Dad talk about work, about how Dad’s business trip might get extended. I nod and smile when they talk to me, but my answers are short. 

I hate business trips sometimes. Dad usually takes mom with him, so they can work and travel together, they can’t survive without each other. But when they’re gone and Layla is at her place or work, I’m lonely at home. 

I hate being lonely. It reminds me of the basement, the cold, the lonely, empty walls. I try to call my girl’s over but obviously, I can’t every day. 

After dinner, I go back to my room. I lock the door, not because I think anyone will come in, but because I need the illusion of control, the need to know I’m safe.

The petal’s still there in my trashcan, and before I know it, I’m tracing its outline in my sketchbook, sketching the curves and shadows until it looks almost alive. 

When I finish drawing, I write one word underneath it. 

Why? 

I close the sketchbook and put it away. 

The phone buzzes once on my nightstand, and my heart jumps.

But it’s just Evelyn, sending memes to the group chat.

I exhale, half relieved, half disappointed.

It’s close to ten when my phone lights up again. This time, it’s him.

Satan: Lana?
Satan: Don’t worry, you’re safe.

My chest tightens, and my heart feels okay. 

Me: Were you watching me again?
Satan: I didn’t need to. You glow without knowing it.

I stare at the message, unsure what to feel. The words are gentle, almost beautiful, but coming from him, they twist into something else.

Me: Don’t do that.
Satan: Do what?
Me: Say things like that.
Satan: Why not?
Me: Because you don’t mean them.

There’s a long pause before he replies.

Satan: You’d be surprised what I mean.

I turn off the phone. I can’t do this tonight.

I crawl under the blanket, pulling it up to my chin, staring at the faint glow from the streetlight outside.

Sleep doesn’t come right away.

I keep hearing Layla’s voice in my head. Complicated doesn’t mean good.

But then another voice, darker, quieter, replaces it. His.

You shouldn’t leave your curtains open.

When I wake again, it’s still dark outside. I don’t know what woke me; maybe a sound, maybe just my own thoughts.

I sit up, listening. Nothing but the faint hum of the heater.

I glance at the window. The curtains moved slightly, like a breeze slipped through.

My chest tightens.

I get out of bed slowly, step closer, and pull the curtain back just an inch.

No one’s there.

Only the night sky, stars faint above the rooftops.

I almost laugh at myself for being so paranoid, until I see it.

Another petal. This one caught in the corner of the window frame, darker than the first, like it’s been there for hours. 

It has a note. “I don’t want you to be scared of me, love, at least not in this way.” 

I press my palm flat against the glass, my breath fogging it again.

Somewhere out there, hidden by the dark, I feel it, the pull, the awareness. Like someone’s gaze lingering just a second too long.

I close the curtain and step back, my heartbeat echoing in my ears.

For the second time in twenty-four hours, I know one thing for sure:

He was here again. 

******

To Be Continued.

Guys, please vote and comment😞