The faint creak of wood was the first thing Liam Thomas heard when he opened his eyes.
The contrast between the warmth trapped beneath the sheets and the cool air brushing his exposed skin made him shiver briefly, as if the house itself were reminding him that he did not yet fully belong to this new life.
The mattress still carried the recent scent of Alessia, interlaced with the remnants of his sleep.
Outside, the silence was thick—so thick that every small sound felt amplified, like a whisper in a cathedral.
He stretched slowly, still wrapped in the lingering warmth of the bed, and released a long breath.
He was in their new home.
And yet, something felt… different.
Soft morning light fell in slanted beams through the curtains.
The quiet wasn't peaceful.
It was expectant—like calm holding its breath.
He slipped on a half-buttoned shirt and walked barefoot into the kitchen.
The cold floor reminded him that summer was gone—and with it, every certainty.
That was when he saw her.
Alessia, facing away, wearing a loosely tied robe, her hair gathered with careless grace.
She was preparing his favorite breakfast—scrambled eggs with mushrooms, toast, strong coffee.
A familiar scent filled the space, but something was off.
The rhythm was wrong.
Her movements slow, imprecise.
As if her body remembered a life her spirit was struggling to imitate.
Liam smiled, but as he stepped closer, he noticed the tremor in her shoulders—fragile, out of place.
He approached her gently, not wanting to startle her.
—Good morning… —he murmured, voice still rough with sleep, leaning to kiss her neck.
She smiled, but didn't turn.
Her skin looked paler than usual—pale like candle wax under moonlight.
The light did not warm her.
It drained her.
Her hands moved carefully, but the slight tremor betrayed her strength fading.
The knife shook as she cut the bread.
She tried reaching into his mind—into his thoughts—like she always did.
To feel him.
To anchor herself.
But something blocked her.
A wall.
Cold.
Opaque.
Unreachable.
Her gift—the instinct as natural to her as breathing—had gone silent.
It felt like waking up without a sense she had never questioned possessing.
She touched her chest, over the place where a beating heart should have been.
And even without a pulse, it burned.
It was a warning.
A price.
She walked to the bathroom.
Her steps were unsteady, dragging slightly, as though each movement reminded her of the hunger tightening inside her like a fist.
The hallway was dim, lit only by a pale strip of morning at the far end.
The air was cold. Dry.
It smelled of old wood and the memory of rain.
With each step, her body trembled—not with fear.
With thirst.
A hunger that was no longer simply physical.
At the bathroom door, her hand trembled before twisting the handle.
She closed it softly behind her.
The light flickered on.
She stood before the mirror—
and, as always,
there was nothing.
No reflection.
No confirmation of form or self.
Only absence.
A silence shaped like a woman.
She raised trembling fingers to her own face, tracing the bones, the hollows, the faint lines of veins pressing closer to the surface.
Her skin was thinner.
Her hunger was growing teeth.
It has been too long since I fed…
The thought landed like a stone.
The need was rising—
deep, primal, ancient—
ready to strip away every restraint she had built around her heart.
She leaned forward until her breath fogged the cold glass.
Her eyelids closed—
and the crack inside her widened.
She had chosen love over survival.
And now her nature was collecting its debt.
…
When Liam returned to the dining room, she was standing by the window, holding a cup in both hands, pretending everything was fine.
The coffee barely steamed.
Her gaze was distant.
—I'd like to be alone today —she said softly, but with certainty.
Liam hesitated.
—Alone? Are you sure?
She nodded, still not looking at him.
—Sometimes I just… need space. It helps me center myself.
He watched her for a long second, searching for something he couldn't name.
Then nodded.
He took the car keys and walked out quietly.
I won't take it personally, he told himself, closing the door gently behind him.
But deep inside—
a small, sharp fear pulsed.
A fear he could not explain.
…
Only when the engine faded down the street did Alessia breathe again.
She went to their room and opened the wardrobe.
Black fitted pants.
A sleeveless top.
Leather boots.
Practical.
Elegant.
Deadly.
She tied her hair back into a high braid, lined her eyes with quiet precision, and slipped into a long coat that draped her like ancient shadow.
She left without a sound.
She crossed the city.
Then the woods.
She knew exactly where she was going.
The house stood isolated behind tall trees, luxury wrapped in silence.
The security cameras did not see her.
Locks held no meaning.
She entered like a whisper.
The man inside was adjusting his collar before a mirror—
the same man who had fired Liam ruthlessly, smugly, with pleasure.
The air in the room shifted.
He turned.
He felt her before he saw her.
She sat on his bed, one leg crossed over the other, smiling without warmth.
He backed away.
—Who—who are you? What are you doing in my house?
He didn't get to finish the thought.
The world snapped once—
sharp
clean
final.
His body fell before fear could fully bloom.
A slow circle of blood spread across the pale carpet, blooming like dark ink on paper.
Quiet.
Precise.
Inevitable.
Death did not need theatrics.
Only intention.
Alessia wiped her lips with a folded handkerchief.
Rinsed her mouth in the bathroom.
Her reflection remained nothing.
She looked at the blood still flowing.
—What a waste… —she murmured.
She took a fine bottle of wine from his kitchen.
Poured it down the sink.
Filled it with blood instead.
Stoppered it carefully—like sealing a rare perfume.
She smoothed his hair.
Straightened his shirt.
Closed his eyes with gentle fingers—
as one might tend to the dead in a church.
She leaned to his ear.
—You dismissed the man I love.
Had you not done that…
you might still be breathing.
Then she left.
Quiet as dusk.