Maya's POV
I woke up in my own bed.
For a second, I thought last night had been a nightmare. Just a horrible dream brought on by stress and paranoia.
Then I saw Jake sitting in the chair by the window, watching me.
"Good morning, beautiful," he said, like nothing had happened. Like he hadn't drugged me. Like he hadn't admitted to kidnapping Emily.
I tried to sit up, but my body felt heavy and slow. My arm throbbed where he'd stuck the needle.
"Don't worry, it's just a mild sedative," Jake said calmly. "Enough to keep you manageable, not enough to make you sick. Can't have you looking unwell at the gallery tonight. People might ask questions."
"Jake, please—"
"Here's how today is going to work." He stood and walked to the bed, sitting on the edge. I tried to move away, but my muscles wouldn't cooperate. "You're going to act normal. We'll have breakfast. You'll get dressed in something pretty. Tonight, we'll go to Sebastian's gallery opening together, and you'll smile and be charming. If you try to run, if you try to tell anyone, I'll hurt your mother."
My blood went cold. "You wouldn't."
"I made her sick yesterday with just a small amount of poison in her food. Imagine what I could do with a larger dose." His hand brushed my cheek, and I wanted to scream. "Your father too. Your friends. Anyone you care about. I know where they all live, Maya. I've been watching them for weeks."
Tears burned my eyes. "Why are you doing this?"
"Because you're perfect." His voice was soft, almost loving. "Just like Emily was perfect. Beautiful, smart, kind. The kind of woman everyone loves. The kind of woman who makes a man look good."
"Emily escaped. Someone will find her. She'll tell the police—"
Jake laughed. It was a cold, empty sound. "Emily's dead, Maya. She escaped the cabin, yes. Made it almost two miles through the woods before I caught her. She fought so hard." His eyes went distant, remembering. "But she fell. Hit her head on a rock. I didn't mean to kill her. I just wanted to keep her."
My stomach turned. "The police will figure it out."
"No, they won't. They didn't find her body. They won't find yours either." He stood up, straightening his shirt. "Now, let's have breakfast. We have a big night ahead."
The day passed in a fog. Jake watched my every move. When I went to the bathroom, he stood outside the door. When I tried to text on my phone—which mysteriously worked again—he took it away.
"You'll get it back at the gallery," he said. "For photos. Everyone needs to see how happy we are."
By six o'clock, I was dressed in a blue dress Jake had picked out. He'd done my makeup himself, covering the dark circles under my eyes. In the mirror, I looked perfect. Like a normal girl going on a date with her boyfriend.
But my eyes told a different story. They were the eyes of someone trapped.
"Beautiful," Jake said, appearing behind me in the mirror. "Sebastian's going to love you."
The gallery was downtown, a converted warehouse with white walls and track lighting. People crowded the space, holding wine glasses and admiring paintings. Soft music played overhead.
Jake kept his hand on the small of my back as we entered. To everyone else, it probably looked protective. Loving. Only I could feel how his fingers pressed a little too hard, a silent reminder not to try anything.
"Jake! You made it!" A tall man with paint-stained jeans and wild curly hair rushed over. This must be Sebastian.
"Wouldn't miss it, man. Your work is incredible." Jake shook his hand, then pulled me forward. "Sebastian, this is Maya. My girlfriend."
Girlfriend. The word felt like a prison sentence.
"It's so nice to meet you!" Sebastian's smile was genuine and warm. "Jake talks about you constantly. I was beginning to think you were imaginary."
"Nice to meet you too," I managed to say. My voice sounded normal, which seemed impossible.
"Come, let me show you around." Sebastian gestured to the paintings on the walls. "This collection is called 'Hidden Truths.' It's about the faces we show the world versus who we really are underneath."
He led us through the gallery, explaining each piece. One painting showed a woman smiling at a party, but her reflection in a window behind her showed her crying. Another showed a man shaking hands, but his shadow had claws.
"This one's my favorite," Sebastian said, stopping in front of a large canvas. It showed a couple holding hands, looking perfect and in love. But if you looked closely, the man's hand was actually a chain wrapped around the woman's wrist. "It's called 'Perfect Prisoner.' It's about relationships where one person controls the other, but makes it look like love."
I stared at the painting, my heart pounding. It was exactly what Jake was doing to me.
"Powerful stuff," Jake said casually, but his hand tightened on my back.
"Actually, I based it on something that happened to a friend." Sebastian's voice dropped lower. "She was dating this guy who seemed perfect. Charming, successful, attentive. But slowly, he isolated her from everyone. Controlled where she went, who she talked to. By the time she realized what was happening, she felt trapped."
"That's terrible," Jake said. "What happened to her?"
"She got away. Barely." Sebastian looked directly at me when he said it. "She left everything behind and ran. Started over in a new city. She said it was the hardest thing she'd ever done, but it saved her life."
Our eyes met, and something passed between us. A message. A warning.
Or was it recognition?
"Excuse me," I said suddenly. "I need to use the restroom."
Jake's hand clamped down. "I'll come with you."
"To the women's bathroom?" I forced a laugh. "I'll be right back. Two minutes."
For a moment, I thought he'd refuse. Then Sebastian spoke up. "The bathrooms are in the back corner, Maya. Can't miss them. Jake, while she's gone, I wanted to ask you about that investment opportunity you mentioned."
Jake hesitated, torn between watching me and maintaining his normal-guy act. Finally, he released me. "Two minutes," he said quietly. "That's all."
I walked toward the bathrooms, my heart racing. I could feel Jake's eyes on my back. I couldn't run—he'd catch me, and then he'd hurt my family. But maybe I could find help. Tell someone. Anyone.
The bathroom was empty. I locked myself in a stall and tried to think. My phone was in Jake's pocket. There was no window to climb through. No way out except the door I'd come in.
I was trapped.
Then I heard the bathroom door open. Footsteps. Had Jake followed me anyway?
"Maya?" A woman's voice, soft and urgent. "Are you in here?"
I didn't recognize the voice. "Who's there?"
"Someone who's trying to help you. Someone who knows what Jake really is."
Slowly, I unlocked the stall door and stepped out.
A woman stood by the sinks. She was thin, with short dark hair and a jagged scar running down her left arm. She looked at me with eyes that had seen terrible things.
"My name is Emily Chen," she said. "And we have about ninety seconds before Jake comes looking for you."
The room spun. "But Jake said you were dead. He said you fell and hit your head—"
"He thinks I'm dead. I made sure of it." Emily grabbed my shoulders. "Listen carefully. Tonight, Jake is going to drug you and take you to a cabin in the woods. I escaped from that cabin three months ago, but I had to disappear completely. Change my name, my face, everything. Because if Jake knew I was alive, he'd come after me again."
"Why are you here?"
"Because when I heard he had a new girlfriend named Maya Chen, I knew he was starting over. He has a type—Asian women with the last name Chen. It feeds some sick fantasy in his head." Emily pulled a card from her pocket and pressed it into my hand. "This is the address of a safe house. When you get a chance, run there. Don't go home. Don't go to the police—he has connections there, people who helped him cover up his crimes. Just run."
"But my family—"
"I know about his threats. I've been documenting everything, building a case against him with a private investigator. We're close to having enough evidence to arrest him, but we need a few more days. Can you stall him? Can you play along until we're ready?"
The bathroom door handle rattled. "Maya?" Jake's voice. "You okay in there?"
Emily's eyes widened with fear. She mouthed one word: "Run."
Then she slipped into a stall and locked it just as Jake pushed open the door.
"There you are," he said, his smile tight. "You were taking a while. I got worried."
"Just fixing my makeup." I showed him the card Emily had given me, but held it so he could only see the blank back. "Someone dropped this. I was going to turn it in at the front desk."
Jake took the card and flipped it over. His face went pale.
On the front was the address of the safe house. And below it, in small print: "Emily Chen - Survivor."
Jake's head snapped up. He looked around the bathroom wildly. "She's here. Emily's here."
He lunged for the stall Emily had entered and kicked the door open.
It was empty.
Impossible. I'd just seen her go in there. There was no window, no other exit.
"Where is she?" Jake grabbed my arms, shaking me. "Where's Emily?"
"I don't know! I don't know who gave me that card!"
Jake's face twisted with rage and something else—fear. Emily being alive changed everything. She was proof of his crimes. Proof he could go to prison.
He dragged me out of the bathroom, moving fast. People in the gallery stared as we passed.
"Jake, you're hurting me—"
"We're leaving. Now."
Sebastian stepped in front of us. "Hey, is everything okay?"
"Move," Jake snarled.
"I don't think so." Sebastian's friendly expression had vanished. Behind him, I saw gallery security moving closer. "See, Maya left her phone on the bathroom counter earlier. When I went to return it, I found something interesting in her recent calls. A 911 call that was placed but never completed. That's suspicious, don't you think?"
Jake's grip on my arm tightened painfully. "She's not feeling well. I need to take her home."
"Or," a new voice said from behind us, "you could let her go."
We all turned.
Emily stood there, very much alive, flanked by two police officers.
"Hello, Jake," she said calmly. "Surprise. I didn't hit my head on a rock. I made it out of those woods, and I've spent the last three months making sure you never hurt anyone again."
Jake's face went white. Then red. His hand moved to his pocket—where I knew he kept another syringe.
"Don't," one officer warned, hand on his gun.
For a moment, everything froze. The gallery was silent. Everyone watching.
Then Jake smiled.
It was his real smile this time. Not charming. Not loving. Something cold and broken and cruel.
"If I can't have you," he whispered to me, "then no one will."
He pulled the syringe from his pocket.
But he didn't stab me with it.
He stabbed himself.
And as the tranquilizer flooded his system, as his eyes rolled back and he collapsed to the floor, he laughed.
"You think this is over?" he slurred. "You think I'm the only one? There are others, Maya. Others who do what I do. Others who've been watching you. This was never just about me."
Then his eyes closed, and he went limp.
The police rushed forward, calling for an ambulance. Sebastian pulled me into a protective hug while Emily stood beside me, her hand on my shoulder.
"It's okay," Emily said. "You're safe now."
But as they carried Jake's unconscious body away on a stretcher, his phone buzzed in the officer's hand.
The officer looked at the screen and his face went pale.
"What is it?" I asked.
He turned the phone toward me.
A text message from an unknown number:
"Don't worry, Jake. Phase Two begins tonight. We'll finish what you started. She'll never see us coming."
Below the message was a photo.
Of me, taken from outside the gallery window.
Taken thirty seconds ago.