Chapter 1
This isn’t death; it’s torment, if not pain made eternal. The water isn’t here to free me – it’s here to show me that even suffering has a depth I’ve yet to reach. My body sinks further into the water, but I refuse to close my eyes, feeling the sting as it pushes against them, forcing me to face the darkness that’s closing in.
This feeling of nothingness.
Numbness. The void swallowing every emotion I’ve ever known.
Silence.
The weight of this silence settles deeper, and with it, the thoughts begin to creep in. Again.
Things will never get better. I can’t escape this pain. Nothing I do seems to make things better. I am trapped in this endless cycle.
I just need a break. A break from this life, from these relentless emotions, from this ceaseless chatter in my head.
Why can’t it just stop? What’s the point anymore? Why am I still holding on? Can this be it?
But the silence answers nothing. And the weight never lifts. I wait for something – anything to shift, but nothing comes.
The water surrounds me. I try to reason myself, to push past the heaviness keeping me here.
You can’t stay. This isn’t where it ends. Move. But the thought feels hollow, a desperate plea from a part of me I’m too tired to listen to. My body feels disconnected from my thoughts, the command falling into the still water like stones, sinking without a trace.
Get out. You have to. The voice in my head grows desperate, the sting behind my eyes sharpening.
Why bother? And then those goddamn thoughts shove their way back in. What’s waiting for me up there?
Another demand. Another failure.
Another weight I can’t bear.
My body pleads for release, for the cold to take over, for the fight to end. For a moment, I want to give in.
The sound of the pool door creaking open jolts me from my spiral. My body tenses, instinct pulling me into a defensive curl. A shadow falls over the water, stretching across my face as it draws near.
“Miss Elysia.” The tone is sharp and precise, each syllable delivered with practiced restraint. No need to look up; the voice carries the sharp precision of someone who files my father’s paperwork alphabetically – my father’s assistant, Kai. “You’re needed in his office. Mr. Vasiliev expects you in twenty minutes.”
My nails dig into my palm as I clench my fist, the tension in my hand spreading up my arm. The cold water feels even colder now, pressing against me like a reminder of everything waiting outside. My father. Always expecting. Always watching.
I inch toward the edge, dragging my body which is resisting every movement. Reaching the tiles, I grip the edge with tight shoulders, unable to lift myself against the water’s weight pulling me down.
“Miss Elysia,” he says again. “You know better than to keep him waiting.”
A shiver runs through me, though not from the cold. The weight pressing me down intensifies. I don’t move, don’t respond, and for a moment, I think he’ll leave and just report my failure back to my father. But then, I hear the faintest sigh - barely audible - and footsteps approaching the edge of the pool.
He crouches down, his voice quieter now but no less professional. “Miss Elysia, it’s not my place to ask, but are you alright?”
His words take me by surprise, and I glance up, water dripping from my lashes as I look up at him. His expression is blank, neutral, the perfect mask of professionalism but there’s a subtle shift in his gaze – a moment of hesitation, something more than just duty.
“I–” My throat constricts, the words lodged there, too heavy to speak.
Kai doesn’t push. Instead, he holds out a hand, his finger within reach. “You don’t have to say anything. Just… come up. You have eighteen minutes. Either I pull you out, or you get up on your own. The choice and the help is yours, Miss Elysia.”
Something stirs within me – not strength, not resolve but a quiet defiance that refuses to be commanded. Without a second thought, I place my hand on the edge of the pool.
I turn to Kai, meeting his gaze. “Step aside, Mr. Kade.”
He doesn’t argue. His eyes flicker briefly to my hand, then to my face before he steps aside, shifting back with a subtle bow of his head as if acknowledging something unsaid.
I don’t need his help. I pull myself upward with controlled strength. With one final push, I lift myself from the water, the weight of it finally relinquishing its grip on me. My body trembles from the exertion, but I stand tall on my own.
Ignoring him, I reach for my towel and wrap it around myself, pulling it snugly. The warmth of it is a stark contrast to the coldness of the water I just escaped. My fingers tug at the fabric, adjusting it around my shoulders.
“You have fifteen minutes now,” he says, returning to impersonal professionalism as he steps back, keeping a respectful distance. His eyes briefly assess my appearance. “Change quickly. You know Mr. Vasiliev expects you to present yourself.”
He orders so much that you’d think he’s on a commission for every command. I roll my eyes.
I turn toward the changing room, ignoring the urgency that gnaws at me. I walk with the stillness of someone who knows what’s coming but isn’t willing to rush toward it.
“Fourteen minutes,” he states. ’You need to hurry up.”
And you need to stop acting like my personal alarm clock.
I nod and quicken my pace, heading toward my room. Because he’s right. My father’s shadow looms over every decision, every step. I can’t afford to falter – not now, not ever.
“Don’t be late.” The door clicks shut behind him, leaving me to wonder if he’s off to file some paperwork with his impeccable timing.
I shut the door behind me and leaned against it for a moment, letting the quiet and darkness of the room sink in. I reach for the closet door, my fingers trembling as I pull it open. I grab an oversized t-shirt, then my gaze flickers to the mirror, and stops. The woman in it doesn’t show the struggle, but I feel everything unraveling beneath the surface.
“I wonder if you’d shiver more if I told you I’m right here, watching.” The voice landed like stone against my skin. The shirt still gripped in my hand, and I almost dropped it in my haste to look around the room.
There he is. On my bed, leaning against the headboard, His full black mask staring back at me. The sight of it sharpens the irritation in my chest. I can’t look away, but all I want is to tear it off.
“You’re here.” I force my voice out, but it trembles.
“Always here, because where else would I be?”
I want to believe that.
“You’re here? Yes,” I say, taking a step toward him. “Close? Yes. But still a stranger.”
He stands from the bed, walking towards me. The closer he gets, the harder it is to not snatch his mask away.
“I’ve watched you,” he says. “I’ve noticed how your eyes skim the edges of every crowd, how your breath hitches when you catch me in your periphery, how your shoulders tense whenever I’m close. You call me a stranger, but your body betrays the lie—you’ve always known exactly who I am.”
My mind races.
Always known… No, no, I haven’t.
“So, tell me,” His hands trail slowly to the nape of my neck, fingers grazing the skin there. “Am I still a stranger?”
I press closer, drawn to the heat of his touch. “You’re not a stranger... But you’re still not someone I know. Not the way I should.” I reach for his mask, but he shifts away keeping it just beyond my grasp. His hand was no longer on me. “You’re still a distance I can’t close. Not in a way I need.”
“Maybe that’s because you’re not looking at me,” he gestures to his mask. “You’re looking at this.”
“Take it off. Let me see you.”
“You care too much.”
“You’re wrong if you think I care about someone like you.”
“Maybe. But you remember someone like me. And that’s the difference between me and a stranger.” Then he steps in, even closer. “You think I am a stranger? I am not. I never was. And I never will be.”
“Then let me see you.”
“Plead for it,” he commands. “I want to taste it. Your desperation for it. And then, just maybe, I’ll consider what you crave to see.”
Not happening.
My gaze hardens. “If that’s the case, then disappear. You follow me and stalk me around. You’re nothing more than a shadow–one I never asked for, never wanted. And I’ll outrun you, erase you, forget you ever existed. So, either step into the light or vanish.”
“Shadows don’t vanish, dove. You think you can outrun them, but you can’t outrun what’s already inside you.” He smiles, sickeningly sweet. “I’m already inside you, whether you want me there or not. And as for escaping me… you won’t. Because I’m not going anywhere. Never even planning to.”
“Oh, but shadows do vanish when the light hits.”
“By then, I’ll be too deep inside you to be erased.”
“Take it off.”
“Plead.”
“No.”
“If you don’t, then I’ll make you wish you had.”
“You will,” he gently sweeps my wet hair back. “And if you don’t, then I’ll make you wish you had.”
He walks to the window, each step pulling him further out of my reach.
Say something. Stop him. But what?
Just as he’s about to jump, he pauses. “Change before you get a cold.”
“Show me your face, and I’ll never run from you.” I blurt out.
He stills. His fist clenches, knuckles turning white, then red--glistening under the moonlight.
And then, without a word, he’s gone.
The silence feels heavier now, laden with everything he’s said and done. I can’t shake the feeling that he’s still watching, his eyes on me, even now.
I take a deep breath and step into the bathroom. Peeling off the damp clothes, I pull on something dry. But when I step out, I freeze.
On the edge of the bed, I notice a folded envelope. My stomach drops, and despite every instinct urging me to turn away, I walk toward it. I reach for it slowly, as though it might burn me.
My fingers tremble as I unfold it, my breath held in anticipation. The handwriting is neat and deliberate like he took his time. I can almost feel him standing behind me, watching my every movement, waiting for me to read the words he wrote.
You want to know me? Come find me, dove.
P.S.: Good. Because there’s nowhere for you to run. Not from me.
I smile.
The paper is simple, but the message is anything but. A challenge, a demand, a dare – so many things wrapped in that one sentence. There’s no name, no sign-off, just the cold certainty that he is expecting me to follow the trial he’s left. Now, his presence feels stronger than before. As though he’s never really left.
As if it wasn’t enough, a ticket slips from between the pages. My breath hitches when I see the details, the ticket almost mocking me.
It’s a ticket for an NHL game, a Bruins vs Rangers game at TD Garden, tomorrow night.
My eyes scan the details: Seats Section 105, Row G, seat 12. It’s a prime location, right in the heart of the action. The energy of the crowd will be deafening, the tension thick in the air as the rival teams fight it out on the ice. I can almost hear the clack of skates, the thud of the puck slamming against the boards, the cheer of thousands as the game heats up.
I don’t know if I should be afraid or intrigued. He knows where I’ll be. He knows what will draw me in.
But where will he be? In a stadium of thousands, how will I find him? Will he be beside me, hidden in plain sight, across the arena, watching me from a distance, tracking my every step as I search for him? Will he be close enough for me to feel him? Or will he be somewhere out of reach? How will I know it’s him, and when I do, will he even let me come close?
The thoughts twist something inside me.
I have no answer, but one thing is certain: I am going to have to play his game. To see how far this goes. And, somehow, I know that when I step into that arena tomorrow night, the game will no longer be just on the ice.
