acoffin6

[acoffin6]

i don’t want to do anything else but love you

[acoffin6]

and all i loved, i loved alone

[acoffin6]

Chapter 2: The Party

The sound of camera shutters was deafening as Finley’s car rolled to a stop at the foot of the Wayland Estate’s grand circular driveway. A sea of photographers lined the edge of the carpet, their flashes lighting up the night like a storm.

Finley shifted nervously in her seat, her palms slick against the fabric of her dress. She hadn’t expected this—bright lights, shouting voices, the press clamoring for attention.

She took a deep breath as the driver stepped out and opened her door.

The first thing she saw was Alex.

He stood at the base of the marble steps, his black hair gleaming under the lights, his tailored suit as sharp as his smile. His green eyes locked onto hers immediately, and in that moment, the noise and chaos seemed to fade.

“Finley!” someone shouted from the crowd, snapping her back to reality.

She stepped out of the car, her heels clicking against the stone as she straightened. The flashes intensified, voices calling her name from all directions.

Alex moved toward her, his stride purposeful. He extended a hand as he reached her, his smile warm and inviting. “You came.”

Finley hesitated, then took his hand, letting him guide her up the steps. The contact was brief but firm, his fingers cool against hers.

“What is all this?” she asked quietly, gesturing to the cameras.

He chuckled, leaning in slightly. “A bit overwhelming, isn’t it? They’ve been eager to see how the new Wayland era begins. And tonight, it begins with you.”

Her stomach tightened. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re my guest of honor,” he said simply, his tone as smooth as silk.

“Alex—”

“Smile, Finley,” he murmured, interrupting her. “They’re watching.”

She forced a tight smile as they reached the top of the steps, the flashbulbs still blinding. Alex turned slightly, gesturing toward her with a small, deliberate motion that sent a ripple of interest through the crowd.

“Finley Winter,” someone muttered behind a camera. “Isn’t that the girl whose parents—?”

The words were swallowed by the din, but Finley felt their weight settle on her chest.

Inside the estate, the noise faded into the background, replaced by the soft hum of music and the clink of glasses.

As they entered the grand foyer, Alex kept his hand lightly on her back, guiding her through the crowd. He moved with an ease that bordered on predatory, his green eyes scanning the room before settling back on her.

“I knew you’d fit perfectly,” he said, his voice low enough that only she could hear.

“I didn’t come here to be part of your show,” she replied, her tone sharp.

His smile didn’t falter, but his grip on her back tightened slightly. “You’re not part of the show, Finley. You’re the centerpiece. People have been curious about you for years. This is your chance to set the record straight.”

“Set the record straight?” she echoed, her voice rising. “About what?”

“About you,” he said simply, his smile unwavering. “About us.”

She stopped walking, pulling back from him. “There is no ‘us,’ Alex.”

His expression darkened for the briefest moment, a flicker of something dangerous passing through his eyes. Then he stepped closer, his voice soft but firm. “You’re here, Finley. That’s all that matters.”

Meanwhile, outside the estate, the press continued to buzz with speculation.

“Finley Winter,” a young reporter said into a microphone, her voice low but urgent. “Her connection to the Wayland family has always been a topic of interest, especially after her parents’ tragic murder years ago. Could her appearance tonight signal a rekindling of old ties?”

Behind her, photographers pored over their shots, their focus on the girl who had stepped out of Alex Wayland’s shadow and into the spotlight.

The crowd at the party seemed to grow thicker as the night wore on, but Finley gravitated toward the edges of the room, where the noise was quieter, and the lights weren’t as harsh. She sipped her drink, scanning the room for a familiar face—not out of comfort, but to anchor herself in the unfamiliar chaos.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” a familiar voice said behind her.

She turned, relief washing over her when she saw Detective Nathan Woodlock. He was dressed in a tailored suit, his tie slightly loosened, but the sharpness in his gray eyes was unmistakable.

“Nathan,” she said, her shoulders relaxing for the first time all night. “What are you doing here?”

“I should be asking you that,” he replied, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “But I suppose it makes sense. Old ties and all.”

“Something like that,” she said, her voice guarded.

Nathan’s expression shifted, becoming more serious as he leaned slightly closer. “I’ve been looking into Alex Wayland. His father left behind a lot of questions, and now that Alex has taken over...well, let’s just say some of those questions haven’t gone away.”

Finley frowned. “And you think Alex is involved in something?”

“I think he’s too smooth to be clean,” Nathan said, lowering his voice. “And I think you’re here because he wants something from you.”

Her stomach tightened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Nathan studied her for a moment, his gaze unwavering. “Just be careful, Finley. People like Alex Wayland don’t give without taking something in return.”

Before she could respond, a shadow fell across them.

“Detective,” Alex said smoothly, his green eyes gleaming as he stepped into the space between them. “I didn’t realize you were such a fan of my parties.”

Nathan straightened, his posture shifting subtly as he faced Alex. “I like to keep an eye on interesting people.”

“Interesting,” Alex repeated, his tone dripping with amusement. “Well, I hope you’re enjoying yourself. Though, I have to admit, you seem a little...out of place.”

Nathan’s smirk returned. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Alex’s hand found Finley’s back, his touch light but insistent. “I’m sure you will. But I’m afraid I’ll have to steal Finley away. We have some catching up to do.”

Nathan’s gaze flicked to Finley, a question lingering in his eyes, but she gave a small nod. “It’s fine,” she said, though her voice wavered.

Alex led her through a side door and into a smaller sitting room, closing the door behind them. The sudden quiet felt suffocating after the noise of the party.

“I’m surprised,” he said, turning to face her. “I didn’t think you’d entertain someone like Nathan Woodlock. What exactly were you two talking about?”

“Nothing important,” she said quickly.

“Really?” he said, stepping closer. “Because from where I was standing, it looked like he was warning you about me.”

Finley crossed her arms, trying to put some distance between them. “He’s a detective, Alex. Suspicion is part of his job.”

“And what about you, Fin?” he asked, his voice soft but laced with steel. “Do you believe him?”

She met his gaze, her heart pounding. “I don’t know what to believe.”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Let me make it simple for you. Nathan doesn’t know me. Not like you do. You and I—we’re connected, Finley. We always have been.”

“Alex—”

“No,” he interrupted, his voice firm. “You need to understand something. You’re here because you matter to me. Because I want you here. Not him.”

Her pulse quickened as his words sank in. There was a possessiveness in his tone that made her skin crawl.

“This isn’t how friendships work, Alex,” she said, her voice trembling.

His smile widened, but there was no warmth in it. “Who said anything about friendship?”

She took a step back, her hands trembling. “I think I should leave.”

Alex moved faster than she expected, his hand catching her wrist. Not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to stop her.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he said softly, his green eyes locked onto hers. “Not yet.”

Her breath caught in her throat as she stared at him, her mind racing.

The pressure of Alex’s hand on her wrist felt like an anchor. It wasn’t painful, but the weight of it sent a shiver through her body. She stared at his fingers, his grip firm and unyielding. His face was close, his green eyes locking with hers, his smile gone, replaced by something colder, more intent.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Alex repeated, his voice soft but chilling.

Finley’s heart raced. The room felt too small, the air too thick. She forced herself to swallow the panic rising in her chest.

"Let go of me, Alex," she whispered, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to sound strong.

His smile flickered for a moment, then returned. He released her wrist, but the look in his eyes didn’t soften. “You’re still the same, aren’t you? Always running from me, even when you know you shouldn’t.”

She took a step back, desperate to create some space between them. “I’m not running from you. I just—I don’t want to be here.”

Alex tilted his head, his gaze never leaving hers. “You think you’re safe out there, away from me? You don’t get to make the rules anymore, Finley. You’re here, and you’re with me. It’s that simple.”

Her chest tightened, her breath catching in her throat. “I’m not with you. I’m not—”

“Don’t lie to yourself,” he interrupted softly, his voice a low, dangerous murmur. “You’ve always known that we were connected. You always knew I’d be the one to pull you back.”

Finley stood frozen, his words sinking into her like a heavy weight, something she couldn’t quite shake. She forced herself to take another step back, but there was nowhere to retreat to in the small, dimly lit room.

“Let’s just talk about this calmly,” she said, her voice more confident, trying to take control of the conversation.

Alex stepped closer again, his presence closing in like a storm. “You can’t control this, Finley. You’re here because I wanted you here. And you can’t leave. Not until I say so.”

She stared at him, her mind screaming, the old instincts from childhood flaring up. But the young boy she had known seemed to have vanished. In his place stood someone cold, manipulative, and frightening.

“I need to go back,” she said, her voice more forceful this time, but inside, she was terrified. She didn’t know how much longer she could keep up this charade, pretending that this wasn’t turning into a nightmare. “Please, Alex. Let me go back.”

He studied her for a moment, the silence between them thick and suffocating. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he leaned closer, brushing his fingers along the side of her face. His touch sent a chill through her, the familiarity of it only making it worse.

“You will,” he said softly. “When you’re ready.” Then he dropped his hand, turned, and walked out of the room.

The ride back to her apartment was a blur. Finley didn’t remember the drive, nor the brief exchange with the driver as she climbed out of the car. The night air was cold, biting against her skin as she walked into her building, her thoughts swirling like a storm.

The moment she stepped inside her apartment, she locked the door behind her, the sound of the click too final. She felt disconnected from everything—her body, the space around her, even her own mind. Everything felt distant, as if she were trapped inside a glass box, watching her life from the outside.

She paced around the small living room, her thoughts tumbling over each other. The party, the press, Alex... his words echoed in her head. You’re with me. You can’t leave.

Her stomach churned, and she pressed her hands to her temples, trying to block out the rising panic. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. The walls of her apartment felt too small now, too confining.

Her phone buzzed on the counter, breaking through the chaos in her mind. She turned toward it, eyes darting to the screen. It was a message from Alex:

“I’ll be seeing you soon, Finley. Don’t make me come find you.”

The words sent a cold shiver down her spine. He was watching. He was waiting.

[acoffin6]

“I had to become the monster to escape one.”

A story of survival, vengeance, and reclaiming control. The Monster You Made will pull you into a world of shadows, where Finley’s fight for freedom pushes her to the edge—and beyond.

Will she escape the man who took everything from her? Or will she become something darker in the process?

[acoffin6]

Chapter 1: Shadows of the Past

   FInley

The house was dark when Finley Winter pushed open the front door. She stepped inside, her shoes sticky from the rain-soaked ground, and closed the door behind her with a soft click.

“Mom? Dad?” she called, her voice echoing faintly in the silence.

No answer.

She frowned, dropping her bag near the door. It wasn’t unusual for her parents to be in bed by now, but the house felt...off. Too quiet. Too still.

Finley kicked off her damp sneakers and climbed the stairs, her heart pounding harder with each step. Her parents’ bedroom was down the hall, the door ajar just enough for her to see a sliver of the soft yellow light spilling out.

“Mom?” she called again, her voice quieter this time.

She reached the door, pushed it open, and froze.

Her parents lay on the bed, their bodies unnaturally still. Red stained the white sheets, stark and jarring against the dim light of the bedside lamp. Her mother’s hand was outstretched toward her father, the tips of her fingers inches from his.

It took Finley a moment to register the sight—the gaping wounds at their throats, the lifelessness in their expressions.

A strangled sound escaped her lips as she stumbled backward, her heel catching on the edge of the rug. She clamped a hand over her mouth, her mind screaming at her to run, to do something, but her body refused to move.

And then she heard it.

Footsteps.

She spun toward the sound, her heart lurching painfully in her chest. At the end of the hallway, near her bedroom, a shadow moved.

“Who’s there?” she demanded, her voice shaking.

The figure stepped forward, just enough for her to see the outline of a man. He stood still, watching her, his face obscured by the darkness.

Finley’s blood turned to ice. She couldn’t see his features, but she could feel his gaze, cold and heavy.

He took a step toward her, and suddenly, her paralysis broke.

She bolted into her parents’ room, slamming the door shut behind her and fumbling for the lock. Her fingers shook so badly it took her three tries to slide it into place.

The footsteps followed, heavier now, purposeful. The doorknob rattled, then stilled. A loud bang made her jump as the man began pounding on the door.

Frantically, she scanned the room for a way out. The window. It was her only chance.

Finley ran to it, struggling with the latch, but it wouldn’t budge. She could hear the wood of the door splintering behind her, each crash sending a fresh wave of panic through her.

With no other choice, she grabbed the blanket at the end of the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders. Without thinking, she backed up, took a deep breath, and ran at the window with all her strength.

The glass shattered around her as she plummeted, the air knocked from her lungs when she hit the ground. Pain shot through her ribs and back, but she forced herself to move.

Lying on her side, her vision swimming, she reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. Her hands shook as she dialed 911, barely managing to whisper her address before darkness swallowed her whole.

Finley awoke to the sterile hum of machines and the faint scent of antiseptic. Her head throbbed, and every breath sent a dull ache through her ribs. Blinking against the harsh fluorescent lights above her, she tried to piece together how she’d ended up here.

The window. The ground. The blood.

Her chest tightened as the memories rushed back, vivid and unforgiving.

“You’re awake,” a calm voice said.

She turned her head slowly, wincing as pain shot through her neck. A woman in scrubs stood by her bedside, a clipboard in hand. Her name tag read Nurse Emily.

“You’re in St. Vincent’s Hospital,” the nurse said gently. “You’ve been here for two days. You had surgery to repair some damage to your ribs, but you’re stable now.”

“Surgery?” Finley croaked, her voice barely audible.

“You had glass embedded in your side from the fall,” Emily explained. “We had to remove several pieces. You’re lucky—you didn’t puncture anything vital.”

Finley’s stomach churned. She wanted to ask more, but the door opened, and a man stepped in. He was tall and lean, his sharp jawline and intense gray eyes giving him a polished but serious air. His suit was neatly pressed, though his tie was slightly askew, as if he’d been rushing.

“I’m Detective Nathan Woodlock,” he said, offering a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I need to ask you a few questions about what happened.”

Finley stared at him, her throat suddenly dry.

“We can wait if you’re not ready,” Nathan added quickly, his tone softer now. “I don’t want to overwhelm you.”

“No,” she said after a moment, her voice cracking. She cleared her throat. “I can talk.”

Nathan nodded, pulling up a chair beside her bed. He sat down with a deliberate ease, resting his notepad on his knee.

“Can you start from the beginning?” he asked, his voice calm but laced with curiosity. “Anything you remember could help.”

Finley closed her eyes, forcing herself to relive the nightmare. “I was at a party,” she began, her voice shaky. “I got into a fight with a girl there...her boyfriend was flirting with me, and she got mad. I was upset, so I left early.”

She swallowed hard, her fingers gripping the blanket that covered her. “I just wanted to talk to my mom. When I got home, the house was dark. I thought they were already in bed.”

Her voice wavered, and she opened her eyes, meeting Nathan’s steady gaze. “When I went upstairs, I found them. On the bed.” She faltered, the words catching in her throat.

Nathan leaned forward slightly, his posture attentive but unthreatening. “Take your time,” he said gently.

“They were...there was so much blood,” she whispered. “Their throats were cut. And then I heard footsteps.”

Nathan’s jaw tightened, but his voice remained steady. “Footsteps?”

“Yes,” Finley said, her voice trembling. “There was a man...standing near my room. I couldn’t see his face—it was too dark—but I could tell it was a man. He started coming toward me, so I ran into my parents’ room and locked the door.”

She paused, her breath hitching as the memories overwhelmed her. “I tried the window, but it wouldn’t open. He was banging on the door...I didn’t know what else to do, so I broke the glass and jumped.”

Nathan’s pen scratched across his notepad, his gray eyes flicking back up to hers. “Do you remember anything else about the man? His height, his build, anything unusual?”

Finley shook her head. “It all happened so fast. I just...I knew I had to get away.”

Nathan closed his notepad and stood, his expression contemplative. “You’re incredibly brave, Finley. Not many people could have done what you did.”

She didn’t feel brave. She felt broken, shattered like the glass she’d crashed through.

Nathan lingered near the door, hesitating for a moment. “We’ll do everything we can to find whoever did this,” he said, his voice low but firm. “I promise.”

But as the door closed behind him, Finley wasn’t so sure.

Five Years After the Murder

The coffee shop buzzed with the low hum of conversations and the hiss of the espresso machine, but Finley barely noticed. She stirred her drink absentmindedly, her gaze fixed on the swirling cream.

“Are you even listening to me?” Leda asked, snapping her fingers in front of Finley’s face.

“Sorry,” Finley mumbled, setting the spoon down. “What were you saying?”

“I was asking if you’re coming to the party tomorrow night,” Leda said, her tone laced with exasperation. “You need to get out of your apartment. You can’t keep hiding away forever.”

Finley bristled at the word “hiding.” That’s not what she was doing—or at least, that’s what she told herself. “I’m not hiding,” she said quietly. “I’m just...busy.”

Leda raised an eyebrow. “Busy with what? You’re not exactly swimming in plans these days.”

Finley sighed, running a hand through her hair. She knew Leda meant well, but she didn’t understand. How could she? Leda didn’t wake up in a cold sweat at 3 a.m., haunted by the image of her parents’ lifeless eyes. Leda didn’t feel the weight of suspicion every time someone looked at her too long.

“I’ll think about it,” Finley said finally, her voice flat.

Leda rolled her eyes but let it go, turning her attention to her phone.

Finley leaned back in her chair, letting her gaze drift to the window. The street outside was busy with pedestrians, their faces blurring together as they passed. She caught her reflection in the glass—pale, tired, and older than her twenty years.

Movement in the reflection made her heart skip.

She turned sharply, but there was nothing unusual. Just people walking, talking, living their lives.

Still, the uneasy feeling lingered, like an itch at the back of her mind.

Finley sat cross-legged on the floor of her apartment, flipping through an old photo album she’d unearthed from a dusty box. The pictures were faded, the edges curling slightly, but the memories were painfully sharp.

There they were—two kids in the backyard of the Wayland estate, laughing as they chased each other with water balloons. Finley was grinning, her dark hair wild and tangled, while Alex stood a few feet away, his shirt soaked and his face frozen in mock outrage.

She traced her finger over the photo, her chest tightening. They’d been inseparable once, their summers filled with bike rides, secret forts, and late-night talks under the stars. Back then, Alex was her closest friend.

But childhood innocence never lasted long.

The cicadas hummed in the trees, their droning song filling the warm evening air. Fourteen-year-old Finley leaned against the trunk of an old oak, her knees scraped from a game of hide-and-seek gone wrong.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s bothering you, or do I have to guess?” Alex asked, flopping down onto the grass beside her.

She glanced at him, his green eyes catching the fading sunlight. He was taller now, lanky in a way that hinted at the broad-shouldered man he’d one day become.

“It’s nothing,” she said, kicking at a rock near her foot.

“Liar,” he said with a smirk, nudging her shoulder.

She sighed. “It’s my parents. They’re fighting again. I hate it.”

Alex’s smile faded. “They’ll work it out,” he said, his voice quiet. “They always do.”

Finley wasn’t so sure, but she didn’t say that. Instead, she leaned her head against his shoulder, comforted by his familiar presence.

“You’re lucky, you know,” she said after a moment. “Your family’s perfect.”

Alex stiffened. “Not really,” he muttered, picking at the grass.

Finley frowned, sitting up. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated, then shrugged. “My dad’s not who you think he is. He’s...he does things. Bad things.”

“What kind of things?” she asked, her voice low.

“Just forget I said anything,” Alex said quickly, standing and brushing off his jeans. “Come on, it’s getting late.”

She didn’t press him, but the unease in his voice stayed with her.

Finley stared at the name flashing on her phone screen. Alexander Wayland. The sight stirred a mix of emotions—nostalgia, unease, and something heavier she couldn’t quite place.

She hesitated, then answered. “Hello?”

“Finley,” Alexander said, his voice as smooth as she remembered, though deeper now, with an edge of warmth. “It’s been too long.”

“What do you want, Alex?” she asked, her tone cautious.

He chuckled softly. “Straight to the point. Some things never change.”

“Alex,” she said, sharper this time.

“All right, all right,” he said, the teasing in his voice fading. “I’m throwing a party this weekend at the estate. I want you to come.”

Finley blinked. “The estate? I haven’t been there since—” She stopped herself, but the memory was already surfacing: Alex at seventeen, standing in the driveway after his mother’s funeral, his face pale and unreadable.

“Since before everything fell apart,” he finished for her. “Yeah. It’s been years. Too many, don’t you think?”

She didn’t answer right away. “Why now?”

He sighed, the sound heavy. “Because it’s time, Fin. Time to reconnect, to remember what mattered before...well, before life got so damn complicated.”

Her grip tightened on the phone. She remembered how close they’d been, how his mother’s death had shaken him in ways he rarely talked about. She’d tried to be there for him, but then her parents’ murder had ripped them apart, and they’d lost touch.

“I don’t know,” she said carefully. “Parties aren’t really my thing anymore.”

“They don’t have to be,” he replied. “You’ll know people there. And if you don’t, I’ll make sure you’re not alone. You always had a way of disappearing into the corners at those things.”

“Maybe I liked the corners,” she said, a faint smile tugging at her lips despite herself.

“I know you did,” he said softly. “But this time, I’ll make sure you’re with me.”

Something about his tone made her chest tighten. She hesitated, weighing the decision.

“I’ll think about it,” she said finally.

“I’ll text you the details,” Alex said, his voice brightening. “You won’t regret it, Fin. I promise.”

Before she could respond, he hung up, leaving her staring at the phone.

Later that evening, Finley sat on her couch, scrolling through her phone. Alexander’s text glared up at her.

Saturday, 8 p.m. Wayland Estate. Don’t make me come get you. ;)

Her thumb hovered over the message as the memories rushed back: long summers spent with Alex and his mom, the warmth and laughter she’d felt in their home. His mother had been kind, the kind of person who made everyone feel welcome. Her death had left a void in Alex—and in their friendship.

But the Alex she’d known then wasn’t the same Alex calling her now. Something had changed after his mother’s death, something she couldn’t quite name.

She told herself she wouldn’t go. But as the days passed, she found herself wondering: what if he really had changed? What if this was a chance to put the past behind them?

By Saturday, she’d talked herself into it.

[acoffin6]

The Ghost

He wiped the blood from his face, his smile a twisted reflection of satisfaction.

Now, I control everything, he thought, his pulse thrumming in his ears. I’ve always known it. They were just in my way.

And for the first time, he truly believed it. He had never been more alive.

[acoffin6]

Enjoy the garden

The air was thick and suffocating at the bottom of the hole. She scrambled to her knees, the loose soil slipping beneath her fingers as she tried to find her footing. Her heart pounded as she looked up, the towering figure of Alex framed by the night sky above.

He stood at the edge, his face calm and composed, as though he hadn’t just thrown her into a pit like a discarded object.

“You’ll stay here until you learn,” he said, his voice cool and detached. “Enjoy the garden.”

Then he turned, walking toward the door. The sound of his footsteps receded, leaving Finley alone in the darkness.

[acoffin6]

From The Monster You Made

“I’ll be seeing you soon, Don’t make me come find you.”

[acoffin6]

The Monster You Made

The study was quiet, save for the soft crackle of the fire in the hearth. Shadows flickered across the dark wood-paneled walls, dancing over the bookshelves and ornate furniture. Finley stood near the mantle, her hands trembling as she gripped the fire poker hidden behind her back. She could hear her heartbeat thudding in her ears, loud and insistent.

The door creaked open.

Alexander stepped inside, closing it firmly behind him. He paused, taking in the room with a practiced calm before his sharp green eyes landed on her.

“I had a feeling you’d be here,” he said, his lips curling into a faint smile. “Couldn’t sleep, Finley? Or were you waiting for me?”

“I’ve been thinking,” she replied, her voice steady despite the fear clawing at her throat.

He tilted his head, amused. “Thinking is a dangerous habit, darling. What’s on your mind?”

She took a slow step forward, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “How we got here. How you think this...this nightmare is love.”

Alexander chuckled, the sound low and bitter. He moved to the desk and leaned casually against it. “A nightmare? Is that what you think this is? You live in comfort, protected from a world that chews people up and spits them out. I’ve given you everything, Finley.”

“Everything?” Her voice rose, trembling with anger. “You’ve taken everything! My life, my freedom—my family.”

His smirk faltered. He straightened, his expression hardening. “Your family was a casualty of the chaos. I brought you order.”

Her breath hitched. The fire poker felt impossibly heavy in her hand, but she held on tighter. “You killed them, didn’t you?”

He didn’t respond immediately, his silence more damning than any admission. Instead, he took a step toward her, his presence filling the room like a storm cloud.

“Careful, Finley,” he said softly, his voice a warning. “I wouldn’t make accusations you can’t prove.”

“You think I don’t know?” she pressed, her voice breaking. “I’ve seen the pattern, Alexander. The way you manipulate, control, destroy. You killed them because they stood in your way.”

Alexander stopped inches from her, his eyes narrowing to slits. “Your parents were weak, clinging to their outdated rules. They didn’t understand what you needed. I did. And I gave it to you.”

“No.” Her voice was sharp, her words slicing through the charged air. “You didn’t save me. You destroyed me. But not anymore.”

She swung the fire poker with all her strength. He dodged, the weapon grazing his shoulder. With a snarl, he grabbed her wrist and yanked her forward, slamming her into the edge of the desk. The poker clattered to the floor.

“Enough!” he hissed, his grip bruising. “I’ve been patient, Finley. But if you push me, I will break you.”

“Do it!” she shot back, her eyes blazing with defiance. “Show me the monster you really are!”

For a moment, his grip loosened, her words hitting a nerve. Seeing her chance, she headbutted him, the impact making him stumble backward. She reached for the desk, her hand closing around a heavy glass paperweight.

With a cry, she hurled it at him, the glass striking his temple. He grunted in pain, clutching his head as he staggered into the bookshelf behind him.

Finley didn’t wait. She bolted for the door, her pulse hammering in her chest.

“You think you can run from me?” Alexander’s voice thundered behind her. “You’re mine, Finley! You’ll always be mine!”

The hallway stretched ahead, dark and unfamiliar, but she didn’t stop. His footsteps pounded against the floor, growing louder with every second.

At last, she spotted a door slightly ajar, moonlight spilling through the crack. She flung it open and found herself on a balcony. The cold night air hit her like a slap. Below, the dense woods stretched out in every direction, an endless sea of shadows.

Alexander appeared in the doorway, his silhouette framed by the dim light from the hall. Blood trickled down the side of his face, but his expression was calm—too calm.

“You’ve always been dramatic, Finley,” he said, stepping toward her. “But this...this is a bit much, even for you.”

Her back pressed against the railing as he advanced. The wind whipped around her, carrying the scent of pine and earth.

“I’d rather die than let you keep me here,” she said, her voice trembling but resolute.

“Then jump.” He smiled, dark and cruel. “But we both know you won’t.”

Their eyes locked, the air between them crackling with tension.

Finley didn’t hesitate. She grabbed a chair from the balcony and hurled it at him. He cursed, ducking to avoid the flying wood. Without looking back, she vaulted over the railing.

The fall was a blur of snapping branches and tearing fabric. She hit the ground hard, the impact jolting through her body. Pain exploded in her side, but she forced herself to move.

The sound of Alexander’s enraged shouts echoed above her as she scrambled to her feet. Her legs burned, her vision blurred, but she ran—into the woods, into the darkness, into freedom