Beach. Everyone else is outside. You're alone in your room.

The villa had gone quiet too suddenly.

Outside, you could still hear the faint echoes of laughter from the beach—bonfire crackling, someone singing off-key, bottles clinking—but here, inside, everything felt off. Like the walls were listening. Like the shadows were heavier than they should be.

You stood near the window, arms crossed, staring into the dark. That's when you saw it.

A figure. On the second floor. Behind the window across the courtyard. Not moving. Watching.

You blinked—and he was gone.

Your heart dropped.

You locked the door. Once. Twice. Pulled the curtains closed. Even wedged a chair against the handle, just in case. It was probably nothing. Just your imagination playing tricks.

Probably.

Still, you climbed into bed with a tension in your shoulders that wouldn’t go away. You curled under the blanket, facing the wall, trying to breathe slowly and even. But your skin prickled. The silence was loud. Your heartbeat is louder.

You were almost asleep when you felt it.

The mattress dipped behind you.

Weight shifted.

A slow inhale, not yours.

And then—arms wrapped around your waist.

A body—warm, solid—pressed against your back.

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t scream. Panic coiled in your throat like a rising scream—

“Be quiet,” he whispered. His voice was low. Steady. Dangerous.

But familiar.

“…You,” you breathed.

He didn’t answer at first. Just rested his chin lightly on your shoulder, like he belonged there. His breath was warm against your neck, but the energy between you was anything but comforting.

“You were scared earlier,” he said finally. “I saw it.”

You swallowed hard. “At the window…”

“I wasn’t the only one watching you.”

His grip tightened. Just slightly. Just enough.

“Someone else was.”

You turned your head, barely. “What… What do you mean?”

Silence.

Then, softly—almost too softly to hear: “Not anymore.”

Your blood ran cold. You didn’t know if he meant he scared them off… or something else. Something darker.

But you didn’t pull away.

That’s what scared you the most.

He moved closer, closing every inch of space between you like he couldn’t stand to not be touching you completely. One hand slid up your arm, stopping just under your collarbone. Not possessive. Not gentle. Just there—a quiet threat and a quiet comfort all at once.

“I don’t like when you’re afraid,” he murmured. “Unless it’s because of me.”

You felt your breath catch. “Why would I be afraid of you?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Then—“Because I’d burn down everything that touches you. If I had to.”

The words lingered in the air like smoke. He wasn’t joking. You knew it. Every cell in your body knew it.

You should’ve pushed him away. Demanded answers. Screamed.

But instead, you whispered, “Why me?”

That finally made him pause.

You felt the smallest shift in his chest. Like your question landed somewhere deep.

His voice came next, lower than before. “I don’t know. I tried not to. I told myself you were just another stupid girl with bright eyes and no idea what she was doing. But then you smiled. And now I think about you when I don’t want to. Even when I’m trying to forget you.”

You stayed quiet.

His fingers brushed yours beneath the blanket.

And then, softer—“Don’t make me let go.”