Reese jolted awake to the same creaking noise that had haunted her nights for weeks. This time, the sound seemed louder, more deliberate, as though the intruder wanted her to know he was there. Her heart pounded against her ribs, the room cloaked in oppressive darkness. She tried to calm her breathing, but her lungs betrayed her, each inhale sharp and shallow.

Her gaze darted to the corner of the room, where the faint silhouette of a figure emerged, tall and ominous. It moved closer, slow and deliberate, its presence suffocating. Paranoia gripped her, but she forced herself to remain still, feigning sleep. Her lashes fluttered against her cheeks as the figure loomed over her, the weight of its stare pressing down like a physical force.

The bed dipped as the intruder sat beside her. Reese's muscles tensed when she felt the ghost of a touch—a strand of her hair sliding through thick, calloused fingers. The sensation sent shivers racing down her spine. She suppressed a gasp when those fingers trailed down to her jaw, then skimmed her neck, as if mapping her vulnerability. Her mind screamed at her to act.

The seconds dragged on, each one stretching unbearably as her breathing quickened. She felt the tension in the air, thick and suffocating. Then, in one swift motion, she reached beneath her pillow, fingers curling around the hilt of the knife she had hidden there days ago. With a desperate cry, she lunged, aiming for his eye. But he was quicker than she anticipated. His reflexes were almost inhuman as he grabbed her wrist, twisting it just enough to make her drop the blade. The knife clattered to the floor, out of reach.

Reese's heart thundered as she fought against his iron grip. She scratched at his arm with her sharp nails, the thick muscle barely yielding under her attack. Her fingers stung from the effort, but she persisted, drawing a hiss of pain from the intruder. For a brief moment, triumph surged through her.

Her breath hitched as her gaze locked onto the figure looming over her. Against the glow of the moonlight, his scarred lips stretched into a smirk—

"You're real," she whispered, voice trembling with a mix of fear and hesitation. "You're not just in my head."

Her victory was short-lived. He caught both her wrists with frightening ease, pinning them above her head. Time seemed to slow as his weight pressed her into the mattress. The bed creaked ominously beneath them, amplifying the suffocating silence.

 She bucked and twisted, trying to free herself, but his grip was unyielding. Her knee shot up, aiming for where the sun never shines, but he twisted her sharply. A yelp of surprise and fear left her mouth.

Before she could comprehend what was happening, her back was pressed against his chest. The shift in position left her breathless. She could feel every inch of him—all of him. His chest, solid and unyielding, molded against her back, and if she took a deep breath, she was certain she'd feel every muscle.

Her breath hitched when she felt his scarred lip brush against the curve of her neck. His breath ghosted over her earlobe, hot and deliberate, sending a shiver down her spine that she couldn't suppress.

"Get off me!" she screamed, thrashing wildly. "Who the hell are you? Leave me alone, or I swear I'll go to the police! They'll—"

Her threat was cut off by a low chuckle, dark and mocking. His voice was deep, a resonant growl that vibrated through her. "The police?" he murmured, his lips brushing her ear. "My little flower, do you really think they'll believe you? Someone like you? Alone, paranoid, isolated..."

Her blood ran cold at his words, the truth in them stabbing deeper than any blade. She struggled harder, refusing to let him see her fear. "They'll have to believe me," she spat. "I'll make them believe me."

His chuckle deepened, a sound that made her stomach churn. "Try it," he whispered, his breath hot against her neck.

Then she felt it—a sharp sting, like a needle piercing her skin. Her body reacted instantly, adrenaline surging as she realized what he'd done. He'd drugged her. Panic clawed at her throat as a numbing coldness began spreading through her veins. She thrashed wildly, desperate to fight off the encroaching darkness.

"No," she whimpered, her voice weakening. "You can't... you won't get away with this..."

But her strength was fading, her limbs growing heavier by the second. Each blink felt slower, her vision dimming. The last thing she heard was his voice, a sinister whisper laced with possessive triumph.

"You're mine, and only mine, Maeve Blackwood."

"Blackwood ?" Her voice barely a whisper.

Her entire body froze, paralyzed by terror. That name. Her real name. The name no one in this town should know. The name she'd buried long ago, along with the past she'd tried to escape.

Even as unconsciousness claimed her, a single, horrifying thought burned in her mind: He knows.

.

.

.

.

Hours before the incident

 She had hesitated while taking her usual medication. Something about the pills felt off. For weeks now, every time she swallowed them, she'd experienced episodes of sleep paralysis. It had returned after two years, but this time, it felt different—artificial, as though induced by an external force. Reese knew her body, and this wasn't natural. The episodes coincided suspiciously with her switching to a new pharmacy.

"Could someone have tampered with my medicine?" she had wondered aloud, staring at the small capsules in her hand. A shiver had crept down her spine at the thought, and she'd decided to skip the dose that night. The unease only grew, fueling her determination to uncover the truth.

In secret, Reese had installed hidden cameras in her room. She needed evidence—proof of what she feared was happening. Whether it was sleep paralysis or an intruder, she refused to let the situation spiral out of control without answers. The cameras were her silent sentinels, watching when her own eyes could not.

As her mind faded into unconsciousness, another realization gnawed at her. Had the cameras caught him? And if they had, would she ever get the chance to see it ?