𝓗𝓲𝓼 𝑅𝑒𝑖𝑔𝑛

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔽𝕚𝕟𝕒𝕝𝕖

Back home.

The night was thick with silence, the mansion cloaked in darkness, its cold, luxurious walls offering no comfort to Kailani as she stood barefoot by her bedroom window. The maid’s words echoed in her mind, a simple conversation about the mansion’s location had unraveled something more—her parents’ home wasn’t far. It was close enough to reach by bus. Close enough to run to. The revelation hit her like a surge of electricity, and her heart raced with the possibility of escape.

She glanced over her shoulder, her pulse quickening. Salvatore was nowhere to be seen. He was always watching, always there, but tonight… tonight he had some friends over, and he was downstairs in his 'man cave'. It was the perfect time, the only chance she had. Her breath came out shaky as she grabbed the long, white nightgown she was wearing, pulling it up just enough to avoid tripping on the hem. She tiptoed across the room, her bare feet ghosting over the cool floor, as she made her way to the door.

Her heart pounded in her chest, and her mind raced with thoughts of freedom, of home, of her parents’ arms around her, far from Salvatore’s suffocating grasp, just an hour, then she's be back.

Just an hour.
Just one hour.
An hour.
One hour.

She eased the door open, her fingers trembling as the heavy wood creaked, sending her stomach into knots. Please, don’t hear me. Don’t come up, she silently begged, slipping into the dimly lit hallway.

The mansion seemed to loom over her, its vastness like a labyrinth designed to keep her trapped. But she knew the way. She’d memorized every turn, every shadowy corner. The moonlight filtering through the tall windows barely illuminated her path, but she moved swiftly, desperate, passing by various pictures of herself.

The hallway narrowed, the lighting becoming weaker, something in her gut warned her to turn back, but her legs kept moving, as though pulled by some unseen force. Her heart quickened as she approached a large, iron door at the end of the corridor, unlike any other door in the house. It was rusted, its surface scratched, and the handle felt unnervingly cold against her skin. She hesitated before opening it, her breath shallow as she pushed it open with a low creak.

The room beyond was windowless, cloaked in a suffocating darkness, illuminated only by the flicker of candlelight. The air was thick with the smell of wax and something metallic, like copper, but something else struck her face, the scent all to familiar, the overpowering scent of vanilla and caramel-her perfume. As her eyes adjusted, the sight that awaited her made her blood run cold.

A shrine.

The room was filled with countless photographs of her, but not just any ordinary pictures like the ones Salvatore kept around the house. These were stolen moments, captured when she was unaware—through cracked doors, in reflections, even through the tinted windows of cars. Photos of her sleeping, brushing her hair, her eyes brimming with tears after one of terrible moments at school. Some were so close-up, the intimacy in them sent chills down her spine. They plastered every inch of the wall, overlapping, creating a suffocating collage of her life under his obsessive gaze.

In the center of the room stood an altar, draped in deep crimson silk, adorned with locks of her hair, stolen strands tied into little bows. A dress she thought she had lost months ago was draped over a mannequin, the fabric smeared with faint, dried streaks of something dark—blood. A broken hairbrush she had once used was displayed like a prized artifact. He had kept it all, every little thing that touched her.

Kailani's breath hitched as she stepped further into the room, her eyes falling on what lay atop the altar. A large, framed portrait of her, but this was different from the others. It wasn’t a photograph. It was a painting, disturbingly lifelike, yet exaggerated in its darkness. Her eyes were hollow, her expression vacant, painted with shadows that made her look ghostly, almost possessed. Beneath it, candles flickered, casting grotesque shadows that made the portrait seem alive, as though it was watching her.