Still breathing
961 Words
Still Breathing
I gasp awake, my heartbeat erratic as pain pounds against my skull.
For a moment, I can only stare.
The room around me is unfamiliar — dark walls, expensive furniture, soft gray curtains swaying slightly from the breeze slipping through the open balcony doors.
This isn’t my room.
Cold panic crawls beneath my skin.
Why am I not in my room?
I push myself upright too quickly, my head spinning as fragments of last night crash into me all at once.
The bathroom.
The darkness.
The shadow.
The hands.
A sharp breath leaves me.
No.
No, it couldn’t have been him.
Couldn’t have been my stalker—
“Aria.””
My head snaps toward the doorway.
Sophia stands there, relief flooding her features the second she sees me awake.
“Oh my God,” she breathes, stepping into the room. “I’m so glad you’re okay. We were worried sick.”
I swallow hard. “We?”
“Yes. Me and Dominic.” She walks closer, crossing her arms. “He’s the one who found you, by the way. You passed out on the terrace.”
I blink at her.
“The terrace?”
“Yeah.” Her brows pull together. “Honestly, Aria, what were you even doing out there?”
Confusion twists painfully in my chest.
“I wasn’t on the terrace,” I say slowly. “I was in the bathroom.”
Sophia frowns.
“We were both in the bathroom,” I continue. “You left after the fire alarm.”
“I did,” she admits carefully. “But when I came back, you were gone.”
Gone.
The word settles heavily inside me.
“No.” I shake my head immediately. “No, someone was there. I remember it.” My fingers tighten around the blanket. “I saw someone.”
Sophia’s expression softens with pity, and somehow that irritates me more.
“Maybe you wandered out after you panicked?”
“How?” I snap. “I could barely breathe.”
Silence falls between us.
I drag a hand through my hair, forcing myself to calm down before I completely lose it.
“Where are we?” I ask quietly.
“At Dominic’s house.”
Every muscle in my body locks.
“The doctor just left,” she adds quickly. “You should stay here tonight.”
A cold wave of dread crashes over me.
No.
Absolutely not.
I throw the blanket aside and climb out of bed.
Sophia immediately grabs my shoulders. “What are you doing?”
“Leaving.”
“Aria, you literally just regained consciousness.”
“I don’t care.”
She exhales sharply. “You can’t seriously think running off after what happened is smart.”
“I would rather pass out a hundred times than stay here.”
The words come out harsher than I intend, but I don’t take them back.
Ignoring her protests, I grab my heels and sling my bag over my shoulder. Relief flickers briefly inside me when I realize my clothes haven’t been changed, even if they’re wrinkled beyond saving.
“Aria—”
“I’m going home.”
The word home feels strange in my mouth.
I lost my real home the day my parents died, but even my uncle’s house feels safer than this place.
I step into the hallway without looking back.
Two massive guards stand outside the bedroom doors. One moves as if to stop me before freezing under my glare.
Good.
I’ve spent enough years around mafia men to know exactly how to look unapproachable.
Freedom is only a few steps away when a single word destroys it.
“Wife.”
I stop cold.
Slowly, I turn around.
Dominic stands at the end of the hallway, one hand tucked into his pocket, his expression unreadable.
But I know him well enough to see beneath the mask.
Anger.
Possessiveness.
Control.
All carefully buried beneath calm.
I force a smile onto my face even though my cheeks ache from the effort.
“Where are you going?” he asks, his voice smooth as he walks toward me.
I instinctively step backward, closer to the front door.
His mouth curves slightly.
He notices.
Dominic has always loved the chase.
“I have a shoot tomorrow,” I lie quickly. “I need to go home.”
“Really?” His tone is almost amused. “You should’ve told me. I would’ve driven you myself.”
He glances toward the guards.
“Although I think my men are still terrified of you.”
A nervous laugh escapes me.
“You don’t have to. My manager is coming to pick me up.”
“I insist.”
The two words land like chains.
He stops directly in front of me.
Then his hand rises slowly, fingertips brushing against my cheek.
Every nerve in my body tenses.
I try not to flinch.
I fail.
His eyes darken instantly.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
My throat tightens.
Dominic hates weakness.
And I’ve just handed him mine.
“You’ve been through a lot tonight,” he says softly, lowering his hand. “So my men will take you home.”
Relief nearly crashes through me before he adds—
“And afterward, we’ll have a conversation about your manners.”
A conversation.
That’s what he calls it.
Not the bruises.
Not the pain.
Not the burns that leave scars hidden beneath expensive dresses.
A conversation.
I smile anyway, even as tears sting my eyes.
Dominic returns the smile easily before turning and walking away like he hasn’t just stolen the air from my lungs.
And in that moment, I know something with terrifying certainty.
I would rather die than ever love him.
- Writer
