Bound By Sin

Panicked.

Nicholas paced back and forth in his room, the air in the small space growing more suffocating by the minute. His breath was shallow, his heart pounding in his chest, his mind racing with a whirlwind of thoughts he couldn't control. He kept replaying the conversation he had overheard—Genevieve's voice, her confession to Isabella, the fear in Isabella's response.

"You have to tell the police," Isabella had said.

Genevieve had laughed, trying to defend him, but it was too late. Isabella knew now. And that meant everything was unraveling. The walls were closing in.

Nicholas clenched his fists, the muscles in his jaw tightening as he walked in tight circles around his room. He had trusted Genevieve. He had confided in her, bared his soul to her. He had believed she wouldn't betray him. But she had told Isabella. She had broken her promise.

How could she do that to me? he thought, his mind spiraling into darker territory. After everything I told her, after all the things I shared...

But even in his anger, he couldn't deny the truth he didn't want to face: he couldn't hurt Genevieve. He loved her. Even if she had betrayed him, even if she had broken his trust, he couldn't bring himself to imagine a world without her in it. She was the only one who had seen him, the real him, and she hadn't turned away. Not completely. He was confident that deep down, Genevieve wouldn't hurt him. She wouldn't go to the police. She wouldn't turn him in.

But Isabella? Isabella would.

He stopped pacing, his hands curling into fists at his sides as he stared at the reflection of himself in the mirror across the room. His eyes were wild, frantic, but there was clarity forming beneath the chaos. He knew what he had to do. The only way to stop everything from spiraling out of control was to eliminate the threat. Isabella was the threat. She had always been the more cautious one, the more rational one, the one who would see through his lies if given enough time.

Genevieve was too soft, too trusting. But Isabella? She'd go to the police without hesitation.

Nicholas' mind raced as he thought about his options. Killing Genevieve wasn't one of them—he knew that much. He couldn't hurt her, not in that way. But if Isabella was gone, Genevieve would have no reason to betray him again. She'd be safe. He'd make sure of it.

His fingers twitched at the thought, the solution settling into place like a final piece of a puzzle. It was simple, really. Isabella had to go. She was the one standing between him and safety, between him and Genevieve. Without her, everything would go back to the way it was.

But as he stood there, staring at his reflection, doubt crept into his mind. He didn't want to kill again. He had promised Genevieve he would try to be better. But what choice did he have? If Isabella went to the police, everything would be over. They'd find him. They'd take him away, lock him up, and he'd lose everything. He'd lose Genevieve. He couldn't let that happen.

He couldn't.

I have to do this. He told himself, his mind hardening with resolve. It's the only way.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady the pounding in his chest. He needed a plan. He couldn't just act impulsively. Not with this. Isabella was smart—she wouldn't be easy to get close to now that she knew the truth. But he had an advantage. She didn't know he had heard the conversation. She didn't know he was already one step ahead.

Nicholas' eyes narrowed as he thought it through, every detail, every possible outcome. He'd have to catch her alone, somewhere where no one could see. Somewhere she couldn't scream for help. And once it was done... once it was over... everything would be back to normal.

He shook his head, his jaw clenched tightly as the reality of what he was planning settled over him like a cold shroud. This was survival. It wasn't about killing for power or control anymore. It was about keeping himself safe, keeping Genevieve safe.

But even as he tried to justify it, a part of him twisted with guilt. He didn't want to hurt anyone. But Isabella had left him no choice.

He could still hear her voice, echoing in his mind: "You have to tell the police."

Nicholas' hands clenched into fists again, his knuckles turning white. "No, you don't," he muttered under his breath. "You're not telling anyone."

He stopped pacing and stood still for a moment, his breath coming out in shallow, controlled exhales. He knew what he had to do. And he'd do it soon. Before Isabella could take action.

His mind settled into a cold, calculated calm as he turned toward the window. The room felt smaller now, the air heavy with the weight of his decision. But there was no going back. This was the only way.

Nicholas climbed into bed, but he didn't sleep. His mind was a storm of thoughts and plans, a cold, determined focus guiding him. He couldn't afford to fail. Not this time.

And as he lay there, staring up at the ceiling, his jaw tight and his fists clenched under the covers, one thought repeated over and over again, like a mantra, like a promise.

Isabella had to go.

There was no turning back now.