Aurora's POV
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The first thing that felt off wasn't the silence. It was the absence of sound I didn't realize I'd grown used to.
The muffled pop music from Room 304. The hum of someone's hairdryer. Emily laughing too loud on FaceTime. Gone.
When I stepped into my dorm room that evening, the air felt... still. Not peaceful. Not quiet.
Still.
My keys clattered against the desk as I tossed them down and blinked at the tiny white box sitting on my pillow.
I hadn't ordered anything.
No one sent me gifts. I barely spoke to anyone.
"Emily?" I called out.
No answer.
Her side of the room was untouched—perfectly made bed, her neon hoodie still draped over the chair, laptop unplugged. She wasn't here. She wasn't the type to leave mystery boxes either.
I stared at the package.
It was small. Neat. Tied with a thin red silk ribbon. My stomach twisted at the sight of it.
I didn't want to touch it. But I did.
The ribbon slipped away with a soft hiss. Inside was black lace—my underwear. The one I'd lost two weeks ago in the laundry room and convinced myself had been swallowed by a washing machine or accidentally taken.
And beneath it, a piece of folded ivory paper.
My throat tightened as I opened it with shaking fingers.
> "Pretty things shouldn't go missing.
I'll keep them safe.
Like I keep you safe.
– D."
I froze.
There was a beat of silence. Then another. And then, like my body finally caught up to the words, a cold sweat broke out across my skin.
No.
This wasn't a prank.
This wasn't funny.
This was real.
I backed away from the bed, dropping the box like it burned me. The lace landed in a small, delicate heap on the carpet.
I spun toward the door. Locked. I double-checked. I always did. I checked the windows. Shut. Latched.
Still, someone had been here. Someone had touched my bed. My clothes. My things.
I was shaking now. My heartbeat was too loud. I grabbed my phone, locked myself in the tiny bathroom, and curled into the tub, knees to my chest, phone clutched in both hands like it could protect me.
My mind raced.
Who was D?
Who would do this?
Why me?
---
I didn't sleep that night.
Every time the pipes creaked or a gust of wind hit the window, I jolted upright. My eyes burned. I didn't turn the light off once.
By 6:00 a.m., I was still wide awake, body stiff, eyes on the door.
I opened it slowly and stepped back into the room. The box… was gone.
The ribbon too. Even the note.
No trash. No crumbs. No sign it had ever existed at all.
I stood there, stunned.
There was only one explanation.
He had been here. Again.
While I was sleeping. While I was hiding.
He came back.
And he took it with him.
---
I stayed locked in the room all weekend.
I skipped class. Skipped dinner. Didn't respond to Emily's texts.
I wanted to pretend I was overreacting. That I had made it up. That maybe—maybe—I'd been sleep-deprived and hallucinating.
But on Monday morning, I had a group project due. I couldn't hide anymore.
I threw on an oversized hoodie and black leggings, pulled the hood over my head, and avoided eye contact with everyone I passed.
The sky was overcast. Damp.
I took the back path behind the library. It was faster. Fewer people. Fewer questions.
It was also empty.
I was halfway down the alley when I heard tires behind me.
Fast.
I turned, just as a dark van screeched to a stop.
I barely had time to scream.
The back doors flew open.
A figure lunged. Gloved hand. White cloth.
I tried to fight. I really did.
But the second that chemical scent hit my nose—sweet, sharp, strange—my limbs gave out.
The world went sideways.
Everything spun.
Then black.
---
When I woke up, I was cold.
That was the first thing I noticed.
The second was that I wasn't in my dorm anymore.
I was lying on a soft, expensive bed—satin sheets, dark wood frame, heavy blankets. My wrists were free, but my ankles... weren't.
A silver chain connected them, short enough to keep me tethered to the bedpost.
Panic surged so fast I nearly choked on it.
I sat up and looked around. The room was massive—gothic, luxurious, too quiet. Dim light spilled from an old chandelier. Thick curtains blocked every window.
A camera blinked red from the ceiling.
What the hell is this place?
Then I heard the door click.
I froze.
He stepped inside like he owned the air in my lungs.
Black suit. Sharp jaw. Pale skin. Dark eyes that didn't blink.
He was tall. Broad. Unreadable.
And terrifyingly calm.
"Good," he said softly, shutting the door behind him. "You're awake."
My voice broke in my throat. "W-who—who are you? What is this?"
"I thought the note made it clear." He smiled. It didn't reach his eyes. "I'm Damien. And this… is home now."
I scrambled backward until the chain yanked tight. "Let me go. Let me—please—this is illegal—"
"You don't need to scream." He crossed the room in slow, measured steps. "No one will hear you. No one will come. I've made sure of that."
My hands shook. "Why are you doing this?"
He tilted his head slightly, like it was a ridiculous question. "Because I love you, Aurora."
My heart stopped.
He said it like it was obvious. Like it was natural.
"I've loved you for a long time," he said. "The way you walk. The way you flinch when someone bumps into you. The way you hide behind that hair and pretend you're invisible."
He sat down at the edge of the bed. I flinched.
"I noticed you two years ago. You dropped a pen in the library. You didn't even look up when I handed it back." His voice dropped lower. "That's when I knew you were mine."
"You're insane."
"I'm devoted," he corrected. "There's a difference."
Tears blurred my vision. I yanked at the chain again, uselessly.
He reached toward me.
I jerked away. "Don't touch me!"
His hand paused mid-air.
Then he smiled again—wider this time. "You'll get used to it."
"I won't."
"You will." His voice was gentle. Too gentle. "Everyone breaks eventually. But don't worry. I'll take my time with you."
"You'll go to prison."
"No," he said simply. "I won't."
That terrifying calm again. Like this wasn't a crime. Like this was love.
"I've given you a beautiful room. You'll be fed. Safe. And eventually…" He reached out again and this time, brushed my hair back from my face. I gagged at the touch. "You'll give me a child."
I froze.
"No," I whispered. "No—"
"Yes." His thumb touched my cheek. "I want something that ties you to me forever. And you'll carry it. Willingly or not."
"You're a monster."
He leaned in closer, his breath warm against my skin.
"And yet," he whispered, "you're the one shivering when I touch you."