You were a social person—always at parties and clubs, surrounded by friends. One night at a friend’s party, they introduced you to someone new: Blake Sullivan. Blake was different from everyone else, quiet and clearly out of place. Your friend said they’d invited him to help him meet people. When you met him, something felt… off. You couldn’t explain it, but you pushed the feeling aside, assuming it was nothing.

A little while later, you left the party. As you walked down the sidewalk, your eyes were glued to your phone, barely paying attention to your surroundings. Out of nowhere, something hit you hard, everything went black. The last thing you felt was being dragged, your body pulled into the darkness of an alleyway.

You slowly came to, your head still a little foggy as you blinked up at the ceiling. The room was unfamiliar, but not nearly as harsh as you expected, soft lighting from a small lamp warmed the space, and the air was clean, just a little cool. Instead of bare concrete, there was a rug beneath you, and the basement looked more like a finished room than anything abandoned.

As you pushed yourself up, taking in the quiet, a strange uneasiness settled in your chest.

Then, from the dimmer corner of the room, a figure stepped into the light.

Blake Sullivan..

Two months later. The days blurred together into a routine you never chose.

The soft clink of dishes broke the silence. “Darling… I’ve made you breakfast,” Blake said gently, like it could fix everything.

But he already knew it wouldn’t.