The storm outside had quieted, but something inside me hadn't. I sat on the edge of my bed, wrapped in Daniel's robe, staring at the wall. Everything felt too still, like the house was holding its breath.
I wasn't sure why I'd put the blindfold on. Maybe I missed being touched. Maybe I wanted to forget who I was, who I was married to. Maybe I wanted to imagine someone else—someone bold enough to reach me in the dark.
And someone had.
Last night still felt like a dream, but my body remembered. The soft brush of fingers. The way my thighs had trembled. The sharp gasp that escaped when he whispered, "Let go."
But who was he?
I wasn't drunk. I didn't hallucinate. Someone had entered my room, touched me, and left without a trace.
Except one.
I reached under the pillow. The pendant was still there. Cold. Silver. Unfamiliar.
Had he left it on purpose?
Was it a game?
The knock on my door was soft. Too soft. I froze. It came again. My heart raced.
"Sophia? Are you awake?" It was Caleb.
Of course it was.
I shoved the pendant under the pillow and pulled the robe tighter.
"Yeah. Just resting."
"You okay?" he asked through the door.
No.
"Fine," I lied.
He paused. "You sure? You didn't come down for breakfast."
"Not hungry."
Another pause. Then footsteps faded.
I exhaled. Why did Caleb's voice suddenly feel... different? Why did it linger in the air like smoke?
I shook my head. No. It couldn't be him.
But still, I locked my door.
I must've dozed off. Because when I open my eyes, the blindfold is on my face again. But I didn't put it there.
My breath catches. I rip it off, sit up fast, heart racing. The room is still dark, but not like before. This darkness feels thick—like it's pressing against me.
I look at the door. Still locked.
The window. Closed.
But something's different.
My pendant—it's gone. I scramble to the edge of the bed, hands flying over the sheets. Nothing. It was around my neck. I felt it. Heavy. Cold. Now it's just… gone.
A new message flashes on my phone.
Blocked Number: You looked beautiful asleep.
I grip the phone tight. My skin prickles. My thighs press together from how wrong it feels to be watched… and how right it feels too.
Another buzz.
Blocked Number: Check your mirror.
I turn slowly. And freeze.
There—taped to the mirror—is my pendant.
But it's not alone.
A Polaroid hangs below it. My fingers shake as I grab it.
It's a photo of me. Blindfolded. Sleeping. Legs slightly parted. Shirt pushed up.
I nearly dropped it. Because there's a hand in the frame. A man's hand. Touching my thigh.
And in the corner of the photo… the edge of a mask.
I stare at the photo, heart thudding.
That hand was on me. He was here. Inside. While I slept.
Behind my locked door.
I look around the room, wild now, breath quick.
Then—something makes me stop.
The closet door is slightly open. Not wide. Just enough for someone to look through.
I step back. Bump into the bed.
Another buzz.
Blocked Number: Don't scream.
I can't breathe. My mouth is open, but no sound comes. My feet move on their own, back toward the closet.
I grip the handle. Pull.
Nothing. Just clothes. Darkness.
But I don't believe it.
I push the hangers aside. All the way to the back. And that's when I saw it.
A hole. Small, round—drilled through the back of the closet into the wall into the space between the rooms.
He was watching me.
I back out, slam the closet shut, chest heaving. Whoever this is—they were never outside.
They've been in the walls.
The floor creaks.
Not mine.
Outside the door.
Then a knock.
Soft.
Two taps.
Then silence.
Another buzz.
Blocked Number: It's already morning. Time to get ready for breakfast. I want to see you smile today.
No name.
No goodbye.
Just a message… and that photo is still in my hand.
I stared at the photo like it could speak. Like it would explain everything if I just held it long enough. My fingers trembled. My stomach turned. But something else happened too.
I felt wet between my thighs.
Disgust and desire tangled inside me, confusing me more than ever.
Who was he?
Was it Caleb?
It couldn't be... could it?
The mask. The pendant. The way he touched me—like he knew me. Like he owned me. Like he wanted me to fall apart without ever seeing his face.
I looked out the window. The sky was soft and grey. The house was still. But inside me, there was a storm.
I got up, peeled off Daniel's robe, and stepped into the shower. Hot water rushed down my skin. I let it burn. I scrubbed hard, trying to wash away the memory of his hand on my thigh. But all I felt was more heat. More need.
When I closed my eyes, I saw the photo. When I pressed my hand between my legs, I gasped his name. Even though I didn't know it.
Downstairs, the smell of pancakes and coffee drifted from the kitchen. I walked in, hair damp, heart racing.
Caleb sat at the table, scrolling through his phone. He looked up slowly.
"You okay?" he asked.
His eyes held mine a second too long. My throat dried.
"Just tired."
He smiled. "Long night?"
My stomach flipped.
"I... I couldn't sleep," I said.
He raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? You seemed pretty deep asleep when I checked on you."
I froze. "You what?"
"Nothing weird," he said quickly. "I just knocked. Didn't hear anything, so I figured you were out."
But that wasn't true.
He had knocked. I answered.
So why was he lying?
"Are you sure you didn't come in?" I asked lightly.
He looked confused. Or pretended to. "Why would I do that?"
I smiled, pretending too. "Just wondering."
He grinned. "What, you want me sneaking into your room now?"
I blinked. "What?"
He laughed, but his eyes were sharp. "Relax. I'm joking."
But it didn't feel like a joke.
I sat down and poured myself coffee with shaking hands. He pushed a plate of pancakes toward me. "Eat. You need energy."
I looked at the syrup. Thick. Sticky. Amber.
My mind flashed back to the photo. My thighs. His hand.
"Not hungry," I mumbled.
Caleb leaned back in his chair, watching me too closely.
"You look pale," he said.
"I said I'm fine."
Another silence.
Then his voice dropped lower. "Are you wearing that pendant today?"
I looked up fast. "What?"
He shrugged. "That one you had yesterday. I saw it on your neck. Silver. It looked expensive."
My breath caught. I hadn't worn it downstairs. I hadn't worn it at all since I found it taped to the mirror.
How did he know?
"You must be mistaken," I said slowly.
He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Maybe."
Then he stood. "Well, I'm heading out. Gym. Call if you need anything."
I watched him walk away, muscles shifting under his shirt. And I was sure.
He knew.
But why would he pretend?
Unless... he wasn't the one who touched me.
Unless... he was trying to protect me.
Or scare me.
Or seduce me slowly.
I ran upstairs, locked my door again, and grabbed the photo. I flipped it over.
And there—written in small black ink—was a new message.
"Would you let me do it again if I asked this time?"
My breath hitched.
A new buzz from my phone.
Blocked Number: You liked it. Don't lie to yourself.
I dropped the phone, heart slamming.
And then, a whisper.
Not a text. Not a message.
A real voice.
Behind me.
"I told you not to scream."
I spun.
The closet door was open again.
But no one was there.
Only the faintest trace of cologne.
The same one I smelled on Caleb's pillow last week.
I covered my mouth.
And smiled.
Because this game wasn't over.
It had just begun.