BLOOD AND HEART

77 | UNKNOWN

U  N  K  N  O  W  N

“Ah, the smell of fear and desperation. It’s intoxicating,” I whispered to myself, the echo of my voice bouncing off the cracked walls of my mansion. I relished the silence that followed, punctuated only by the occasional drip of water from the leaky roof. The place was a reflection of my mind—chaotic, broken, yet meticulously controlled.

The grand chandelier that once hung majestically was now shattered on the floor, glass shards scattered like fallen stars. The once-polished marble floors were stained with dark, ominous blotches, remnants of past ‘encounters.’ My favorite spot, the grand fireplace, stood tall but lifeless, its mantle adorned with photos of her. Nyx. My obsession.

It was at knox's wedding when I first saw her. She was a vision of perfection, standing out amidst the crowd. Her kindness radiated like a beacon, her smooth hair falling perfectly around her face, and that dress—hugging every curve of her body flawlessly. Lust was my initial reaction, a mere physical attraction. But then she spoke, and her voice sent my mind into a frenzy. It wasn’t just lust anymore. It was a consuming fire, an obsession that demanded more than just her body. I needed her soul.

I chuckled, a sinister sound that filled the empty room. “They all think it's Roman,” I muttered. “Poor, foolish Roman, with his pathetic schemes. He provided the perfect cover for my plans.”

Using Roman’s situation to my advantage was child’s play. Everyone expected him to be the mastermind, the culprit behind the mysterious gifts and blood-stained letters. They underestimated me, as they always do. Little did they know, it was I who pulled the strings from the shadows, my every move calculated, every detail meticulously planned.

I walked over to the desk, which was cluttered with files and photographs. Each one was a piece of Nyx’s life—her childhood, her friends, her family. I knew everything about her. Every weakness, every fear, every broken piece. And I loved her all the more for it. There was something profoundly beautiful about her vulnerability, something that called out to the darkness within me.

Her records were the key to my deeper obsession. She wasn’t just a pretty face; she was broken, damaged. And I adored broken things. They were easier to control, easier to manipulate. Nyx was my perfect doll, waiting to be fixed by the hands of someone who truly understood her.

Disguising myself as a trusted worker in Zayn’s mansion was a stroke of genius. It allowed me to watch her up close, to breathe the same air, to feel the electric charge of her presence. I would see her every day, living her life, unaware of the eyes that followed her every move.

I remember the first time I saw her in the mansion, laughing with the other staff. The sound of her laughter was like music, a symphony that played on repeat in my mind. I watched her, hidden in the shadows, my heart pounding with a mix of desire and possession. I wanted to reach out, to touch her, to make her mine. But I had to wait. Patience was key.

Each gift I sent was a piece of my soul, a token of my undying love. The letters, written in my blood, were declarations of my devotion. She had to understand the depth of my feelings, the lengths I was willing to go to make her mine.

I walked over to the mirror, staring at the masked face that looked back at me. The mask was my true face, the one that concealed my twisted mind. I smiled, a cruel, twisted smile. “Soon, my love. Soon you will be with me forever.”

The mask hid my scars, both physical and emotional. Scars from a past that had shaped me into the monster I was today. But Nyx wouldn’t see a monster. She would see a savior, someone who understood her pain, someone who could heal her brokenness.