Days passed. Maya woke up every morning in a room she didn’t recognize, soft curtains, warm sunlight, paintings of her covering every wall. Dexter told her this was their home. That they had always been together. That she had been hurt before, and he had saved her.
Every word sounded true. His voice was gentle, his touch comforting, his eyes full of nothing but what felt like love. But every night, when the lights went out… Maya would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, and her chest would ache. Like something was missing. Like half of her had been left somewhere she couldn’t find.
Dexter watched her closely. Every time she fell silent, every time her gaze drifted toward the window, every time she touched her chest like it hurt, he would speak softly, and the feeling would fade. He told h
