Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
-Thalia-
The apartment envelops me in an oppressive silence tonight, each second stretching longer than the last. I try to convince myself that fear can’t hurt me, but fear is smarter than pain.
Pain announces itself, burning, sharp, obvious.
Fear is quiet.
A whisper.
A shadow shifting just out of sight.
Fear makes you doubt your instincts.
Fear makes you apologize for being scared.
Fear makes you feel like you’re the problem.
I pull my knees closer to my chest, hugging myself, desperate to feel contained inside my own body. Bella rests her head on my thigh, protecting me the way Xander taught her to.
The candle flame flickers, stretching tall, like it’s reaching for something I can’t see.
Xander’s absence looms heavily. I know he’s caught up at his parents’ house or still toiling away at the shop, but the thought doesn’t ease my unease.
I assured him I’d be fine, a bold-faced lie I desperately wanted to believe.
Yet the moment the door clicked shut behind him, the familiar world felt suddenly foreign and unsettling.
In an attempt to mask the encroaching sense of dread, I flicker on a candle, watching the flame dance and sway, illuminating the dim corners of the room. The apartment has never felt this small.
Every shadow is a memory. Every silence a threat.
I force myself toward the window. Just look. Just confirm it’s nothing.
But when I touch the blinds, the motion triggers a flashback so vivid it steals my breath. Damian leaning against a doorframe, smirking and proud of the fear he created.
My hand recoils before I can stop it.
That’s what he stole from me, not just safety, but the simple act of checking a window.
Something everyone else does without thinking.
I close my eyes.
Inhale… four counts.
Exhale… six.
I picture Xander beside me, grounding me the way he always does, hand at my lower back, whispering, “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
I’m alone, but I borrow the memory.
I open the blinds in one quick motion.
Nothing.
No one.
Just the parking lot. A car driving off. A leaf blowing across pavement.
My knees weaken with relief.
Sometimes survival looks like this—not bravery, not strength, just a girl proving to herself she can still open the blinds.
I try to breathe evenly—inhale, count four, and exhale—but my lungs refuse to cooperate. Anxiety has a way of making your own body feel like an enemy.
I walk room to room, double-checking locks that were already checked. I pull the curtains tighter. Turn on extra lamps because darkness feels like vulnerability. Bella follows me like a soldier, tail low, reading every shift in my energy.
“You’re okay,” I whisper to her. “We’re okay.”
I don’t believe a word. Soft music spills from the speakers. The soothing melodies mean to blanket the stillness, but they’re a futile distraction. I curl up on the couch with Bella, my faithful companion who anchors me to the moment, her head a comforting weight on my thigh.
Isla’s texts ping vibrantly, each message laden with little jokes, funny memes, and heart emojis.
I force myself to reply, scrabbling for normalcy, trying to convince myself that everything is okay.
But my gaze frequently drifts to the window, where the shadows outside seem to stretch ominously against the glass.
The candle flickers as the air shifts again, a telltale sign that sets my nerves on edge.
I hear noise outside—a car door, perhaps?
My muscles tense involuntarily, an instinctual response to the unknown.
Bella stirs, lifting her head, her ears twitching at every little sound.
She emits a low, wary whine that matches the tumult in my chest.
“It’s probably nothing,” I whisper to myself, but the words feel hollow. Probably just a neighbor coming home.
Probably.
Three sharp knocks thud against my front door. I freeze, my breath hitching in my throat. Adrenaline hits like electricity—cold, spiking, paralyzing.
The room seems to tilt, the edges vibrating.
My heartbeat becomes thunder in my ears, drowning out logic.
Fight, flight, freeze.
My body chooses for me.
Freeze. An unsettling dryness tightens my vocal cords, rendering me mute.
My phone is in my hand before I consciously process the action.
My thumb hovers over Xander’s name, trembling as I hit dial.
The line rings once, twice, three times, but goes unanswered.
Panic nudges at the edges of my mind, and I hang up, dialing again. Straight to voicemail.
“Pick up, pick up, please,” I mutter desperately, pacing the room, my heart pounding violently against my rib cage, filling the ominous silence.
Another knock reverberates through the air, slower this time, deliberate. I grab the pepper spray from my purse.
The one Xander insisted on buying.
“Just humor me,” he said. I teased him for being paranoid.
Now my hand shakes so badly I drop it.
Fear isn’t cinematic.
It’s clumsy.
Uncoordinated.
Messy.
Bella growls.
Everything inside me screams ‘don’t move’.
If I stay still, maybe the danger won’t notice me.
But danger already knows my name.
A cold wave washes over me. I call Xander again, my voice splintering at the edges even though I know he’s not there, my lifeline still lost in the sterile void of silence.
The door jolts. A chill races down my spine. And then it shakes a second time with another loud bang.
It slams against the wall with a crash.
Damian stands there, grinning, as if this moment had been scripted for him all along.
There’s fresh blood dried on his knuckles, glistening darkly under the flickering candlelight.
The smile stretching across his face chills me to the core, a morbid tableau that sends my heart tumbling into despair.
“Miss me?” he taunts, and my phone slips from my grasp, clattering to the floor. Every cell in my body screams to run, but my legs refuse.
Damian steps closer.
His footsteps are soft. Unhurried. He wants me to see how calm he is.
Predators don’t rush.
Only prey does.
Bella lunges, teeth bared, a snarl tearing from her throat. Damian kicks her brutally to the side.
Something in me snaps.
Not fear.
Rage.
A spark I didn’t know I still had ignites in my chest.
He expects me to crumble.
He expects silence.
But inside, something sharp takes shape.
The last sound I hear before he steps inside is Bella’s furious bark, full of instinctive rage, swiftly followed by my own scream.
-Xander-
With a grunt, I shove the wrench back into the toolbox, wiping the sweat from my brow with my forearm, feeling the sting of grease and grime mix with the perspiration.
The rhythm of nuts and bolts has kept my hands busy, a shallow comfort while my mind churns.
No matter how hard I focus, a gnawing anxiety claws at my insides.
Every tick of the clock, every heartbeat away from Thalia, feels like an hour.
She had reassured me earlier that she was fine, craving a little quiet for herself, but the shadows on my mind keep whispering doubts.
I push the thoughts aside with a grit of determination. I remind myself that it’s just a few more hours. I’ll see her, hold her, and everything will fall back into place.
My phone rests on the workbench, plugged in to ensure it doesn’t die, but when I check it, instead of lighting up, it remains dark and unresponsive.
I wiggle the cord, trying to power the device back on.
But when nothing happens, I yell across the shop to see if anyone has a cord that will work.
A buddy of mine brings one over, and I immediately plug it in, holding the power button.
The screen hums to life, and I barely glance down, expecting just the normal updates. But then I freeze, my heart plummeting as I absorb the chaos of missed calls and messages flashing before my eyes. Seventeen missed calls. Eight voicemails. Nine texts. All from Thalia.
Cold dread seeps into my veins, turning my blood to ice. The feeling is like cement pressing on my ribs, constricting until I can hardly breathe. Panic ignites, starling and fierce, roaring up in me like wildfire.
My hands tremble, shaking so violently that I fumble to open the call log, each missed call timestamped within the last hour.
A man can survive heartbreak.
He can survive betrayal.
But the moment he realizes he may lose the one person who pulled him out of hell, he becomes feral.
I sprint through the shop, keys clattering in my hand. The guys yell after me, confused, but their voices fade into static.
All I see is Thalia.
Crying.
Calling.
Begging.
And me not answering.
Guilt wraps around my throat like a noose.
I failed her once. Never again. Not while I’m breathing.
The engine of my truck roars to life, a beast hungry for action as I peel out from the shop, tires screaming protest against asphalt. Each mile feels like an eternity, amplifying my growing dread. That monster could be with her, and every reckless second drags her further from my grasp.
I hit the steering wheel, my throat burning from the relentless cry of her name tearing from my lips like a primal instinct. “Hold on, Thalia. Just hold on for me, baby.”
Because I will find her. I will tear the fabric of this world apart if I must. I’ll burn it to ash, spill blood until I’m lost in it.
Whatever it takes, no matter the price. I wasn’t there when she needed me most, but I’ll be there now.
And God help Damian if he’s laid a finger on her, because he might as well be marked for death, unaware of the storm that’s already on his doorstep.
The apartment door stands flung open, a glaring invitation to dread. My heart races as I storm inside, adrenaline coursing through me.
“Thalia!” My voice ricochets off the walls, desperation tinged with panic.
The lights still glow, casting an eerie brightness that highlights the chaos within.
Her shoes are carelessly strewn by the door, as if she had stepped in a hurry, and the faint lingering scent of her perfume envelops me, a bittersweet reminder of her presence that tears at my insides.
I can feel my hand trembling as I lean against the wall, a potent mix of rage and fear clawing at my throat, tightening with every passing second.
She was just here, and now she’s vanished.
I force myself to move, stepping further into the apartment and into the abyss of uncertainty.
My heart thunders as I search each room, flinging couch cushions aside with reckless abandon, tossing her favorite blanket to the floor.
The bedroom is empty, an unsettling void that sends chills racing down my spine.
The bathroom door stands wide open, its silence deafening, mocking my frantic search.
“Thalia!” I shout again, my voice splintering against the walls, filled with unmistakable anguish.
In a flash, memories, or nightmares, invade my mind.
I can hear her scream, muffled and distant.
There’s his laughter, low and sinister, echoing through my thoughts like a poison.
I picture her body being dragged, helpless against the floor, and I grip the doorframe, bile rising in my throat as the horror washes over me.
The line between what I remember and what I fear blurs, twisting into a dark reality I cannot escape.
“No…” My voice breaks, a shaky whisper full of despair.
I jerk open her dresser, the drawers creaking like they hold secrets.
Her clothes are still there, neatly folded, and her purse rests untouched, a cruel reminder of normalcy.
The phone charger is still plugged in, a tether to her life before it unraveled.
Panic tightens like a noose around my chest. She didn’t leave on her own. She’s gone. He has her.
The fury bursts forth with a ferocity so overwhelming that I don’t realize I’ve slammed my fist into the wall until pain lances through my knuckles, blood blooming against the pale paint. My vision narrows, shadows closing in as my heart pounds like a war drum in my ears.
“Damian,” I growl, his name like poison on my tongue, seething with hatred. “You’re dead.”
Images flood my mind again, her voice pleading, “Please, don’t,” and his chilling whispered replies, slick as a serpent.
The memories grip me, and I stumble back, gripping my hair tightly, a desperate attempt to ground myself against the surge of rage rising within.
My knees threaten to buckle, but I fight the instinct, forcing myself to stand tall. I can’t stop. I won’t stop.
With renewed determination, I tear through the apartment one last time, my heart racing as I desperately search for any sign, any clue, anything he might have left behind.
The bastard wants me rattled. He wants me to feel panic creeping in, and he’s succeeded.
But I’ll make him regret every moment of this.
As I step back into the night, the cool air slams against me, my chest rising and falling in heavy breaths, fists throbbing with pain, eyes ablaze with determination.
“I’m coming for you,” I snarl into the darkness, hoping somehow he can hear me.
The world narrows to one objective.
Find her.
Save her.
Kill him.
Because I will find Thalia, no matter the cost.
I gun the engine, tearing down the street. People talk about rage as something explosive, but this isn’t explosive—this is surgical.
Cold and focused.
I’m not angry; I’m determined.
Damian thinks obsession is power.
He has no idea what love looks like.
Love isn’t gentle.
Love is war.
And I’ll ensure that Damian never draws another breath again.