Y/n
Emma and Max were glowing with excitement, showing off jewelry and dresses like they had won the world. Laughter filled the room, but it all felt distant to me. Lucas stood beside Max, his arms crossed, his eyes fixed on me like a predator sizing up prey. His death glares pierced through my skin, cold and calculating.
Emma turned to me with a bright smile, holding up a dress.
Emma: "Y/N, I want you to wear this tomorrow."
I looked at it. A white floral dress—delicate, pretty, detailed… but it looked too small. It wasn't meant for comfort. It was meant to make me feel exposed. I nodded, trying to swallow the uneasy lump in my throat.
"Can I go and take some rest? I don't feel okay today," I murmured. My head throbbed, and my body felt heavy.
Emma's smile faded. She walked over, placing a hand on my forehead.
Emma: "Oh no, Y/N, you have a fever... that's why you came home early from the office."
I gave her a small nod, my body aching.
Max and Lucas looked over. Max's concern seemed genuine, but Lucas... he wore that fake concern like a mask. I could see right through it.
Lucas: "Are you sure? Maybe you should go to the hospital."
His tone was smooth, but there was something mocking in it. Like he hoped I'd collapse.
Max: "Don't worry, Y/N. Go get some rest. We've got a big day tomorrow, sister."
Lucas: "I'll make something for you."
I shook my head quickly.
"No, I'm not h—"
Lucas: "Not hungry?" he finished for me, stepping closer, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips—sharp and chilling. "You look pale... maybe even weaker than usual."
Something in his voice sent a shiver down my spine.
Max: "Y/N, you should eat something and take some medicine. You'll be fine."
I let out a small sigh and nodded. "Okay."
I avoided Lucas's eyes completely and walked straight to my room. The moment I shut the door, it felt like I could breathe—just for a second. I took a quick bath to cool my fevered body and lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
"I need to do something about Lucas..." the thought burned in my mind.
The memories came like a flood.
In college… he used to shove me down the stairs when no one was watching. In the classroom, he humiliated me, pulled my chair away, ripped my books. Then he somehow found out where I lived. My room was never safe—he'd sneak in and break things, leave signs that he'd been there. I tried everything… different routes, different places. But he always found me. Like he was hunting me.
I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing the tears back.
And then—I heard it.
Click.
The door creaked open.
And there he was.
Lucas.
He stepped in like he owned the place, the door slowly closing behind him. In his hands, a tray—soup and a sandwich. But nothing about this felt kind. It felt… wrong. Like bait.
I sat up fast, heart thudding.
Lucas: "You're sick. You should eat," he said, his voice soft—but his eyes weren't. They held that same twisted glint. The same one from college. From the shadows of my nightmares.
He walked over slowly, placing the tray beside me on the nightstand.
Lucas: "You always avoid me, Y/N… but somehow we keep ending up in the same place. Isn't that... fate?"
He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping lower.
Lucas: "Don't you ever wonder why I never let you go?"
My throat tightened. The room suddenly felt smaller. I glanced at the door—still closed. My mind screamed to run, but my body stayed frozen.
Lucas: "Stay… here. Eat this," he said, his voice calm, too calm.
"I-I'm okay," I stammered, trying to shrink into the sheets.
Lucas didn't listen. He placed the tray on the table and sat on the bed, positioning himself so he was directly in front of me. My breath caught in my throat as I instinctively backed away.
Lucas: "Do you want me to feed you?"
There was something cold in his voice—like a threat wrapped in sweetness.
I quickly shook my head and grabbed the sandwich. I bit into it fast, pretending to focus on the food, ignoring the way his eyes never left my face.
He smiled.
Lucas: "You always try to avoid me… my touch."
I ignored him and chewed faster, trying to get this over with.
"I'm full," I muttered.
Lucas: "Soup," he said, pointing to the bowl, voice firmer this time.
Reluctantly, I picked up the bowl and sipped. It was too hot.
"Aah—" I winced, lips burning.
Without hesitation, he snatched the bowl from my hands and placed it down. His hand reached out, a napkin in his fingers as he dabbed my lips. I flinched.
Then, he leaned in.
Lucas: "Don't move."
He blew gently on my lips, fingertips brushing against them. My skin crawled.
"Don't touch me," I said through clenched teeth, voice trembling.
His eyes darkened.
Lucas: "Five years," he muttered.
"W-what?"
Lucas: "Fucking five years, Y/N," he snapped, his voice low but dangerous. "I was controlling my feelings for you all those years."
My heart skipped. I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
"I—"
Lucas: "You don't even know what I felt… when I did those mean things."
His gaze burned, full of something twisted—desire, guilt, obsession.
Lucas: "Every time I hurt you… it was because I couldn't stand how much I wanted you. And you… you never looked at me. Never gave me a chance."
He reached for my wrist.
I let out a weak laugh, forcing it between clenched teeth.
"Sorry, but I'm sleepy and sick. Please… you can go now."
I pulled the blanket over me, turning away from him. My heart was racing, but I pretended to be calm—like his presence didn't claw at my nerves.
For a second, it was silent.
Then I felt it.
His fingers brushing gently through my hair.
Lucas: "It'll be fun from now… I swear."
His voice was soft, too soft—like a lullaby whispered by a wolf.
The door clicked shut behind him.
But the room still felt full of him.
Heavy. Cold. Unsettling.
I stayed under the blanket, wide awake, eyes burning with unshed tears. My hands were clenched, my chest tight.
"He's not done. He never was."
I knew then—Lucas hadn't come to comfort me.
He came to warn me.
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