SOMETHING UNFAMILIAR
1120 Words
The room was too quiet.
Amara sat at the edge of the bed, her fingers twisting the soft fabric of the blanket beneath her. Everything about this place felt wrong.
Too clean.
Too perfect.
Too controlled.
Like it wasn’t meant for someone like her.
Her eyes moved slowly around the room—the tall windows, the polished floors, the untouched furniture. It felt less like a bedroom…
And more like a cage dressed as comfort.
Her chest tightened.
Everything that had happened replayed in her mind like a nightmare she couldn’t wake up from.
The warehouse.
The blood.
The gunshot.
Him.
Luca.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she lifted her hand, brushing lightly against her cheek. The sting had dulled, but the memory hadn’t.
He killed a man… just like that.
And yet—
He had looked at her differently after.
That was the part she didn’t understand.
Didn’t want to understand.
---
A knock sounded on the door.
Soft.
Careful.
Amara froze.
Her heart immediately began to race.
“C-come in…” she said hesitantly.
The door opened slowly, revealing a woman dressed neatly in a simple uniform. She looked older—calm, composed—but her eyes carried something quiet.
Respect.
Maybe even… caution.
“Good evening,” the woman said gently. “I’m here to attend to you.”
Amara blinked, confused. “Attend to me?”
The woman nodded slightly. “Yes, Madam. I was asked to prepare your meals. What would you like to eat?”
Amara stiffened.
“Madam?”
The word felt foreign.
Wrong.
“I—I think you have the wrong person,” she said quickly. “I’m not—”
“You are,” the woman said softly, though not unkindly. “Mr. Moretti gave strict instructions.”
Silence fell.
Heavy.
Unsettling.
Amara swallowed hard.
“I’m not hungry,” she whispered.
The woman studied her for a brief moment, as if she wanted to say more—but didn’t.
“As you wish, Madam.”
And just like that, she left.
The door clicked shut.
And the silence returned.
But this time…
It felt louder.
Amara wrapped her arms around herself, pulling her knees slightly closer.
Madam.
Why would he—
No.
She shook her head quickly.
It didn’t matter.
None of this mattered.
She just needed to leave.
To get out.
To go back to her life—
The door opened again.
Without a knock.
Amara’s head snapped up.
Her breath caught instantly.
Luca.
He stepped inside like he owned the space—like the air itself moved for him.
Which… it probably did.
He held something in his hand.
A neatly folded set of clothes.
Her eyes dropped to it briefly, then quickly back to his face.
Guarded.
Uncertain.
“I didn’t ask for anything,” she said quietly.
“I know.”
His voice was calm.
Always calm.
He placed the clothes on the bed beside her.
“You can’t keep wearing that.”
Amara glanced down at her outfit—wrinkled, worn, not meant for a place like this.
Still…
“I don’t need new things,” she murmured.
“You do here.”
Her gaze snapped back to his.
“I’m not staying here.”
There it was again.
That defiance.
Small.
But steady.
Luca watched her for a moment.
Then—
He stepped closer.
Amara’s breath hitched.
Instinct kicked in immediately.
She moved back—
Fast.
Too fast.
Like she was trying to put distance between them before he could even touch her.
Something in his expression shifted.
Darkened.
“Stop running.”
“I’m not running,” she said quickly, even as her body betrayed her.
He took another step.
She stepped back again.
Panic rising.
“Don’t—please don’t come closer—”
She turned—
Trying to move past him—
But she didn’t get far.
His hand caught her wrist.
Firm.
Unyielding.
Amara gasped softly as he pulled her back toward him, her body colliding lightly with his chest.
Her heart slammed violently.
“Let me go—”
“Stop.”
His voice dropped.
Lower.
Tighter.
She froze.
Not because she wanted to.
But because something in his tone made her.
For a second—
Neither of them moved.
Too close.
Too aware.
Then—
Something broke.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
The words came out quietly.
Rough.
Unfamiliar.
Amara blinked.
Confused.
Her struggle stilled slightly.
Luca’s grip on her wrist didn’t loosen—but it changed.
Less force.
More… something else.
Something he didn’t seem to understand himself.
“I should have killed you that night,” he continued, his voice low, controlled—but strained beneath it. “That would have been the right decision.”
Her breath caught.
“But I didn’t.”
A pause.
Heavy.
“And now…” his jaw tightened slightly, his gaze locking onto hers, “you’re here.”
Amara’s chest rose and fell unevenly.
“What does that have to do with me?” she whispered.
“Everything.”
The answer came instantly.
Silence.
“You’re… different,” he said, slower this time. Like he was choosing each word carefully. “You don’t react the way people usually do.”
“I’m terrified,” she admitted, her voice shaking. “What more do you want from me?”
His eyes darkened slightly.
“I know you are.”
“Then why am I still here?” she asked, her voice cracking just a little. “Why won’t you just let me go?”
That question lingered.
Hung between them.
Luca didn’t answer immediately.
Because for the first time—
He didn’t have a clear one.
Instead, his gaze dropped briefly—to where his hand still held her wrist.
Then back to her face.
“You’ve made me…” he started, then stopped.
Annoyed.
At himself.
At the words.
At everything.
Amara watched him carefully now.
Not just scared.
But searching.
Luca exhaled slowly.
Then finished it.
“You’ve made me see a side of myself I didn’t know existed.”
Her breath stilled.
“And I don’t like it.”
The honesty in his voice was sharp.
Unfiltered.
Real.
For a moment—
The fear between them shifted.
Just slightly.
Into something more complicated.
Luca released her wrist suddenly.
Stepping back.
Distance restored.
Control returning.
“You’ll wear the clothes,” he said, his tone back to normal. “And you’ll eat.”
Amara didn’t respond.
Didn’t move.
He turned toward the door.
Paused.
But didn’t look back.
Because no matter how much he denied it…
Something had changed.
And the most dangerous part?
Luca Moretti wasn’t sure he wanted to change it back
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