ANA:
As I ran through the woods, my lungs burned with every scream for help, but it didn't matter—he was still chasing me. Benny. Devil. Enzo. Whatever his name was. He was after me, relentless, as if he wanted to pin me down, to claim me, to make me regret ever trusting him.
The terror was suffocating, wrapping around me like a second skin. I pushed through the dense woods, past the grass and shrubs, over the little bridge that spanned the rushing fall. Yet, he was always there—unstoppable. Restless.
"What do you want?!" I screamed into the darkness, my voice trembling with desperation.
His reply was chilling, echoing through the trees with a familiarity that made my stomach turn. "You. All I ever wanted is you."
And then—everything vanished. I was falling. Falling endlessly, the ground ripped away beneath me. My breath caught in my throat as I plummeted into nothingness, until—I gasped, my eyes flying open. My chest heaved as reality settled in. I wasn't in the woods anymore. I hadn't fallen off a cliff.
I was in a room.
It was lavish, designer-furnished, every inch of it crafted with intention. But the air was heavy—stifling. The atmosphere radiated something darker, something oppressive. Fear.
And then there was the scent. Masculine. Intoxicating. Familiar. It twisted my stomach in knots, making bile rise in my throat. I knew that scent too well. From the first time I held onto him on a bike. From the library. From...
From every moment I'd let my guard down. How hadn't I recognized it before? When he pinned me down in the woods? When he invaded my room? It was the same scent, unmistakable and taunting. I forced myself to look around, and what I saw made my blood run cold.
He was right.
All he ever wanted was me.
Hundreds of portraits of me covered the walls—big, small, medium—it didn't matter. They were everywhere. My face, frozen in moments I hadn't even realized were being watched. Pictures from high school in New York. From a party I attended in London. From that carefree trip to Bali.
He had it all.
The realization hit me like a punch to the gut, and I staggered back, nausea clawing at me. The room was beautiful in its design—red and black, sleek and luxurious. It should've been breathtaking, but all I could feel was suffocation.
Betrayal.
And a hurt so deep it felt like my soul had been shattered.
I wanted to scream. To run. To wake up and find myself somewhere—anywhere—else. But I couldn't move. The walls closed in around me, the portraits staring down like ghosts of my own memories, reminding me of the truth I could no longer deny.
I shot up from the bed, my pulse racing, and stormed toward the door. Not surprisingly, it was locked. Of course, it was locked. I checked my pockets—my phone was gone too. What was I even thinking? That he'd keep me here as a guest? Like some willing participant in his twisted game?
He's a stalker.
A murderer.
A liar.
A devil.
And yet, the person I'm most furious with is myself. How could I have fallen for his lies? For even a second, I let myself believe he wanted to help me, that maybe—just maybe—I was misjudging him. But I wasn't.
He spun a web of deceit so intricate, so perfect, that it ensnared me completely. Years of manipulation. Every story. Every carefully planted moment. All of it... just to get me. How could I have been so blind? So utterly foolish? I crumpled to the floor as tears broke free, sliding down my face unchecked. At least this—this pain, this humiliation—is something I deserve.
I don't know how long I stayed there, motionless, feeling the weight of his betrayal press down on my chest like a boulder. The soft sound of rain outside pulled me from my haze. When did it start raining? How did I even get here?
None of it mattered. What mattered was that I had to get out. Now.
I pushed myself up, adrenaline pounding through my veins as I scoured the room. Window to window. Wall to wall. Drawer to drawer. My hands trembled as I searched for something—anything—that could help me.
And then I heard it. A footstep. My heart stopped.
Was it him?
Is this how it ends for me?
No.
No, I couldn't let that happen. I couldn't let him win. I am a Brown. And we fight. With every ounce of willpower left in me, I pressed on, tearing through the room in a frantic, desperate search. My hands flew to the bedside table, and in the first drawer, I froze.
There it was. A gun.
Not just any gun. The gun.
The one I'd used on him. The one he'd used on me. A chill ran down my spine as my fingers hovered over it, trembling.
Fuck. Me.