Reece sat on the edge of her bed, her head heavy with a strange sense of déjà vu. She ran her fingers along the side table lamp, her thoughts spiraling.

Suddenly, images began flashing in her mind: a room filled with warm sunlight, the scent of fresh flowers mingling with the sharp tang of paint. She was sitting with an old man, his eyes a soft gray, his laugh a deep rumble that sent a shiver of familiarity through her. He reached for her hand, saying something, but the words were distorted, warping as though submerged underwater.

The scene twisted abruptly. Now she was in a car, rain slashing against the windows. A pair of dark, piercing eyes stared at her from the driver's seat, their intensity searing into her soul.

The flashes came faster, more disjointed. A sharp metallic crash. A scream. Then the old man again, his face streaked with tears as he whispered, "You'll forget me eventually."

Her head throbbed violently, her pulse hammering in her ears. She tried to stand, but the floor tilted beneath her. Her vision darkened, and she crumpled onto the floor.

.

.

.

His pocket buzzed, vibrating ominously in the silence of the hallway. He pulled it out, glancing at the screen before answering.

"Boss," Max's voice was low, anxious. "Something's wrong."

His cold voice came through the line, sharp as a blade. "What's wrong?"

Max hesitated, his own heartbeat quickening. "It's Reec- I mean madam . She fainted in her room... I'm not sure what happened. She's been out for about an hour."

The tone grew colder with every word. 

"An hour? You're telling me she's been unconscious for an hour and you've only just told me? What the Fuck is wrong with you, Max?"

Max gulped, his grip tightening on the phone. "I—I didn't think it was that serious at first. She seemed fine earlier."

"What the hell were you doing? Sitting around while she faints in her room? Were you too busy with your own worthless existence to notice?" the man's voice cracked with venom. The sharpness of his words could cut through steel.

Max was quiet for a moment, feeling the weight of his boss's fury pressing down on him. He could almost feel the icy grip of his anger wrapping around his throat.

"I—I'll take her to the hospital now," Max stammered, but his boss cut him off.

"No. Don't even think about making a move without me. I'll be there in five minutes. If anything happens to her—"

The line went silent for a beat, and the voice dropped, low and menacing. "If anything happens to her, you'll regret it. I promise you."

Max's stomach twisted. "Understood," he replied quickly.

Max's call had barely ended when he was already storming out of the building, his footsteps a warning to anyone who dared cross his path.

.

.

.

Reece's skin was unnaturally pale, devoid of the faint flush of life. Her cheeks were sunken, the usual pink hue drained from her face, leaving her lips an ashen shade. There was no sign of the warmth that usually radiated from her skin—just an eerie coldness that settled into her bones.

He stood over her for a moment, his jaw tightening as he observed the lifelessness in her form. His mind raced, fury bubbling just beneath the surface. Without a second thought, he lifted her into his arms, his movements smooth and effortless.

Her body felt weightless in his grasp, her fragile form cradled against his chest like a delicate, broken doll. His hands, so accustomed to handling dangerous men and delicate objects alike, held her with surprising gentleness. But there was no mistaking the intensity in his eyes—the cold, calculating glare that could freeze a man in his tracks.

As he carried her through the halls, the air seemed to crackle with an undeniable tension, the very presence of the man carrying her sending waves of unease through the building. Anyone who crossed his path quickly made themselves wet their pants, the fear in their eyes speaking volumes about the power he held.

When he entered the hospital, the atmosphere shifted like a thunderstorm rolling in.

The reception area fell silent as his polished black shoes clicked against the tile. A nurse at the front desk froze mid-sentence, her face draining of color.

"Mr. Blackwood." The receptionist's voice quavered as she avoided his piercing gaze.

"Room 217," he said coldly.

"B-but, sir—"

His glare was enough to silence her. She fumbled with the computer, trembling as she gestured toward the hallway.

Every step he took left a wake of terrified whispers.

"That's him."
"Why is he here?"
"Don't make eye contact."

A junior doctor foolishly tried to block his path. "Sir, visiting hours are over, and—"

He didn't slow down. He adjusted his cuffs, his voice calm yet laced with menace. "Move, or I'll ensure this is the last job you'll ever have."

The doctor stepped aside, pale and shaking.

When he reached the room, a nurse standing outside stammered nervously, "S-sir, you can't—"

.

.

.

Inside, Reece lay unconscious, her pale face blending with the stark white sheets. Monitors beeped softly, the rhythm steady yet fragile.

Sounds of steps slowed as he approached her bed. For a moment, his cold facade cracked. His hand hovered over her forehead, trembling slightly. But the vulnerability was fleeting, replaced quickly by his usual icy composure.

He turned to the nurse fiddling with the IV line. "Out."

"But, sir—"

"Out," he repeated, his voice like steel. She scurried out, leaving the room eerily quiet.

When Reece woke, her vision swam. She blinked up at the sterile ceiling, the faint hum of machines grounding her in reality. Her gaze shifted to the bucket of flowers on the table beside her bed, and a deep, inexplicable dread filled her chest.

Her heart monitor began to pick up speed: beep... beep... BEEP BEEP BEEP!

Images flooded her mind again: the old man, his tearful eyes, the rain-soaked car, and the crash. Her chest tightened as the monitor blared louder.

The door burst open, and her stalker strode in, his expression unreadable but his movements urgent.

"Mae-" His voice, sharp and commanding, but halted pulled her focus to him.

She gasped, clutching at her chest. Her breathing was shallow, her pulse racing uncontrollably.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

A nurse rushed in, alarmed by the chaos. "Sir, you need to—"

"Get out." his tone brooked no argument.

"B-but the patient—"

"OUT!" he thundered, the sheer force of his voice sending the nurse scrambling out the door.

He turned back to Reece, his cold, calculating exterior crumbling as he knelt beside her bed. His hand brushed against her clammy forehead, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

"You're safe now," he murmured, his black  eyes locked onto hers. "No one will hurt you."

Reece wasn't sure if the assurance was meant for her—or for himself. She felt as if she can throw up , she was in the same arms of a her tormenter.

A/N

Thoughts on

Maeve aka Reece ?

Mr. Stalker?