Aarya didn't sleep.
She couldn't.
The black envelope, the mark on her skin, the messages—they clung to her mind like thorns. Her thoughts were a battlefield, torn between fear and curiosity, panic and desire. Every time she closed her eyes, Vikram's voice echoed in her ears like a hypnotic lullaby dipped in venom.
"You came to me willingly, remember that."
But had she?
Was anything that night really her choice? Or was she simply caught in a storm that had been brewing long before she even met him?
By morning, the city outside buzzed as usual—unaware, indifferent. But inside her apartment, time stood still. She sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the photograph again. The blurred figure in the background… it haunted her.
She wanted to believe it was just a coincidence, a trick of light. But her gut knew better. This wasn't random.
It was planned.
And suddenly, she remembered something—just a flicker—a detail her mind had pushed into the shadows.
That night, when she was walking back from the hotel room, drunk on Vikram's touch and something more sinister… she had stumbled for a second. Someone had helped her up. A man. No face. No name.
He had whispered, "You're his now."
She'd thought it was part of her dazed imagination. A fragment of a wild night.
But what if it wasn't?
She jumped to her feet, heart pounding. She had to know the truth.
She grabbed her bag and rushed outside, the cold wind biting at her cheeks. Her destination: the hotel from that night.
She needed answers.
And the only place to start… was at the scene of the crime.
Inside the lobby, everything was eerily unchanged. Same marble floors. Same crystal chandelier. Same polished smiles on the staff.
She approached the front desk.
"I stayed here last week. I lost something in the room. Can I check the guest log?"
The receptionist blinked. "Ma'am, I'm afraid we can't share that information—"
Aarya leaned closer. "I think I was drugged that night."
Silence.
The man's expression faltered.
She saw it.
Fear.
He turned slightly, lowered his voice. "I… I can't tell you anything. But someone else came asking about you two days ago."
Aarya's breath hitched. "What did he look like?"
The man hesitated. "Tall. Dark eyes. He didn't give his name. But he left this—said if you ever came back, I should give it to you."
He pulled a small, black velvet pouch from under the counter. Aarya opened it with trembling hands.
Inside was a key.
Attached to it was a note:
"Room 306. Come alone. Or the truth dies with you."
Her knees nearly buckled.
306.
The room.
Their room.
She was being pulled back into the fire. Into the place where it all began. But this time, she wouldn't be walking in blind.
This time, she wanted to see the flames up close.
Even if they burned her alive.
Aarya stood before the door.
Room 306.
The brass numbers glinted under the hallway light, and the key felt cold in her hand. Her heart was thudding so loud she could barely hear her own thoughts. Yet something inside her had gone quiet. Still. Like her soul was holding its breath.
She slid the key into the lock.
Click.
The door creaked open.
The room looked untouched—neat, sterile, as if the chaos of that night never happened. But the air held a scent she couldn't forget. Sandalwood and smoke. Him.
A rush of heat crawled up her spine. Her skin prickled.
She stepped in slowly, eyes scanning every inch. The bed. The mirror. The curtains still slightly parted, like someone had just left them. But something was off.
The mirror.
She walked toward it.
It was larger than she remembered—thicker, like it didn't belong in a hotel room. She leaned in closer, and her reflection seemed… delayed. Just half a second behind her.
Then her fingers touched the glass.
It was warm.
Her breath caught. A two-way mirror.
Someone had been watching.
The truth slammed into her like a scream in the dark—her most intimate moment, her vulnerability, her body, had been observed, studied, possibly recorded. Her stomach turned.
She spun around—something on the nightstand. A black folder.
Inside it… still photographs.
Her.
Lying on the bed.
Sleeping.
Twisting.
Touching her neck.
Unaware.
Each shot more invasive than the last.
And then… him.
Vikram.
But the image was wrong. Not seductive. Not playful.
Predatory.
Eyes dark. Hands clenched. Kneeling by her side like a worshipper before an altar.
What was this?
Some sick ritual?
Or something darker?
Aarya flipped the last photograph and found a note scrawled in sharp black ink.
"This is what desire looks like when it's no longer a choice."
Suddenly, the door behind her slammed shut.
Aarya spun.
But no one was there.
The room was empty.
Yet she could feel him.
His presence clung to the walls like smoke. Like memory.
Or maybe…
He never left.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown Number:
"You opened the door. Now you can't close it."
Cliffhanger-
The door shut behind her with a soft click that sounded far too final. Aarya flinched.
The air in Room 9 pulsed with something feral—like the moment before a lightning strike. Her gaze swept the room: the camera, the wine, the bed made with unsettling precision. It was both intimate and clinical. A stage set for something unspoken.
Vikram didn't move. Didn't smile. Just watched her.
"You think this is a game," she said, stepping backward, fingers grazing the edge of the velvet drapes. "You think you can lure me here with roses and riddles and watch me unravel."
He took a step forward. Just one.
"It wasn't the rose that brought you here, Aarya."
Her pulse thundered in her ears.
"It was the part of you that already belongs to me."
She backed into the wall.
"No," she said, but the word came out like a breathless lie.
Vikram tilted his head, studying her like a predator waiting for his prey to stop pretending it's not already caught.
Then—
A sudden beep.
The camera blinked to life.
Recording.
Aarya's eyes widened. She turned toward it, panic seizing her—
But Vikram was already beside her.
He whispered into her ear, his breath like ice and fire all at once:
"I'm not the only one watching."
Before she could speak, before she could even scream, a second voice came through the hidden speaker in the corner.
Low. Familiar.
Amused.
"You finally stepped through the door, Aarya. Took you long enough."
Her blood ran cold.
Because it wasn't Vikram's voice.
It was hers.
Her own voice.
From a recording she never made.
And suddenly… she wasn't sure if this was about desire anymore.
Or control.
Or something far, far darker.
To be continued…