6

I stood in the doorway, frozen, the key still in my hand, when I saw her. Helen. She was sitting at my kitchen table as if it were the most natural thing in the world, as if she had never done anything else but sit in my apartment, letting the steam of a warm stew linger in the air. The pots gleamed in the light filtering through the shutters, and the scent of roasted vegetables mingled with a sharper, undefined smell—one I couldn't quite name yet.

"I cooked," she said, as if nothing was out of the ordinary, turning toward me with a smile that was somehow too sweet to be trusted.

"I can see that. Did you break in with a credit card, like they always show in movies?"

I let my bag sink to the floor and took a step further into the room, my heartbeat quickening. Something felt off—like a gap that was there but kept slipping away every time I tried to grasp it. I quickly grabbed the sweater on my couch and pulled it over my bare shoulders.

"You'll see how easy things become when you start trusting yourself a little more," she murmured, as if she hadn't noticed my outfit. Her smile was gentle, almost affectionate, but there was a suspicious calmness in her eyes, something I had never seen in her before.

"I'll try to remember that," I said, trying to lose myself in the moment. My words didn't come out as planned. They sounded cold, almost dismissive.

I couldn't think of anything but Sam—the way his hands had touched me with a mixture of power and desire. I could still taste the whiskey in my mouth.

🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️

"So, you made it," I remarked, letting another piece of potato disappear into my mouth.

"Yes," she said, as if she had never wished for anything else. "Theo took me in back then, at the law firm, when I was just nineteen—young, pregnant, and naive. Now I'm... more than that. The boss's secretary and his wife."

She laughed, her eyes locking onto mine in a way that both drew me in and repelled me. And then, suddenly, her words wrapped around me, trapping me. Her casual storytelling took on a different weight, something larger. She had made it. She had everything she wanted—a husband, a house, a family.

I couldn't stop the bitter taste rising in my throat.

"That's impressive," I said, my own voice echoing in my ears, hollow and empty.

I wanted her to keep talking. I wanted to hear her describe her perfect life, to get lost in the details, but my mind was elsewhere. On Sam. On Levi. On the encounter that had pulled me into another world, one where I had already reserved a place for myself.

"And what about you?" she suddenly asked, looking at me with that knowing gaze, the one that revealed more than it admitted. "How's everything going for you? Are your social media contacts still keeping you entertained?"

Her voice was soft—almost too soft for my current state of mind.

"It's fine," I answered, my tone turning hard, emotionless. I quickly looked away, focusing on my food instead.

But I heard it. That question. And then I saw the expression in her eyes. A flicker of doubt. Or was it something else? A spark I couldn't quite decipher.

I forced myself to smile, and for a moment, it felt easier than it had an hour ago. Maybe because the smile was a shield, a thread separating me from her. Maybe because I knew she would notice if I didn't put it on.

"Everything is perfect," I said. And as I spoke the words to myself, I knew they sounded hollow and detached. Only I could hear it.

"That's good," she said with a nod, her fingers brushing over the edge of the table as her gaze pierced through me. Her eyes had a contemplative glint now, as if she knew more than she was letting on.

I knew that she knew what I was thinking. And the feeling in my chest—that mix of fear, control, and arousal—grew inside me until it was almost unbearable.

I forced myself to look away from her.

Helen had that look, the one I used to love—the look that was never intrusive but felt like a gentle touch. But now, as she watched me, studying my reactions, I knew she knew more than she was saying.

My chest tightened, and for a moment, I could barely suppress the need to regain control. Deep down, I knew she didn't approve of the kind of life I was leading. I knew I had to pull myself together.

It wasn't fair to lump Helen in with me just because I understood how far one could go when pulling the right strings. Helen wasn't like me. She had never felt the urge to play with people. She had her world, her rules.

And me? I had changed those rules. I had made the game my own.

"Do you remember how you were always the first one in the kitchen whenever there was food?" she asked, pulling me back to our childhood. Her voice had that nostalgic lightness that made everything else fade into the background.

"Kira does the same thing. Must be in the genes."

I couldn't remember ever being like that. Not in the way she described. But I pretended it was funny, played along with the little joke. I laughed, even though it felt wrong. "I was always hungry," I said, lifting the glass she kept refilling for me.

"You always had that patience. The kind I never had."

"Patience is a virtue," she said quietly, staring at the glass in front of her as if she were contemplating her own words. "Maybe you should learn to appreciate it."

The wine burning through my veins suddenly made my head feel heavy, but I said nothing. The soft numbness spreading through me was a good excuse. I pushed aside the unease, the doubt, and blamed it on the wine.

It was that flow, that sugary refuge that came in a glass. A little more, and the pressure in my chest might disappear. I drank as if I could drown out my own thoughts. The wine worked faster than usual. Maybe I had overdone it with the glasses. Or maybe it was the moment—the familiarity of the setting—that made my head spin.

"You look like you've lost your mind," she said, her voice sliding softly into the silence of the room. "Are you sure you're still with us?"

I shook my head slightly, trying to shake off the lightness that had settled over me. But it was there, creeping into my body, pushing me further toward losing control. "I..." I started, but the words wouldn't quite take shape.

"I've had a lot to drink today. I already had a glass of champagne at a meeting earlier," I finally added, forcing a smile that felt as dull as the room around me.

Helen nodded, but her gaze said something else. She could see that I was drinking more than I needed to. And yet, she said nothing. She reached for her own glass, lifting it slowly as if trying to capture the moment.

"You know, Claire, you've never changed," she said then, her voice almost a whisper, as if she were sharing a secret with me. It made me pause.

Her words hung in the air, looking for a place to anchor themselves. She looked at me, and for a moment, I thought she meant something else. Something that didn't fit into this story.

Was that judgment in her words?

"I'm not sure if that's good or bad," I replied, trying to steady myself as my head swayed. "It's both," she said, almost too quietly, as if she were deciding how far she could go.

She placed her hand on the table, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. "Maybe the answer lies in what you do, not in what you think."

I felt a shiver run through me as her words sank deep. And I knew I wouldn't walk away from this conversation without realizing something. Without facing a truth that was uncomfortable but familiar.

And I knew that she knew. She knew more than she would ever reveal. Had she changed this much? But all of it blurred as the wine rose inside me again, dulling my senses.

And I decided to do nothing but laugh. Nothing but enjoy what I had. Control was a fragile game. And maybe it was time to let go of it—just a little.

Helen sat across the table from me, her gaze still sharp, but the edges of her expression softened, as if she were lulling me into a sense of security while she occasionally sipped her wine. "You know, Claire," she said, swirling the glass slightly, "you have to keep an eye on your family, don't you?" Her words came slowly, almost casually, as if she wasn't entirely sure she should be saying them out loud. A chill ran through me, even though the room was warm.

"What do you mean?" I asked, but I already knew. This wasn't the first time she'd made a remark like this. But this time, something dark slithered into her voice, something I didn't like.

Another dig? Damn it, I get it. You've been watching me all these years. I haven't changed to your satisfaction, and you picked me up in my apartment like some caretaker when I came back, dressed like a whore. I know that you know what I was doing before.

"You know, in a family, there are things you don't always see, right?" Helen leaned in slightly, her gaze boring deeper into me. "Sometimes, you just have to be a little more careful."

Her words sounded like a riddle, and I tried to untangle them, but they were so finely spun that I wasn't sure what exactly she meant. Keeping an eye on me—was that a warning?

Or just another crack through which she was pulling me into her world?

I felt uneasy, that creeping sense that I was missing something, something hidden beneath her words and kindness, something I couldn't grasp. A nervous shiver crawled up my spine. But I shook it off, forcing a smile as I raised my glass, though it no longer offered the same comfort. The relief I sought in each sip was deceptive.

Maybe it was the wine, I thought. Maybe it was just the alcohol making me doubt things all of a sudden.

But then, a thought struck me—one that sent an immediate shock through my system.

Had Helen put something in my drink? My eyes darted to the glass in my hand, then to hers—she was drinking from the same bottle. No. The food? What the hell?! She ate too. She served herself from the same pot. It couldn't be her.

"It's fine," I mumbled, as if trying to reassure myself. But my thoughts kept spiraling, relentless.

What if...?

Before I could go further down that rabbit hole, Helen changed the subject.

"You know, I've been thinking lately," she said, her face hardening for a brief moment before continuing, "Theo... sometimes I wonder if he doesn't, well... lose his temper a little too often. Especially with Kira. She's so full of energy. Kids that age aren't easy. And now she's at that age where, you know, the female hormones and everything kick in."

She sighed.

"Sometimes, I feel sorry that, because of me, he's practically forced to raise another man's child."

I froze.

Her words hung in the air like an unspeakable accusation.

"What do you mean?" I asked, far too quickly, far too sharply. But Helen waved it off. "Oh, it's nothing you really want to think about, Claire. It's just her age. She'll grow out of it." Her eyes gleamed as she tried to disarm the weight of her own words with a crooked smile.

"Laugh. It was just a little exaggeration from a mother with a teenage daughter."

But I couldn't laugh. The thought burrowed into me, too fast, too painful to shake off immediately.

What was she implying?

The image of that man—the one in the photos, smiling warmly, looking like he belonged in a toothpaste commercial for the perfect family man—could he even think of something sinister?

A cold, burning sensation rose in my stomach. I forced a smile, but it unsettled even me. "Of course. I understand," I said, making a genuine effort to believe it.

But right now, in this moment, it all felt like a terrible distortion. I tried to organize my thoughts, but it was too much. Too fast. And the last glass of wine didn't help. Everything started to spin.

I felt dizzy, and suddenly, everything was too close, too suffocating. The darkness crept along the edges of my mind until I could feel it wrapping around me. "Teenagers," I muttered, trying to keep the smile on my face. But it was hollow, a desperate attempt to hold on to control.

🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️

When she finally left, an inexplicable exhaustion overtook me. I couldn't escape it. Couldn't fight it. My eyes drifted shut. The darkness pressed down, heavy and insistent.

I was no longer in my apartment.

I was in a different, unknown room.

Theo was there, but he was different—his eyes wild.

Kira was there, a girl struggling to get away, but Theo grabbed her, held her as if he were going to break her. He stood there, a shadowy figure, his hands no longer those of a loving father but of someone who believed the world belonged to him alone.

His fingers dug into Kira's delicate throat. Her face was frozen in fear, her eyes wide, silent in pain, trembling.

She fought like an animal in a trap, but it was useless. Her tiny arms and legs flailed, but Theo was too strong.

Helen was there, but she wasn't the woman I knew. Panic filled her eyes as she tried to calm him, but her words came too late.

I wanted to scream.

No, want was too weak—I tried to scream, but no sound escaped my lips. I wanted to run, to help her, but my gaze was locked in place as Kira suddenly clung to his leg, utterly exposed.

The darkness slithered around me. Just the dull, pounding echo of my own heart, dragging me further down. "Come on, Claire. Listen to the universe," a deep, smooth voice whispered.

"It's speaking."

His tone was almost gentle, as if he were explaining something important to me. "You know what happens when you don't pick a side. Trust your instincts. You always have to be vigilant."

The ground beneath my feet gave way. I kept falling, falling, until the world around me shattered into a thousand pieces. The darkness swallowed me whole. And I was powerless. I heard Kira's scream echoing.

And then—silence.

When I woke up, I still wasn't free. The darkness hadn't left me. Neither had the tears or the echo in my ears.