Chapter Eleven

I waited for hours, watching as Maya finally succumbed to sleep, her slow breathing filling the stillness. One by one, the lights downstairs flickered off, leaving the house shrouded in darkness. 

Soon, I find myself walking into the familiar darkness. The shadows from the hallway crept across the floor, barely touching the dim light from...candles? Scented candles, perfectly lined up along the walls, flickering a light which create an illusion of warmth. This is a beautifully, romantic invitation. Something which spurs butterflies but all I could feel was a cold turmoil churning inside me as I made my way towards the unknown awaiting downstairs. 

The unease was there the moment I stepped into the room. Even before I noticed the wine bottle—uncorked and waiting—on the table, accompanied by two glasses. One glass has full, anticipating my arrival.

"Couldn't sleep?" A voice broke the silence, so familiar and so gentle with a undertone of concern. I paused at the threshold, eyes unable to look away. A figure was sat, poised in a tailored suit that fit too perfectly. It's features were smooth, flawless—too flawless—and the smile...my breath caught, because for a split second, I saw Giovanni. My heart twisted. I had to remind myself: this wasn't him..

"I didn't expect you to be up, especially in a suit." I kept my tone casual, though my pulse raced as I allowed my eyes to linger—just long enough to feel how wrong this was. "Do you have somewhere to be?"

"Right here with you," it replied, the voice smooth and even. "If you don't like the suit, you're welcome to come and remove it."

The audacity of the remark made my gaze snap to meet his-it's gaze, just as the candlelight flickered, casting light into the fleeting shadows of its eyes that revealed something dangerously close to desire. I took a sharp breath, my throat tightening. Giovanni—the playboy smile, the familiar gleam in his eyes. My feet betrayed me, moving a step closer, pulled by a magnetic force I didn't understand. Then the candle flickered, the brief shadow on its face reminding me this was a lie. 

"Isn't it late for a glass of wine?" I said, taking a seat on the nearest couch, keeping a safe distance between us.

It leaned back, mimicking the gestures Giovanni used to make, as though the body it wore still remembered how to move like him. "There's something about late-night conversations that feels more... intimate, don't you think?"

The realization hung in the air, cutting deeper than it should have.

Waiting for me.

'Giovanni could never.'

I glanced at the glass it had poured for me. The dark red liquid reflected the candlelight like a warning. Through the wine, I stole a glance at this imposter. Its calm demeanor unsettled me more than it should have. I tried to focus, trying to shake the sense that I was playing a game I didn't understand. 'How do I kill it? Would it stay dead? Or would something else replace it?'

"I didn't think you liked wine," I murmured, keeping my voice steady. "You used to say it gave you headaches."

It didn't react—no flinch, no shift in expression. "Tastes change. Sometimes, a good wine can reveal hidden desires. Maybe I'm more open to exploration now."

The smile that followed was warm, playful even, but there was an edge to it—like it knew something I didn't know. My skin prickled with unease. I lifted the glass but didn't drink, swirling the wine around, watching it trace the edges of the glass. The motion reflected the chaos I tried to contain inside, the weight of something unsaid pressing down on me.

"I suppose some things never change," I said, my voice softer now, unbidden memories washing over me. Giovanni and I used to share late-night conversations, candles lit, wine glasses between us but that was years ago—before he stopped showing up. Before I spent night after night alone, waiting for a moment that never came.

The creature watched me, too still. Giovanni had always been restless, full of life; this thing, though—it was too calculated, too composed. Does it want to be caught?

"I've been thinking," I ventured, careful to keep my tone light, testing the waters. "About how things have been different."

"Different?" It echoed, the word a soft ripple in the charged atmosphere.

I nodded, playing at casualness. "You've been distant. Quiet."

A small shift—barely noticeable, but I caught it. "Is that what you think? Or are you projecting your own distance onto me?"

My fingers tightened around the glass. I didn't respond, my silence speaking louder as I held its gaze and brought the wine to my lips. The truth was bitter, though the wine was sweet. The silence between us stretched thin, fragile, as if it could shatter with the slightest push.

"What would you like me to do about that?" It leaned forward, chin resting on its hand—a gesture that once might have seemed thoughtful, but now carried an undercurrent of amusement. It was playing with me, waiting for me to slip.

"Should I whisper sweet nothings? Or share my deepest secrets?" it teased, its eyes narrowing just slightly, searching for the cracks in my armor.

My gaze darted to the door—Leave, I silently commanded. I took another sip of wine, hoping to steady my nerves, but the quiet longing pressed harder against the edges of my resolve. The wine tasted sweeter, yet my throat constricted, as if the very air between us was growing heavier, suffocating me.

"We haven't talked like this in a while," I said, setting the glass down with deliberate care. "I suppose... it's overdue."

Its smile broadened, but it didn't reach its eyes. "Then let's talk. Have another glass."

I hesitated, sensing something more than a casual offer. A test of my compliance. Much like Giovanni used to. "Just one is fine," I said, leaning back, keeping the distance intact. "I'd hate to wake up with a headache."

A charged silence followed, and when it finally spoke, its voice was low and measured. "Headaches can come from many things. Not just wine. Secrets, perhaps."

A chill crawled down my spine. Did it know what I'd been planning? Could it sense the battle I was waging within myself?

"They do," I agreed, careful now. "Stress, lack of sleep...there's a lot to juggle." The words felt hollow. What I really wanted to say was much darker—more desperate.

It studied me, eyes lingering too long. "Yes, I imagine it's exhausting," it said, voice softening unexpectedly. "You've always been strong, though. Haven't you?"

The room felt smaller, the air thick with unspoken tension. 'I have to keep it together'—but the wine was already working its soothing magic, unraveling the knots in my nerves and any urgency. The creature raised its glass in a slow, deliberate toast, but I didn't return the gesture, my grip tightening around the stem instead.

"I've been thinking too," it said, voice contemplative now. "About you. About us."

The way its eyes lingered on me made my skin crawl, not from disgust at it, but from the unsettling effect it had on me. "You know, strength also means knowing when to let go... of certain things."

The words struck a nerve. 'What was it getting at?'

"You've been distant," it continued, turning the conversation back on me. "Preoccupied. What secrets are you keeping, Juliana?"

I raised an eyebrow, leaning back with forced ease. "What are you implying?"

It held my gaze. "There's something different about you. I wonder if it has to do with how you've been... navigating this new life. Or perhaps, the choices you've made."

It was a challenge, a dangerous one. I swallowed, lifting the glass to my lips, but only tasting the edge. 'It knew. It had to...right?'

"I'm not planning anything," I said, my voice carefully controlled, though the tension was beginning to unravel inside me.

The creature smiled, but there was nothing kind in the gesture. "You should."

I didn't respond, but the weight of its words settled into the pit of my stomach, making it impossible to breathe.