The door clicked shut behind Meera, but her presence lingered like perfume—poisonous and unforgettable. Aarya stood in silence, her heart pounding so hard it echoed in her ears. Meera's words looped in her mind, each one slicing through her with surgical precision.
She moved towards the mirror on the wall, the same one Vikram had once stood in front of, his hand trailing down her spine, whispering promises that felt like silk—soft, seductive… suffocating. She stared at her reflection, trying to recognize herself in the woman who now wore fear like a second skin.
Was she really just a pawn?
She traced her finger along the edge of the mirror as if searching for answers in her own haunted eyes. "Why me?" she whispered.
And for a moment—just a moment—she swore her reflection blinked back slower than she did.
The apartment felt colder. As if someone had just walked through her again. As if Vikram was still here, watching, waiting. Her fingers curled against the cold marble surface beneath the mirror. She couldn't ignore it anymore—there was something deeper happening. Something dangerous.
Her phone buzzed.
She flinched.
Unknown Number:
"You shouldn't have let her in."
Aarya's blood ran cold.
Her fingers trembled as she typed back.
Aarya: Who is this?
Three dots. Typing.
Then they vanished.
Silence.
Then another message appeared.
Unknown Number:
"They're watching. And now they know you know."
She dropped the phone.
Panic surged in her chest, climbing her throat like wildfire. She backed away from the mirror, the room spinning. Who were they? What did they know?
And more terrifying… what did she know?
A knock at the door.
Aarya froze. Her pulse roared in her ears.
No one should be here. Not this late. Not after that message.
The knock came again—slower this time. Not urgent. Intentional. It wasn't a friendly knock. It was a warning.
She crept toward the door, not daring to breathe. She peeked through the peephole.
No one.
Just the hallway light flickering above like a dying star.
Her heart dropped to her stomach.
She turned back—but there, on the floor inside her apartment, lay a black envelope. It hadn't been there before.
Aarya's hand shook as she bent down, picking it up. The paper was thick, almost velvety. Her name was handwritten in dark crimson ink across the front.
She opened it.
Inside was a single photograph. Grainy. Surveillance-style.
Her.
In Vikram's arms.
The night it all began.
But it wasn't just that.
In the background, partially hidden in shadows…
Someone was watching them.
A tall figure in a long coat.
The face blurred.
But unmistakably present.
And on the back of the photo, scrawled in the same crimson ink:
"You were never alone that night."
Aarya sat still, clutching the photograph in her hand like it might vanish if she let go. Her mind reeled, trying to piece together the impossible puzzle laid at her feet. The edges of the photo bit into her palm, but she didn't care. Pain felt real—grounding.
Someone had been there that night. Watching. Recording.
But why?
And how long had they been following her?
The photograph was old, but the intent behind it was new—sharp and deliberate, meant to rattle her. To remind her that nothing about that night was an accident. Her meeting with Vikram, the way he looked at her like he already owned her, the pull between them that felt too intense to be natural… it had all been staged.
Her instincts screamed that she was in danger. Not just from Vikram, but from everything around him. And yet, beneath the fear… something darker coiled in her chest. A craving. A hunger to know. To peel back the lies and stare into the ugliness underneath.
She moved to the bathroom, needing to wash her face, maybe ground herself in something physical. The cold water rushed over her skin, shocking her back to the present. But as she glanced up into the mirror again, her breath caught in her throat.
On her neck—right above her collarbone—faint under the skin like a bruise barely forming… was a symbol.
No. Not a bruise.
It was etched into her.
A small, crescent-shaped mark.
Subtle. But not natural.
She didn't remember it before. She didn't feel it before.
Her fingers grazed it, and a wave of nausea swept through her. She stumbled back from the mirror, heart hammering.
What is this?
Who did this to me?
Her memories of that night were blurred at the edges, like a dream dipped in ink. She remembered the bar, the heat of Vikram's breath against her skin, his hands gripping her hips like he could mold her into his. But everything after the hotel room… was patchy. Fragmented.
Did he drug her?
Or worse—had he marked her?
The phone buzzed again.
Unknown Number:
"Now you see it. The first of many marks."
Aarya's stomach twisted. Her vision blurred as adrenaline surged.
Aarya: What do you want from me?
Three dots appeared. Then disappeared.
Then returned.
Unknown Number:
"You already gave him everything. Your body. Your fear. Now all he needs is your trust."
Her mouth went dry.
Trust.
That was the real game, wasn't it?
Not seduction. Not possession.
But surrender.
He didn't just want to own her.
He wanted her to choose him.
To love him.
To fall willingly into his darkness.
Aarya backed into the corner of the room, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Was she marked for destruction—or something worse?
The photo. The message. The symbol.
They weren't just threats.
They were warnings.
But the most terrifying thought of all?
Part of her didn't want to run.
Part of her wanted to find him again.
To ask him what it meant.
To feel that danger up close.
Even if it consumed her whole.
Cliffhanger-
Aarya's fingers trembled as she gripped the phone, the screen dimming just as the message vanished. Her instincts screamed at her to run, but her legs wouldn't move. The silence in the room was no longer just still—it was charged, thick, sentient. Then came the sound. A slow drag across carpet. She wasn't alone.
She turned sharply toward the bathroom door. It was ajar now—she was certain it had been closed. From the gap, a soft hum drifted out. A song. Familiar. Vikram's humming, low and hypnotic, just like that night.
Her breath hitched. She edged closer, each step a war against reason. She pushed the door wider—empty. No one.
But on the mirror, in something red and glistening, a single word was written:
"WELCOME BACK."
Behind her, the closet creaked.
Her phone buzzed again.
Unknown Number: "He never left. He's been waiting."
Aarya turned to run—but the lights went out.
And in the pitch black, a whisper curled around her ear:
"Now it's your turn."
To be continued…