⚠️ Content Warning: This chapter contains references to psychological trauma and past abuse. Reader discretion is advised
She ran.
The ground was uneven, slick with mud and dead leaves. Branches tore at her arms. Her dress — once soft, now filthy and torn — clung to her skin like it didn't want to let go. She had no shoes, no direction, just fear carrying her deeper into the dark.
The trees were huge — towering like giants, their trunks thick and dark as charcoal. Fog crawled between them like ghosts. Every step sounded louder than the last.
Behind her: footsteps. Steady. Unhurried.
And laughter.
That voice—
Rough. Sharp. Choking on something between pleasure and rage. It echoed through the trees and stabbed at her ears.
She dared a glance back.
He was there.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dressed in a gray tank top, stained and stretched. His dark hair stuck to his face with sweat. His eyes locked onto hers, and he didn't blink.
There was no expression on his face — not anger. Not joy. Just... obsession.
She tripped.
He reached her in seconds.
He pinned her down, hands tight, breath hot. The sound of her crying filled the space between the trees, but no one came. No one ever did.
His hand gripped her dress, tugging at it, tearing. His mouth twisted into a grin.
And that laugh — louder now. Unhinged. Triumphant.
But beneath the madness — for the briefest second — his eyes looked… sad.
And then—
She woke up.
Gasping.
Her hands clenched soft white sheets. Her skin sticky with sweat. Her chest heaving.
She was back in the bedroom — bright, elegant, too clean to be real. The chandelier above her sparkled quietly.
She sat there, frozen.
She couldn't remember the man's name.
She couldn't remember where the forest was.
All she remembered… was running.