10
2518 Words
KATHERINE
The house felt emptier than it ever had before.
After the door shut behind him, the echo clung to the walls, refusing to fade. My pulse had slowed, but the ghost of it still rattled in my chest.
I wanted to believe I could breathe again, that I was relieved he was gone, but my lungs refused to agree.
Instead, every inhale was shallow, shaky, like I was still holding onto the air he’d left behind.
Christophe.
The name pulsed in my head, uninvited. He hadn’t spoken to me, not yet. But when Silas stormed out earlier, when rage and desperation blurred in his voice, the stranger’s expression had shifted just briefly like a flicker of lightning in a storm. And in that flicker, the name had surfaced.
Christophe.
Because I had a faint, resurfaced memory of introducing himself the night he barged into my house.
I had been drunk shitless so of course, I couldn't remember, and this morning, I had been consumed with the intense hangover from last night and the panic of Silas being here that I had forgotten. But I remember it now.
I shouldn’t even know it. And yet it clung to me now, coiling tighter with every second.
I moved to the window, the night outside pressing against the glass like a second skin. The street was empty, silent, but my body refused to believe I was alone. His presence still clung to me, like smoke, like static.
When my reflection caught my eye, I was startled. Not because of what I saw, but because of how I looked flushed, unsettled, alive in a way I hadn’t been in months.
Maybe years. My hair was dishevelled, my lips parted, like I’d just run from something dangerous and thrilling.
I hated the truth of it. I hated that Christophe had made me feel that way.
The silence stretched until it became unbearable. So, I did what I always did when my thoughts threatened to drown me. I busied my hands.
I moved through the house, collecting the shards of broken glass from the floor, wiping the dark stains of Silas’s blood from the tiles, scrubbing harder than necessary as if I could erase everything that had happened tonight.
But some stains don’t come out. And no matter how hard I scrubbed, my skin still tingled where Christophe’s presence had hovered too close.
By the time I was finished, the clock had ticked past midnight. My body was heavy, exhaustion dragging at me, but sleep wasn’t an option. Not with his voice still echoing in my skull.
"Careful, Katherine… if you let me stay, you won’t want me to leave."
I gripped the counter to steady myself. It was ridiculous. He was a stranger. A mistake. A danger I should have already cast out of my life. And yet, every thought, every breath circled back to him.
I forced myself up the stairs, one slow step at a time, and collapsed into my bed without changing. The sheets were cold, the room too quiet, and my mind refused to quiet with it.
When sleep finally dragged me under, it wasn’t kind.
The dream was sharp, vivid.
A darkened hallway stretched before me, endless, lit only by a faint silver glow spilling from beneath a door at the far end. I walked toward it, though my legs trembled, though the air grew heavier with every step.
The door opened before I touched it. And there he was.
Christophe.
He leaned casually against the frame, the silver light washing over his features. High cheekbones, a strong jaw shadowed with stubble eyes that gleamed with an intensity I couldn’t place between danger and desire.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I whispered.
He smirked, the expression slow, devastating. “Neither should you.”
When I tried to move back, the hallway melted away. The walls dissolved into smoke until it was just the two of us, suspended in an endless dark.
“You’re not real,” I said, though my voice shook with doubt.
He stepped closer, the darkness bending to him like he commanded it. “And yet, here I am.”
The air thickened. My body ached with the need to move, to breathe, but I couldn’t. He reached out—not touching, never touching, but close enough that the heat of him seared across my skin.
“What do you want from me?”
His gaze darkened, softened, and sharpened all at once. “Freedom.”
The word hit like a blade against bone. I flinched.
“Freedom from what?”
He leaned in, lips ghosting mine without ever pressing. “From yourself.”
My heart roared. My knees buckled. And then the darkness swallowed everything.
-
I woke with a gasp, drenched in sweat. My sheets tangled around my body like chains, my chest heaving. The sun was already bleeding through the curtains, too bright, too sharp.
But worse than the dream was the truth, I couldn’t escape.
The sound that had ripped me awake wasn’t just from inside my head.
It was real.
The creak of the downstairs door.
I froze, pulse hammering so hard it rattled my bones. My mind scrambled for explanations. Silas? No. He would never come back quietly.
And then, as if summoned by my thoughts, a voice floated up the stairs. Low. Smooth. Certain.
“Good morning, Katherine.”
I gripped the edge of the mattress so hard my knuckles whitened.
No. He was gone. I told him to leave. I told him
The floorboards creaked. Slow, deliberate footsteps climbing the stairs, one after another, unhurried.
Every instinct screamed at me to run. To grab the phone, call for help, escape through the window if I had to. But my body… my body, betrayed me again. I stayed rooted in place, trembling, waiting.
The footsteps stopped at my door. Silence.
Then, a soft knock, polite. Almost mocking.
“You’re not afraid of me,” Christophe said, his voice low enough that it slid through the cracks. “Not the way you should be.”
My throat dried. “You shouldn’t be here.”
The doorknob twisted.
And there he was.
Christophe stepped into the room like he owned it. Like he owned me. He wore the same dark shirt from the night before, but the morning light revealed more than I’d seen broad shoulders, the faint scar cutting across his left temple, the dangerous ease in the way he carried himself.
He closed the door behind him with a soft click. “I told you, Katherine. This isn’t over.”
“Why?” My voice cracked. “Why me?”
For a moment, he only watched me. The intensity of his stare burned, and I felt it down to my bones. Then, finally, he spoke.
“Because you remind me of a choice I never made.”
The words stole the air from my lungs. I should have demanded answers. I should have screamed, pushed him out, done anything except what I did sit frozen, caught in the storm of his presence.
His gaze softened, almost imperceptibly. “And because you took me. You crossed a line, Katherine. And now, whether you like it or not… you’re tied to me.”
Something dark, electric, threaded through the air between us. A tether I couldn’t see but felt pulling tighter every second.
“Christophe,” I whispered, tasting the name like it was forbidden.
His smile curved slowly, dangerous, breathtaking. “Finally.”
Before I could move, before I could think, he crossed the space between us. His hand lifted, not to touch, not quite but close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him. My body leaned forward against my will, my breath catching.
“You should have let me go that night,” he murmured. “But you didn’t. And now…” His gaze dropped to my lips, then back to my eyes, sharp as a blade. “Now you're far deeper than you realize.”
The floor seemed to tilt beneath me. My heart thundered, my hands trembled, and I didn’t know if I wanted to flee or to fall into him.
And then-
The sound of tires screeched outside.
Both our heads snapped toward the window.
A car door slammed. Voices shouted. Heavy boots pounded against the gravel drive.
Christophe’s expression shifted instantly, his jaw hardening, his eyes flashing with something lethal.
“They found me.”
My chest seized. “Who?”
He didn’t answer. His hand finally touched me, fingers brushing my wrist, firm, grounding, electric.
“No matter what happens, Katherine, you don’t open that door.”
The pounding began, shaking the walls.
And for the first time, I realized whoever was outside wasn’t here for me.
They were here for him. My heart was suspended in panic. I was left wondering. What the hell I've gotten myself into.
The pounding rattled through the frame, shaking the glass panes in their sockets. My heart stuttered, but Christophe’s grip on my wrist anchored me. He didn’t flinch, didn’t move, not yet.
The second slam was louder, angrier. “Open up!” a voice roared, deep and commanding.
I jerked toward the door instinctively, but Christophe tugged me back, pulling me against him. His breath brushed my ear, hot, unshakable.
“I told you,” he murmured, low and deadly. “You don’t open that door.”
Fear curdled in my stomach, but beneath it, something sharp and treacherous twisted trust. As if my body believed him more than I believed myself.
“Who are they?” I whispered.
His jaw flexed, eyes locked on the door like a predator assessing its prey. “Men who think they own me.”
The pounding grew faster, the wood groaning beneath the assault. A lock snapped. My pulse crashed so violently it blurred the edges of my vision.
“You should hide,” he said suddenly, his voice softer now, but no less intense. “Get under the bed. Don’t come out until it’s over.”
I swallowed hard. “And you?”
For the first time, his gaze cut to mine, holding me with something that felt like a warning and a promise all at once. “I’ve never been good at running.”
Another crash shook the frame. Splinters scattered across the floor. My body screamed to obey him, to crawl beneath the bed and press my hands over my ears until it ended, but my feet stayed planted. My throat burned.
“You can’t fight them alone,” I hissed.
He smiled then, but it wasn’t kind. It was sharp, dangerous, the kind of smile that promised violence. “Watch me.”
Before I could argue, the door downstairs shattered open, the sound of splintering wood echoing through the house. Heavy footsteps stormed in, too many, too fast.
Christophe released my wrist, but not before pressing his palm briefly against mine. A fleeting touch, hot and steady, like he was branding me.
Then he was gone moving soundlessly across the room, slipping into the shadows as though he’d been born from them.
I stood frozen in the middle of my bedroom, trembling, the pounding of my heart nearly louder than the boots climbing the stairs.
Three. Four. Maybe five men. I could hear their mutters, their rough breaths, their weapons clinking against their sides.
“Up here,” one barked.
The floorboards groaned as they ascended.
My knees buckled. I staggered back, pressing into the corner, eyes wide. I couldn’t see Christophe.
I couldn’t hear him. For a horrifying second, I thought he’d left me.
Then the bedroom door burst open.
The men filled the frame, broad and armed, faces masked in shadow. My breath seized.
“There you are,” the leader sneered, eyes sweeping past me like I was nothing. His focus locked onto the darkness behind me. “Christophe.”
A chill shivered down my spine. They knew him.
Before I could blink, movement slashed through the air
Christophe lunged from the shadows, his body a blur, his fist slamming into the first man with a force that cracked bone. The intruder crumpled before his weapon could rise.
Chaos erupted.
The others surged forward, shouting, swinging, but Christophe was already moving fluidly, lethally. A blade flashed. A grunt tore from someone’s throat. The metallic tang of blood filled the air.
I pressed back into the wall, my hands trembling, my breath ragged. The scene unfolded like something feral, something impossible. Christophe didn’t fight like a man he fought like a storm, unpredictable, unstoppable.
And yet he wasn’t invincible.
A blow landed against his ribs. He staggered. Another man swung a crowbar, grazing his shoulder. Christophe gritted his teeth, striking back with brutal precision, but I could see the strain edging into his movements.
There were too many.
Without thinking, I moved. My hands scrambled for anything I could use. My fingers closed around the lamp on my nightstand.
Before fear could stop me, I hurled it.
It smashed against the back of one intruder’s skull. He cursed, stumbling, and Christophe seized the opening. His fist connected, sending the man crashing to the ground.
For a split second, our eyes met across the chaos.
Pride flickered in his gaze.
Then, the leader lunged.
He was larger than the others, faster, his blade gleaming as it swung toward Christophe’s chest. I screamed. Christophe twisted, barely dodging, but the knife sliced his arm. Blood splattered, dark against the pale walls.
“No!” The word ripped from me, raw and useless.
The leader laughed, cruel and cold. “You’re getting sloppy, Christophe.”
Christophe’s expression hardened. “And you’re still underestimating me.”
He moved then, a final, brutal strike that dropped the man to the floor. Silence thundered in the wake of it, heavy and trembling.
The bodies sprawled across my room, groaning, bleeding. My chest heaved as I tried to process the wreckage, the violence, the blood that wasn’t supposed to exist in my world.
Christophe stood in the centre of it, chest rising and falling, blood dripping down his arm. His gaze found me again, and this time, it wasn’t pride in his eyes it was something darker.
“This is what I was trying to keep from you,” he said hoarsely.
I shook my head, tears burning my eyes. “Who are you?”
He stepped closer, slow, deliberate, every line of him coiled with tension. “I already told you, Katherine. My name is Christophe.” His lips curved into something dangerous, almost tender. “But the rest? The rest you’re not ready to hear.”
Before I could answer, headlights slashed across the window. Another car pulled up. More doors slammed.
Christophe’s bloodied hand reached for mine. This time, there was no hesitation.
“You want answers?” His grip tightened. “Then you’re coming with me.”
And before I could resist, before I could even breathe, he pulled me toward the broken window, toward the night, toward whatever waited outside.
- Writer
