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octaves-of-estoiles · 5 months ago

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Self aware au, but it's just a generational curse (wuwa edition)

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Clubs are, obviously, very loud.

Enough for you to bust out the silencing headphones, anyway. Maybe you’re just sensitive.

Your friends are off mingling with the raving crowds, leaving you to watch their drinks. It feels like you’re the only person afraid of their drink getting spiked.

You sip at the glass of water you ordered, you’ve been out with these people enough to know you’re going to be driving- nevermind. The last person you know has also run off with a random girl.

The lights flicker as you survey the crowd, counting the people in your group. When the number never moves from zero, you pack up your stuff and leave the establishment.

Yes, you took your friend’s car. She shouldn't have given you the keys if she didn’t think this would happen. It has the last six times.

You throw your stuff into the passenger seat, taking a moment to text the group chat where you were going and who’s car you had, and take off in the direction of the nearest Dominos.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The cashier looked at you weird when you ordered an entire pizza for yourself, but fuck them. It’s not like the pizza is big in the first place.

You sit in a booth, munching on your pizza when a person walks by your table, drops something and leaves. Not even giving you the chance to even swallow before they’re gone. You’re looking around to see if anybody saw that before your eyes settle on the letter.

Taking another bite, you decide that it’s a problem for later.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Later is now unfortunately.

You arrive home and throw your thing haphazardly onto the floor before rushing to the bathroom to take off all this makeup. No matter how long it took to apply, the process to remove will always be ten times easier. The clothes, not so much.

It takes about ten minutes for you to get comfortable enough to tackle the letter. You’re sitting with a blanket around you on your couch, letter in hand. It’s flimsy and open, easy to remove the contents inside.

It’s not even a letter, just a paper that says,

I know what you are ;)

You blink once. Twice. Thrice. Then stand to go burn the paper.

Your phone turning on is what stops you.

The screen displays what looks like an ad for something called Wuthering Waves. Which wouldn’t bother you much if, you know, your phone wasn’t out of battery.

You watch the ad in its entirety, watching as your phone powers back off.

The paper is still burned in the end.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Wuthering Waves. New game that came out in the recent year, having many compliments from those who’ve played. The group does not include you, however.

You’ve never heard of this game until yesterday, with that incident of the ad.

So obviously, you had to check it out.

Since it’s relatively new, it doesn’t take forever to upload onto your device, roughly about an hour, maybe less. You left halfway through to get something to eat before returning to a fully loaded game.

Your first question is probably why they make you choose between two equally pretty people, that is not fair. What happens to the one you don’t choose, they just cease to exist? No, they must both be there for a reason, so the one you don’t choose is used for something else in the plot line.

Right? You’ll be sad if you pick one and you never see the other again.

Sighing, you pick the male and put in the desired username before leaning in your chair to watch the cutscene.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

It’s fun. That’s all you’ve gathered so far. Really, it’s fun.

So why does it feel like your brain is going to pop every time you meet someone new?

Hell, meeting Scar was the absolute worst. Not that he's a bad character, it’s just that you had to pause the game and clutch your temples from the wave of pain that overtook you the moment he came on screen. Even after the pain had subsided, the feeling of something never left you.

Doesn’t help that the characters tend to differentiate from you and the Rover as if you’re two different people. Staring right into the camera like a children’s episode when they’re addressing you.

It’s something you feel you will have to get over fairly quickly.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

And you did, four months you went, ignoring every little odd thing that was thrown your way. You played near daily, and if you didn’t, you’d receive something in the mail asking if you were alright.

The person changed but it was pretty much the same message every time. You try not to deviate from your schedule in order not to cause any unnecessary worry.

The characters themselves treat you as if you’re just another Rover. Rover himself treats you as a close friend.

Rover hasn’t directly spoken to you so you have had to make due with charades on his side. Everyone else speaks to you comfortably, even the more untrusting characters. Which is weird, but okay.

Have you told anyone? NO.

Are you gonna tell anyone? NO.

What are they gonna do, believe you? Yeah right.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Everything came crashing down on a random Monday.

You hadn't even noticed it was thanksgiving season until your mother called you in the middle of a gaming session.

“You’re coming over for Thanksgiving week, right?”

Like the entire week?! OF COURSE NOT-

“Yes, mom, I will be there. I promise, now let me pack.”

FUCK.

A whole week at your parent’s house?

You’re gonna go insane.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Day one wasn’t too bad, other than the abundance of emails and texts sent by-

Well, how do you explain to your family that your game is sentient and texts you like an overbearing mother? That’s right, you don’t. You’re gonna sit in the living room, socialize with people you don’t remember and act as if your phone isn’t being bombarded with texts.

You’ll make it through the week just fine.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Thanksgiving becomes fun when dinner time hits and the gossiping aunties start chatting. This time, however, you don’t think you like what they’re talking about.

“You know, this time of year never fails to remind of Old Coot Curtis.”

“Oh, stop talking like we’re a part of some small town down west. But why?”

“Well, it’s right around the time he went missing. And little Aiden too. So did Nora.”

You start to eat your food a little bit quieter when your dad starts to add his input.

“Ladies, why on Earth are you talking about those things on this fine day? It’s Thanksgiving, not time to reminisce about past events.”

Your aunts grumble to themselves before moving topics to things like new boyfriends.

How odd, you’ve never heard about someone going missing in your family. And to think, it wasn’t just one, it was three.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

You’re beside your mother in the kitchen, drying and putting away dishes she gives you. She’s humming softly to a tune from the radio in the living room.

“Hey, mom?”

She hums.

“What happened to Curtis?”

Your mother laughs, accidentally spraying water onto herself.

“Now, [Name], don’t listen to what any of those women have to say. They all have their own opinions, none of them right, of course. But, Curtis was a cousin of yours. He disappeared back in 2012. He was, well, a coot. Started talking nonsense about this game he played, something about how the characters would talk to him and other things.”

She reaches over you to grab another dirty plate, seemingly not noticing the way you’ve positively frozen. Your mother just continues to speak about your cousin, unknowingly describing your past few months.

“Yeah, he was crazy. Then, he disappeared into the blue. Same thing happened to Aiden and Nora too. Hell, even your great-grandfather.”

“...Really?” Your horrid attempts at sounding natural somehow fly over your mom’s head.

“Yeah! Said that the cards of his favorite board game would change near daily to talk to him. He disappeared too, although, he probably just just walked out on the family, bastard....”

You just listen to your mom as you numbly wash and dry the dishes.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Are you gonna disappear under mysterious circumstances like everyone else?

The question kept you awake that night, and made sure you didn’t even need coffee for the road back home. It’s been a good minute since you’ve been emailed or been texted by-well. Them.

Never have they shown any sign of aggressives towards you, hell, you’ve been friends for the better part of the year.

You sit in your car for about thirty minutes before you get out of your car to enter your apartment.

And immediately notice the sound of waves.

Door slammed back shut, you’re out of here.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

You have been messaged about sixteen times, and that’s just from guessing the amount of times your phone had vibrated.

You’re willing to bet that most of them are from a specific group of people. Why the government won’t take restraining orders against a certain man named Scar, you’ll never know. Bastard decided to attach to you the same way he did Rover. Fun.

“Excuse me? It seems like it’s urgent….,” The person runs off after you turn to glare them. Can’t people just let you avoid things in peace?

You sigh, and open your phone.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Your apartment seems normal, but you’re positive it’s anything but.

The sound of waves greets you once again, but a quick check around your apartment tells you that nothing could be making the noise. It’s only by luck that you catch a glimpse of your ceiling.

Your ceiling is….how do you say this? An ocean. Just like in Wuthering Waves. How fun.

It’s not raining down on you or anything, not even affecting the temperature of your apartment, it’s just there.

You need some sort of liquor for this.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Liquor was not acquired, unfortunately. You kinda want to talk to sentient game characters while drunk. So it will be a sober occasion.

Logging onto Wuthering Waves is second nature at this point, but the ambient noise is not. The closer you get to entering the game, the more the waves crashing against each other grows.

An ambience fills your room, not unlike the music you would find in ambience videos. Speaking of those videos, your room combined with the rolling of the waves makes you feel as if you’ve put one on in the background.

You decide not to question where the ambience is coming from exactly because you think you’ll go insane.

Rover and his female counterpart greet you on their rock in the middle of nowhere, the woman unmoving while Rover beckons you forward with just a flick of his wrist. The screen adjusts itself until it feels like you’re standing right in front of him.

Even after everything you’ve learned, the sight of your friend makes your face turn fond.

Rover’s head tilts a bit, a questioning look over taking his features. You tilt yours in turn. To your surprise, his face fills with amusement, like he could see the action when every other time, it took verbal speech to solicit a response.

It’s obvious he, and most likely everyone else, are evolving.

He reaches out to you like always, and the screen goes blank.

You get comfortable in your chair and begin to go through the daily motions of the game.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Just like every day, the characters approached you and Rover normally. Unlike everyday, it became much and much more apparent that everyone could see you, not the npc’s, just the resonators.

Which is a relief.

“Hey, Rover?”

The camera pans by itself to face the man himself.

“Can you see me?”

Rover makes a so-so, then makes a hand gesture for you to follow him. He then walks off in a different direction.

How do you even-How are you supposed- Oh, it still moves even though he’s not the focal point anymore, okey, great to know.

Rover leads you through the streets(not even giving you the time to accustom yourself to the new camera controls, this man is on a mission, damn-), stopping in front of the Magistrate building, asks for Sanhua(which apparently he can just do), and-poof- she’s right around the corner.

What the heck? Fine, ok.

Anyway, Sanhua approaches the both of you, looking quite pleasant if you say so yourself. She greets the both of you normally before giving you a once over.

You know, the type of look that someone gives someone else when they’re checking them out, looking up and down? That, but the person who’s doing it could kill you in like two point five seconds.

Suddenly, you’re glad that you’re on this side of the screen.

“Somehow, you’re nothing and everything I thought you to be.”

You swivel in your chair as if cameras are going to magically appear in your room, before facing Sanhua.

“So you can see me?!”

She hums contemplatively. “Not quite. It appears blurry, but not how most appear to me. Your figure is clear to me except the moments when you ‘glitch’. Before, however, we could not see you completely. It was only until recently that the area around Rover, or whoever you were accompanying at the moment, would become more and more pixelated.”

Rover nods along to Sanhua’s words.

You let the explanation sink in before realizing-

“Wait, let me go change, these clothes are shit. I cannot believe I let you see me like this-”

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Today wasn’t so bad. It was fun, at the very least.

You actually interacted with the people ‘you accompany’, learning that most of them didn’t mind your little impromptu adventures. Well, except Mortifi and Baizhi, but that's because they’re working people so-

You had given Rover a tired goodbye, with him telling you to stay safe until tomorrow. You got ready for bed and just threw yourself in.

Finally, your own bed after a week of being your parent’s felt like paradise.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

You wake slowly to the crashing of waves around you- you’re not opening your eyes.

You swear to everything that exists, if you’re anywhere but your bed, you don't know what you’re going to do.

Fuck, you’re not in your bed.

In fact, you’re kinda just floating in the dark water, which you hope is clean. Despite everything, you haven’t been more relaxed in a while. The feeling of being underwater and weightlessness makes you drift back to sleep.

Nevermind, it seems that the sun has sent you a wake up call. From below?

You maneuver yourself to face underneath to find a Tacet mark glowing dimly beneath you, brightening the closer you drift closer to it.

The soft rocking of the waves pulls you into the embrace of unconsciousness before you can see what happens.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

You roll over in your bed to meet-stone?

The memories come back to you and you practically break our back with how fast you sit up.

Where are you!?

…

WHAT ARE YOU WEARING?!

To put it simply, you’re wearing the most techwear outfit you've ever seen, hell, you could be a Wuthering Waves character-

No.

Nuh uh.

You look around the cavern scenery, experience a strong wave of deja vu, then put your head in your hands.

It appears that, yuh huh.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

You’re either dead, dying, or got isekai-d.

The cavern is the same of which Rover awoke in himself, and so you took the same path he did to get to civilization.

Your little trip through the ocean had not only equipped you with new clothing, but also with a gourd and a glider.

Do you know how to use either of those things? No, but you’re gonna figure it out.

Gliding should be easy, right? Rover got easily enough, but then again, he’s the main character.

You shrug and deploy the glider. Then you mutter a prayer and jump.

Holy shit, it is that easy! The wind does most of the work, you just have to make sure you’re not leaning one way or another.

You make sure to steer clear of where the Tacet field ley at the beginning of the game(even if it’s not there anymore) before looking around and realizing-.

You don’t know where you’re going.

A huff of frustration.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

This world is so weird. You go one way and suddenly you’re deaf?!

Yeah, you try to pick a direction and every time your ears would start to ring until the world went quiet. This happened many times until you found yourself on a path towards who-knows-where.

You've noted that you would have to listen for the same ambient noise that appeared in your room in order to see if the path you were on was the correct one. The ambient noise along with the distant waves lead you all the way to the gates of Jinzhou.

The next hassle of this horrific day is, how are you going to get past the gate officials?

They don’t let you in, of course they don’t, because you don’t have the appropriate credentials. But how do you explain that, up until a few days ago, you were just a voice to some of the most influential people they know?

Oh, you’re saved! Just beyond the gates, you can see Rover, who’s being held back from by Sanhua and–Jiyan?! What the fuck’s happenning–Oh, Rover look’s both pissed and worried at the same time.

The more you look, Jiyan and Sanhua aren’t really holding him back, just making sure he doesn’t pounce on the poor Magistrate official. From what you can see, Sanha is also arguing with them, albeit more officially. Jiyan just stands and glares at them darkly.

You can see all the resonators you’ve met in different places, close enough to hear and assist if needed, but far enough to not be considered a part of the argument. They look rather bothered as well.

“What’s happening over there?” You ask one of the gate officials who had also been watching the argument with interest. Thankfully, they had let you hang around the gate after you told them a friend had been coming to pick you up at the gate with proper credentials.

“Some old-minded coot that thinks the resonators are going to band together to ‘rule the world’. I don’t even know how he got into the Magistrate with that attitude. Doesn’t help that Rover has been on edge lately. Most of the resonators in the city have been lately. Something about a friend that he hasn't seen in ten days. Rover got pissed when the guy told him that if that person was also a resonator, they should stay missing. Got most of the resonators mad with that one.” He informs you, never looking away from the interaction.

Somehow, ‘the ten days’ and ‘missing friend’ part flies over your head completely.

“This whole thing has been going on for the better part of the hour, but it can’t be categorized as a disturbance yet, so nobody’s stopped it,” Another official adds, offering you some sort of snack when Sanhua takes a step forward.

“Pretty sure that guy just insulted the Magistrate herself.”

You wince and the officials nod along with you.

You wiggle away from the officials to approach another who hadn’t looked that interested in the interaction to ask her on how to operate your gourd. She had shown you how to shoot a simple message to the only person you could, Rover.

Wiggling back in between, the gate officials while also making sure that Rover can see you, you shoot him a simple message,

Look towards the gate

By some universal influence, he looks at the message and confusedly looks towards the gate. He surveys the gate before his eyes land on you. You wave awkwardly and watch as his face brightens, the worry and tension practically evaporating off of him.

Now he’s sprinting towards you.

It is at this moment that you connect the dots and realize that it was you that was the missing friend and that it was you who was missing for ten days, floating around in the ocean without a care. Not that he knows that.

The argument was happening far enough from the gate for you to warn the officials tiredly, “You might wanna move, I don’t think he’s gonna stop to say excuse me.”

Thank goodness they listen, because your friend fucking hug-tackles you to the hard ground.

#self aware au #self aware wuthering waves #wuthering waves #platonic #one shot

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twistedheartsclub · 18 days ago

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Yandere Boxer X Fem Reader PT 1

⚠️ Warnings: psychological manipulation • obsessive love • stalking • parental betrayal • gaslighting • grooming • non-consensual drug use • emotional abuse • toxic family dynamics • physical violence (mentioned) • slow burn dread • dark romance themes

PART TWO HERE

Y/N didn’t belong there.

Not in the crowd. Not under the blinding lights. Not in a seat that smelled like beer and popcorn.

But her mother had practically shoved her out the front door.

“You’re not going to rot in this house all summer, Y/N. You’re going. That’s final.”

And her father had grinned, tossing her a spare ticket. Her older brother hooted from the hallway, already wearing the boxer’s branded hoodie.

“You’re gonna love it! Silas Vega’s a beast.”

She didn’t know who Silas Vega was.

Her world was books. Soft blankets. A quiet room with a cracked window and a constant cup of tea. The only rings she knew were in fantasy novels.

And yet here she was—wedged between her brother and father in a packed stadium—her knees pulled together, hands clutching her canvas tote like it could shield her from the world.

The crowd was a living thing. Drums pounded. Fans screamed. Giant screens flickered with promo clips—slow-motion punches, blood-slick gloves, victories.

Y/N kept her head down.

Her wire-frame glasses slid down her nose again as she tried to quietly open her book—an old worn copy of Wuthering Heights. She didn’t care if it was dramatic or out of place. She needed something to hold onto.

��Seriously?” her brother hissed. “You’re gonna read at a fight?”

She didn’t answer.

She just pushed her glasses up again and stared hard at the words, trying not to jump every time the speaker blared.

Then the lights dimmed.

The bass throbbed.

And a voice roared through the stadium.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN—THE UNDEFEATED, THE UNTOUCHABLE—SILAS VEGA!”

The crowd erupted. A wave of bodies stood.

She looked up.

And the world slowed.

From the far end of the tunnel, a figure emerged beneath flickering lights. Shirtless. Skin glistening with oil. Muscles rippling with every step. Ink curled down his chest, across his stomach, his arms—a full sleeve on the right, fragmented designs on the left. His shorts bore his name in sharp, silver stitching.

He didn’t smile. He didn’t wave. He looked straight ahead—face calm, unreadable, focused. Like a storm brewing under skin.

Y/N had never seen someone like that in her life.

He climbed into the ring. Jumped once to loosen his limbs. Raised a single fist.

The crowd lost their minds.

She could barely breathe.

She told herself to look away. Told herself to read. But her fingers curled tighter around the pages instead, as if holding the book could tether her to who she was before this moment.

And that’s when it happened.

He looked at her.

Just for a second.

Among thousands of people. Thousands of screams.

His eyes—dark, heavy-lidded, intense—landed on hers.

Her breath caught. Her pulse stumbled.

He didn’t smile. Didn’t nod.

Just looked.

Like he recognized her.

And then the bell rang.

Fifteen minutes later

Silas Vega won, of course. The man barely broke a sweat. His opponent went down hard in the third round, and the crowd roared with adoration.

But Silas wasn’t listening.

He was staring at the third row.

The seat where the quiet girl had sat.

But she was gone.

Y/N

The fight was over.

Thank God.

Y/N pushed her glasses up for what felt like the hundredth time and ducked through the crowd, one hand gripping her tote bag, the other fiddling with her long, thick hair to keep it from getting caught in someone’s shoulder.

“Was that insane or what?” her brother shouted over the noise. “Third round knockout. Silas is a monster.”

Her dad laughed, clapping a stranger on the back. “Told you he’d win. He’s unstoppable.”

Y/N didn’t say anything. She just kept walking, stepping around discarded popcorn bags and sticky beer patches on the concrete. Her book was still in her bag, untouched. The lights had been too much. The noise. The heat of the crowd. She hated every second of it.

She hadn’t even meant to look at him.

Silas Vega. Whatever.

For a moment, she thought he looked at her. Dead in the eyes, like he knew her. But that was impossible. It was a fluke. Her seat was front and center. Maybe he was just scanning the rows.

She pulled her hair over one shoulder and rolled her eyes.

It didn’t matter. She didn’t care.

He was a fighter. A celebrity. Not her type. Not her world. Not someone she’d ever think about again.

“Y/N, did you see that hit?” her brother asked, jogging to catch up. “That combo? Guy dropped like a sack of bricks.”

“I wasn’t really watching,” she replied simply.

“You were there. How were you not watching?”

“I don’t like watching people get hurt,” she muttered. “It’s not entertaining to me.”

He blinked. “You’re weird.”

She shrugged. “You’ve known that since birth.”

Her mother was waiting by the car with bottled water and a smile. The ride home was full of chatter—her dad analyzing footwork, her brother pulling up replays on his phone, her mom humming along to old radio songs.

And Y/N just sat in the backseat, staring out the window. The world blurred past in soft yellow light.

She was already forgetting about the ring. The fighter. The noise.

She had a quiz on Monday. That was what mattered.

Back at the stadium…

Silas stood under the fluorescent lights of the locker room, taping up fresh bandages.

“She left,” he said to no one in particular.

“Who?” his brother asked.

“The girl.”

He didn’t smile. Didn’t blink.

He just kept wrapping, slower now, like he was thinking about the way her glasses slid down, the way she didn’t scream or smile or react.

“She didn’t even look impressed,” he murmured.

Then, quieter, darker:

“I like that.”

Y/N – Quiet Life

The weekend passed the way most did in Y/N’s house—slow and warm, like sunlight filtering through lace curtains.

Saturday morning was pancakes. Her mom’s recipe, perfectly golden with crispy edges, served with fresh strawberries. Her dad read the paper out loud between bites, occasionally pausing to explain the comics like it was still 2007.

Y/N sat at the table with her long hair in a loose braid over her shoulder, oversized sweatshirt falling off one arm. Her glasses slid again. She pushed them up without thinking, flipping the page of her novel.

“You’re gonna wear your eyes out,” her mom teased, sipping her tea.

“I’m nearsighted. It’s already too late.”

Her dad chuckled. “What are you reading now?”

“Historical fiction. Set in 1840s England. There’s a horse farm and emotional repression.”

“So, exactly your kind of thing.”

Her brother stumbled into the kitchen wearing a hoodie and mismatched socks. “Silas Vega looked at Y/N at the fight.”

Y/N froze.

Her mother raised a brow.

Her father snorted.

“What?”

“No, he didn’t,” she muttered.

“He totally did,” her brother insisted. “Dead-on. Like, full eye contact. Didn’t look at anyone else like that.”

“I wasn’t even looking at him,” she said. “He probably just scans the crowd like a showman. It’s his job.”

“Whatever. You could marry him and become a rich housewife.”

“I’d rather marry a librarian,” she said flatly.

Later That Day

Y/N met her two closest friends, Mara and Jules, at the little café near the bookstore. The bell chimed when she entered, and Jules waved her over with a grin.

“Hey, celebrity.”

Y/N groaned. “You too?”

Mara leaned forward, excited. “He definitely looked at you. My brother said he’s never seen Silas stare at anyone like that. You broke the internet.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Exactly,” Jules said. “That’s why it’s hot.”

Y/N sipped her tea. “I’m not interested. I don’t care about muscles and violence. He probably doesn’t even read.”

“You don’t know that,” Mara smirked. “Maybe he reads poetry between punches.”

Y/N laughed. “Yeah, sure. Blood-stained Shakespeare.”

She didn’t tell them about the way his eyes made her freeze. Or how her heart thumped in her ears. Because she didn’t want to think about it.

Meanwhile

Silas – After the Fight

Silas sat in the back of his town car, knuckles bruised, hoodie pulled low. His phone buzzed with notifications—sponsors, fan edits, interview requests. He ignored them all.

His eyes were on a grainy screenshot someone sent him.

A still from the broadcast.

Her.

Y/N, sitting in the third row, arms crossed over a book, glasses falling, a bored look on her face.

She looked soft. Untouched. Like the world hadn’t ruined her yet.

She didn’t cheer. Didn’t worship him like the rest.

And she was perfect.

“Find out who she is,” he said to his manager, already knowing he would.

“Why?”

“Because she belongs to me.”

The front door slams open like a storm. Y/N barely glances up from her book as her little brother barrels into the living room, waving his phone like he just won the lottery.

“Y/N! Oh my god—you’re not gonna believe this!”

She blinks behind her glasses, adjusting her blanket. “What?”

“I won. I actually freaking won.” His eyes are wide, face glowing. “Two backstage passes to meet Silas Vegas—after his next fight!”

She frowns. “Who?”

“Who? Y/N, he’s only the most undefeated fighter in the league. The guy’s a legend. A beast. A literal god. And I get to meet him. I get to stand in the same room as Silas Vegas—Silas freaking Vegas!”

She smiles a little, amused at his excitement. “That’s cool.”

“Cool?” he gasps. “No—this is fate. You’re coming with me.”

She shakes her head instantly. “No way. Loud arenas? Drunk crowds? Sweaty guys punching each other? That’s your thing, not mine.”

He groans dramatically. “C’mon, you have to! It’ll be fun. Just one night.”

She looks back at her book. “You’ll have a better time without me.”

Later that Night:

Her brother’s at the fight, surrounded by flashing lights, deafening cheers, and roaring energy. But he’s not watching the match—he’s watching for her. Hoping she changed her mind.

She didn’t.

Backstage, he stands in awe as the towering figure of Silas Vegas enters, blood on his knuckles, his chest rising slow and heavy. He looks around… and pauses.

The girl isn’t here.

His eyes flick down to the boy. Same nose. Same last name printed on the email invite.

“You her brother?” Silas asks, voice smooth but dark.

The kid blinks. “Huh? Wait—yeah! That’s my sister. She didn’t come. Not really her scene.”

Silas stares at him for a moment too long.

“Pity,” he murmurs. “She looked like she belonged to me.”

Then, with a friendly smile, he claps a heavy hand on the kid’s shoulder.

“You ever think about training?”

And just like that… he’s in.

Scene: Family Dinner – Thursday Night

The kitchen smells like garlic bread and roasted chicken, laughter echoing off the walls. Y/N sits between her mom and her brother’s best friend, trying to follow the conversation, but the boys are talking a mile a minute.

Her brother is practically vibrating in his seat.

“And then he came out, shirt off, towel around his neck—and I swear, he looked right at me.”

“Who?” their dad asks, loosening his tie as he sits down, tired but trying to catch up.

“Silas Vegas, Dad! You should’ve seen him. He said I had potential. Me! I’m going to his gym on Sunday—private training.”

Their dad smiles, proud but with a hint of regret.

“Wish I could’ve come. Damn job got in the way.”

“It was insane,” the brother says, turning to his best friend. “Even you would’ve freaked out.”

The best friend, a soccer kid through and through, grins.

“Dude, you know I don’t get the whole fight scene, but that’s still badass. Maybe you’ll get famous and I’ll switch sports.”

Y/N just blinks, pushing peas around her plate.

“What’s a southpaw?” she asks, dead serious.

Everyone laughs.

“It’s when a fighter leads with their right hand,” her brother explains, half proud, half exasperated. “C’mon, Y/N, I’ve told you that before!”

“I forgot,” she mutters, cheeks warm.

Their mom chuckles softly and nudges Y/N’s arm.

“Speaking of forgetting…” Her voice turns playful. “Somebody’s birthday is this Saturday. My baby girl’s turning eighteen.”

Y/N groans. “Can we not talk about that?”

“Why not?” her dad says with a warm smile. “Eighteen’s a big deal.”

“Exactly,” her mom adds, already pulling out her mental Pinterest board. “I was thinking a small dinner. Something sweet. Maybe you can wear that dress I bought—the blue one?”

Y/N shrinks a little in her seat, suddenly aware of how fast everything is moving.

“We don’t have to make it a thing…”

“Oh, we’re making it a thing,” her brother chimes in, mouth full. “Eighteen, Y/N. You can vote. You can finally drive after years of avoiding your learner’s permit—”

“Thanks,” she deadpans.

“We’ll keep it lowkey,” her mom says gently. “Just us and maybe a few friends.”

Across the table, her brother’s best friend gives a little wave.

“I better be invited,” he says.

Y/N smiles. “Of course.”

But beneath the table, her phone buzzes in her pocket. An unknown number. No message. No call.

She doesn’t check it.

Not yet.

Saturday Morning –

Sunlight filters through the curtains. The smell of pancakes and cinnamon floats up the stairs. Y/N blinks awake to the sound of soft knocking.

“Sweetheart?” her mom’s voice is gentle. “Can we come in?”

Before she can answer, the door creaks open and in come her parents—with her brother right behind them, holding a sad balloon he clearly bought last minute.

“Happy birthday!” they all say in unison.

Y/N sits up, sleepy but smiling. Her dad places a kiss on her forehead.

“Eighteen, huh? Our baby girl’s all grown up.”

Her mom hands her a tray with breakfast and a little wrapped box on the side.

“Your favorite. And something small to start the day.”

Her brother flops onto the foot of her bed. “I had to convince Mom not to put eighteen candles on your pancakes.”

“You’re so annoying,” Y/N mutters—but she’s still smiling.

He grins. “Wanna hear something wild though?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Silas Vegas—yes, THE Silas Vegas—texted me this morning.”

Y/N freezes, fork halfway to her mouth.

“He wanted to hang out,” her brother continues, completely unaware. “Said he had some free time today and asked if I wanted to drop by the gym. Just chill.”

Her mom gives him a look. “Didn’t you tell him it’s your sister’s birthday?”

“Of course I did.” He shrugs. “Told him no way, it’s family time. He said it was cool. That we’d reschedule.”

Y/N lowers her fork. Her chest feels… strange.

“He has your number?” she asks softly.

Her brother laughs. “Yeah! Gave it to him after training last night. Thought he might wanna talk fight stuff.”

Their dad raises a brow. “Pretty generous of him.”

“I know, right? He’s actually super chill. Not like I expected.”

Y/N nods slowly, but something inside her is already twisting. She stares at her untouched pancake, suddenly not hungry.

Later That Day

A knock at the door. Her brother goes to open it, expecting a neighbor, maybe a delivery.

Instead: Silas Vegas, standing on their porch with a smirk that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Hey,” he says smoothly. “Just thought I’d drop off a little birthday something—for your sister.”

The brother blinks. “How’d you—?”

“You mentioned it this morning,” Silas interrupts, handing him a soft white box tied in navy ribbon. “Don’t worry. Nothing crazy.”

But his eyes are already scanning the house behind him. Listening. Looking.

Waiting.

Saturday Evening –

The house is bustling as everyone gets ready. Her mom finishes curling Y/N’s hair while humming softly. Her father shaves, her brother’s trying to fix his tie in the hallway mirror. They’re planning to go to Bella Vita, the “fancy” place in town—white tablecloths, dim lighting, decent food.

Y/N stands in front of her mirror, slipping on nude heels. Her dress is simple but fitted—a soft champagne tone that makes her skin glow. Her glasses are off for once, replaced with contacts. Her hair falls in loose curls over her shoulders.

She feels… exposed.

From behind, her door creaks open.

“Hey, you almost ready?” her brother calls, but another voice answers.

Silas.

Low. Smooth. Intimate.

“She’s perfect.”

Y/N freezes.

He steps just inside the doorway, closing it behind him with a click. He’s in a sleek black button-down, dark slacks. The gold on his watch gleams. He doesn’t touch her—he doesn’t need to.

“Happy birthday, angel.”

His voice is like smoke, curling around her, sliding beneath her skin.

“You clean up nice. Contacts suit you… but I liked the glasses.” His eyes drop—just once, slow and deliberate—then rise again. “Everything else though? I already imagined it.”

She steps back instinctively, brushing against her dresser. Her heart thunders. She tries to speak, but—

Knock-knock. Her brother barges in, holding a box. “Oh, hey—Silas, you made it! Mom said we’re about ready to leave.”

He holds out the box to Y/N.

“Here. I know it’s kinda girly, but the lady at the store said it was classy. Figured you’d like it.”

Y/N opens it—and stills.

Inside is a delicate, thin gold necklace with a tiny charm… a lock.

Not a heart. Not a name. Not an initial. A lock.

It matches the tattoo on Silas’s neck.

Her eyes flick to Silas.

He’s already watching her. Expression unreadable, but the corner of his mouth lifts slightly.

“Put it on!” her brother says, grinning. “Let’s see it!”

Y/N hesitates. Her fingers tremble.

Silas steps forward, breaking the tension with a casual tone. “I can help, if you want.”

“No!” she says too fast, then softens. “I—I got it.”

She turns toward the mirror, clipping the necklace in place. Her fingers brush the charm, cold against her skin. Her brother grins.

“Looks good. Kinda fancy. You could be in a movie or something.”

Silas says nothing—but when their eyes meet in the mirror, it’s like he’s already claimed her.

As the family gathers by the door, ready to head to Bella Vita, Silas casually speaks up:

“Actually… I’ve made other arrangements.”

They all turn.

“A friend of mine owns a place in the city. Real five-star stuff. Private dining room. I thought I’d treat the birthday girl and her family.”

Her father hesitates. “That’s very generous, but you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” Silas says firmly. Then, softer: “She deserves it.”

Everyone murmurs thanks, impressed by the gesture.

Y/N stays quiet, her hand touching the little lock charm, the air in her lungs feeling heavier than it should.

The moment the front door opens, the difference is impossible to miss.

Not the family’s old, slightly dented minivan. No—the vehicle parked in front is long, sleek, and obsidian black, with chrome rims that shine even in the twilight. The engine hums like it’s alive.

“Whoa…” her brother whispers. “This your ride, Silas?”

Silas smiles. “One of them.”

The back doors open automatically. Y/N’s mom gasps softly. Her dad hesitates, running a hand through his hair like he’s underdressed. Y/N follows behind them slowly, her heels clicking lightly on the concrete.

She expects her brother to slide in beside Silas—but he takes the far back, dragging his best friend with him. Her mom and dad sit up front with the driver.

Which means Y/N is left… in the middle row. Next to him.

Trapped.

The leather seats are cool against her thighs. The smell inside is sharp, expensive—like dark spice and polished wood. Silas doesn’t speak right away, and neither does she.

Then her family starts in.

“So what do you eat to stay that fit?” her dad asks.

“What kind of training do you do?” her brother pipes up.

“Is it true you broke someone’s nose in six seconds?” his friend blurts out.

Silas laughs softly, smooth and controlled, answering each question like he’s been prepped for press his entire life. But while he talks…

His fingers move.

Slowly, he shifts closer. His knee brushes hers. His hand settles near her thigh—too near. Then it moves again, casually brushing the side of her leg.

Y/N presses closer to the door, trying to stay in the shadows, heart thudding. Her fingers grip her clutch like a lifeline.

Her family laughs at something he says—she doesn’t hear it. All she hears is the soft drag of his knuckles near the hem of her dress.

She squeezes her thighs together. The necklace feels heavy against her chest.

Don't react. Don't let them notice.

The car rolls to a stop in front of a place none of them have ever been.

The entrance is a tall arch of black glass and stone, glowing softly from within. No name. No flashing signs. Just a small gold plate by the door: Maison D’Or.

“Is this it?” her mom whispers. “It’s gorgeous…”

Inside, the air is cool, lightly perfumed with sandalwood and rose. The lighting is low and golden, casting everything in a soft glow. Rich velvet curtains, crystal glassware, white-gloved waitstaff.

A live string trio plays in the corner, the music delicate and rich like honey over silk.

At the table—already set and waiting—sits another gift box. A bouquet of dark red roses rests beside it, thorns clipped clean.

Silas gestures for Y/N to sit first. She hesitates.

“Go ahead, angel,” he says low, just for her. “It’s your night.”

She lowers herself slowly into the seat. Her brother rushes to grab the gift.

“Another one? Damn, you’re getting spoiled.”

He passes it to her, eyes gleaming. “C’mon, open it.”

Y/N glances at Silas, who smiles that slow, careful smile.

She lifts the lid—and finds a silk hair ribbon, deep wine-red. Simple. Soft. Expensive. Embroidered in tiny golden thread with her name.

Just her name.

No one comments on how intimate it is. No one notices the way she grips the table under her dress.

Silas leans close.

“For when you put your hair up,” he murmurs, brushing a finger behind her ear. “Next time I see you, I expect you to wear it.”

The server pours wine into crystal glasses. The family is buzzing, dazzled by the elegance. Y/N sits stiffly, her body turned ever so slightly away from Silas—even though he’s right next to her.

He doesn’t let her forget it.

“She’ll have the salmon,” Silas says smoothly, before Y/N can speak.

The server nods.

Y/N opens her mouth—she was going to order something else—but her mother interrupts, beaming.

“That sounds perfect. You’re always so picky, sweetheart. He’s a gentleman for deciding.”

Her stomach coils.

Silas leans in.

“Told you,” he murmurs near her ear, “I know what’s good for you.”

His hand brushes her bare thigh under the table.

At first, it’s light. A slow stroke with the back of his fingers. She shifts away. His hand returns, bolder. Fingertips sliding higher beneath the silky hem of her dress.

Her fork clinks against her plate as she stiffens.

Her dad doesn’t notice—he’s mid-laugh at one of Silas’s perfectly placed stories.

Y/N’s breathing starts to falter. She forces herself to smile. But the hand won’t stop. Now it’s pressing, gliding along the sensitive inside of her thigh.

Higher.

She jerks in her seat.

“Are you okay?” her brother asks.

“I—I need to use the bathroom,” she blurts, pushing her chair back.

Her napkin drops to the floor. Her legs wobble as she walks away, heels clicking too fast on marble. She bursts into the lavish bathroom, heart hammering, tears threatening.

Her hands clutch the edge of the sink. Her reflection looks wrong—flushed, shaking, helpless.

She thinks about telling her mom. About crying in her arms like when she was little. But—

Would she believe her? Would anyone?

A soft click interrupts her spiraling thoughts.

The bathroom door shuts behind her.

Locks.

Silas.

He’s already inside.

She spins, her back hitting the counter.

“W-What are you doing?” she whispers.

He steps forward slowly, every movement deliberate, wolfish. The music outside is still playing—something elegant, something light.

“You didn’t say thank you,” he says, eyes sweeping over her. “For the necklace. For the ribbon. For dinner.”

His voice is soft. Velvet wrapped around a knife.

“So I figured you needed reminding.”

He closes the space between them.

Y/N’s breath shudders. Her lips part to speak—but nothing comes out.

Y/N’s back presses against the cool marble countertop, her breath caught somewhere between a sob and a scream.

“Stop,” she says, voice trembling. “Get out—get the hell away from me.”

Silas tilts his head, mock-hurt in his eyes.

“That’s no way to speak to someone who gave you such a beautiful night.”

He steps closer. One hand rests beside her on the counter—blocking her in. The other reaches, slow and deliberate, brushing a strand of curled hair from her cheek. She jerks her head away.

“You’re insane,” she hisses. “You’re—fucking crazy.”

His smile doesn’t move. It only sharpens.

“You didn’t seem to mind earlier… letting me touch you at the table. Didn’t stop me.” His hand glides down again—this time, not stopping at her thigh. “You squeezed your legs together, baby. That wasn’t fear. That was need.”

“Stop it!” she chokes, twisting away—but he grabs her wrist and turns her toward the mirror.

Her reflection stares back—eyes wide, cheeks blotched with shame and panic.

“Look at yourself,” he whispers against her ear. “You’re mine already. You just don’t know it yet.”

She trembles. Tears well up. Her mouth parts again to scream—when—

Knock knock knock.

Her mother’s voice outside the door.

“Sweetheart? Are you okay? You’ve been in there a while.”

Y/N freezes.

Silas meets her eyes in the mirror, still holding her tight.

Then slowly, he lets her go.

His fingers brush her cheek, gentle now. He wipes the tear that escaped, smearing it away like it never happened. He leans in, lips grazing the shell of her ear.

“Go out there and smile,” he says softly. “Tell her everything’s fine. Or I’ll start with your little brother next.”

Her stomach lurches.

Then—smack.

His hand lands sharply on her backside.

“Go on, birthday girl.”

She flinches but obeys, body numb.

With trembling hands, she unlocks the door and steps out. Her mother stands there, concern fading into relief as she sees her.

“There you are! Are you okay?”

Y/N forces a smile.

“Y-Yeah. I’m okay. Just needed a minute.”

Her mom wraps an arm around her and leads her back toward the table.

Neither of them turns around. Neither sees Silas still inside—his reflection grinning in the mirror, dark eyes burning.

By the time Y/N returns to the table, Silas is already seated, laughing with her father like nothing happened.

“Your girl’s got quiet strength,” he’s saying. “Rare in someone so young.”

Her dad chuckles. “You’ve got no idea. She’s always been the stubborn one.”

Y/N’s legs feel like lead as she sits down again—but not in the seat next to Silas. She moves her chair a few inches away, pretending to adjust her dress.

He notices. Of course he does.

But he says nothing.

Instead, he lifts his wine glass in a silent toast, watching her over the rim with those cold, hungry eyes.

She forces a smile. Tries to eat. Tries to breathe.

Her mother and father keep chatting. Her brother is still raving about training. But it’s his best friend—seated across from her—who seems to notice something's off.

“Hey,” he says softly, leaning in a bit. “You okay? You’ve been kinda quiet tonight.”

Y/N blinks at him. For a second, the tension in her chest cracks.

“I’m fine,” she whispers. “Just overwhelmed, I guess.”

He grins. “Can’t blame you. This place is like a movie. Honestly, I keep expecting a celebrity to walk in and ask for your autograph.”

She laughs—actually laughs, just a small, quiet sound—but real. It slips out before she can stop it.

And Silas hears it.

He doesn’t react.

Not with words. Not with his face.

But his jaw tightens ever so slightly. His fingers curl around the stem of his glass.

Under the table, he moves his leg again—slowly pressing his knee against hers.

She flinches and shifts away, smile fading.

But the moment has already happened. She laughed. At someone else.

And he didn’t like that.

Not at all.

The lights dim, and the server brings out a small, elegant cake topped with gold dust and spun sugar. A single candle flickers on top.

“Make a wish, baby,” her mom says softly.

Y/N leans forward, her face glowing in the candlelight.

She looks around—at her parents, her brother, his goofy best friend. And then… at him.

Silas.

Watching her like she’s the prize at the center of the table.

She closes her eyes, blows out the candle, and wishes to be invisible.

For just a moment.

The family cheers. Her brother claps, teasing her about growing up. Her dad kisses her temple.

Y/N smiles—a real smile this time. For them. She pushes everything aside. For a few minutes, she eats cake and pretends she’s just a normal girl with a normal birthday.

But she doesn’t notice Silas texting under the table.

A message already sent. Something waiting at home. A gift he picked out just for her.

Home – After the Dinner

The drive home is quieter.

Her family chatters softly—still glowing from the fancy dinner, still singing Silas’s praises like he’s some golden god. Her dad goes on about how polite he was. Her mom’s already talking about inviting him over for Sunday dinner sometime.

Y/N says nothing.

She sits pressed against the car door again, her heels pinching, her shoulders aching. The necklace feels tighter now. Heavy. Like a chain instead of an accessory.

Her stomach churns every time she thinks of the bathroom.

You didn’t say thank you…

They pull into the driveway. Everyone stumbles out with full bellies and sleepy smiles. Her brother gives her a big side-hug, practically dragging his best friend inside to raid the fridge.

“Night, birthday girl!”

Y/N forces a smile, waves, and slips off her shoes the second she’s inside the door. Her toes ache. Her curls are falling. Her makeup feels heavy.

She just wants to crawl into bed, wash it all off, be alone.

But when she gets to her room, she stops cold.

It’s there.

Another box.

Smaller. Sleeker. Matte black with a blood-red ribbon tied in a bow.

No note.

No name.

But she knows.

He’s been here. Or someone has… for him.

Her breath catches. She shuts the door behind her and locks it, heart thudding.

Slowly, like it might bite her, she unties the ribbon.

Inside the box: a pair of black silk panties.

Delicate. Laced. Embroidered at the hip in gold thread:

“Mine.”

Y/N stares down at them, her throat tight, bile rising. Her chest heaves.

She drops the box like it burned her.

And under the tissue paper at the bottom, something else slides free—a polaroid.

It’s her.

Sitting at the restaurant. That moment she laughed with the best friend.

She didn’t even know a photo was taken.

On the back, in clean, all-caps letters:

“I LIKE YOUR SMILE. DON’T GIVE IT AWAY AGAIN.”

That Night

Y/N stares at the box, the panties, the photo. Her heart is pounding so hard it drowns out everything else.

“No. No. No,” she whispers.

She grabs the photo and box and storms out of her room, barefoot, still in her dress, her hair messy from the night.

Downstairs, her mom is in the kitchen finishing dishes. Humming softly.

“Mom—” Y/N’s voice cracks.

Her mother turns, startled. “Sweetheart, what is it?”

Y/N holds out the photo with shaking hands. “He—he was in my room. He left this. And these—” she can’t even say the word. “He’s crazy, Mom. He’s not okay.”

Her mom takes the photo, frowning. She flips it over, reads the message… and then chuckles.

“Y/N… you’re overthinking. It’s probably just a joke. A flirty little thing—men like that, they’re intense.”

Y/N’s breath stops. “What?”

“He’s clearly taken with you. Can you blame him?”

Her mother places the photo back in her hand.

“Don’t ruin a good opportunity because you’re scared of a little attention.”

Y/N’s lips part in horror.

“He followed me into a bathroom. He touched me. I didn’t want—”

Her mother’s smile tightens.

“You didn’t stop him.”

Silence.

Crushing silence.

“You’re tired,” her mom says, turning away to dry her hands. “Sleep on it. You’ll feel better tomorrow.”

Y/N doesn’t remember going back to her room. She curls up under the covers, heartbroken, terrified, and completely alone.

Scene: The Next Morning – Sunday

Sunlight slices through her blinds. The smell of breakfast is downstairs, but her stomach turns.

Then—

“Y/N! C’mon, we’re gonna be late!” Her brother barges into her room, full of energy. “We’re going to the gym to watch me train with Silas!”

Y/N sits up slowly. Her eyes are puffy. She barely slept.

“He asked if you were coming. He said—oh yeah—he mentioned something about… a white dress?”

Her blood goes cold.

“What?”

Her brother shrugs. “I don’t know. He just said, ‘Tell her to wear the white one.’ I figured he meant that flowy one you wore to Easter or something?”

Y/N stares at him.

“You coming or what? Mom said we’re leaving in twenty.”

He disappears down the hall, yelling about protein shakes and wrapping his hands.

Y/N doesn’t move.

Her gaze drifts to the closet… to the white dress.

Waiting.

Sunday Morning –

Y/N moves like a ghost.

She pulls the white dress from her closet with trembling hands. It's soft and delicate—flowy, with a lace-trimmed neckline and little flutter sleeves. It used to make her feel pretty.

Today, it feels like a uniform.

She puts it on in silence. No makeup. Bare-faced. She stares at her reflection with dead eyes.

"Tell her to wear the white one."

She grabs her flat sandals, hoping to feel just a little bit grounded. But as she steps into the kitchen, her mother looks up from packing fruit into a cooler and frowns.

“Sandals?” she says gently. “No, no, baby. Not with that dress.”

Y/N pauses, blinking.

“Go put on your nude heels—the ones we bought for Easter. You’ll look so much more polished.”

“I don’t really want—”

Her mother kisses her cheek, smoothing her hair.

“Trust me. You’ll look beautiful. He’ll love it.”

He already saw me break, Y/N wants to scream. He saw me cry. He touched me. He left underwear in my room.

But instead… she nods.

“Okay.”

She goes back upstairs, hands shaking as she straps on the heels. Her feet already ache in anticipation.

She’s not walking into a gym.

She’s walking into his hands.

The car ride is quieter than last night—no fancy car this time, just their regular van. Her brother and his best friend talk nonstop in the back. Her father drives. Her mother hums along to the radio, glancing over now and then with soft smiles.

“You look radiant, sweetheart,” she says, resting her hand over Y/N’s. “You’ll turn heads today.”

Y/N forces a tiny smile and looks out the window.

Every turn takes her closer.

The gym is loud with the rhythmic thud of gloves hitting bags, the clang of weights, and the distant sound of a jump rope whipping against the floor. But when Y/N steps inside, all of it dulls.

Her white dress flutters around her knees. Her heels click against concrete. She looks like a misplaced angel in a cage of wolves.

Her family enters behind her—chattering, laughing, comfortable. They’d already met Silas Vegas at dinner. They liked him.

They trust him.

And he’s already waiting.

Standing near the ring, wrapped hands resting on the ropes, sweat clinging to his chest, Silas’s eyes lock onto her like a predator recognizing its scent.

His manager, Rey, stands beside him, clipboard in hand. He glances up, sees the family, and smiles politely.

“There’s the birthday girl,” Rey says. “Back again already.”

He leans closer to Silas, keeping his voice low.

“That the dress you picked?”

Silas’s mouth curves—just slightly.

“Fits her better than I imagined.”

Rey chuckles under his breath, but then his eyes catch on her again. He’s been around long enough to know when something’s off.

“She’s pretty young, Silas.”

Silas doesn’t break his gaze from Y/N. His voice drops.

“She’s mine.” Then: “And I’m always good to what’s mine.”

Rey looks away.

He’s not going to interfere.

Y/N’s brother bounds toward Silas, throwing a few fake punches.

“You ready for me today or what?”

Silas chuckles, clapping him on the back. “Let’s find out.”

Her father thanks him again for the private lessons. Her mom smiles, complimenting the gym. It’s all smooth, easy, familiar now.

No one notices how Y/N doesn’t say a word.

No one sees how she inches subtly away, heels wobbling slightly on the gritty floor.

But Silas?

He notices everything.

He turns toward her slowly.

“You wore it,” he says softly, so only she hears. “Good girl.”

Her stomach knots.

She says nothing.

His hand brushes her lower back when he passes by—not too long, not too obvious. But just enough to make her flinch.

“Enjoy the show,” he adds with a smirk. “It’s all for you anyway.”

The training begins.

Her brother is glowing, already on the mat with gloves on, listening to Silas bark instructions with charm and power. Their parents sit in folding chairs by the ring, sipping complimentary water, chatting politely with Rey.

And Y/N?

She slips away.

The heat, the sound, his eyes—it’s too much. She pretends she needs the restroom, wanders past racks of towels, down a hallway with dim lighting and cold walls. There’s a storage room with a cracked door, and she slips inside.

A moment. That’s all she wants. Just one breath without Silas watching.

She leans against the shelf of gear, head bowed, the cold air a relief against her flushed skin. Her fingers toy with the little lock charm on her necklace.

I’m not safe. Even here… I’m not safe.

Then—

Click.

The door closes behind her.

Locks.

She spins around.

Silas stands just inside, chest heaving lightly from the workout, hands still taped. He doesn’t speak at first. He just stares.

“You ran,” he says quietly.

Her voice shakes. “I didn’t— I just needed—”

“You left the room.” His voice sharpens. “While I was performing for you.”

Y/N tries to take a step back, but the shelves are already behind her.

He stalks forward, slow and lethal. His taped fingers reach out and brush her wrist, trailing up her arm, wrapping around the base of her neck.

Not squeezing. Not yet.

“I don’t like chasing,” he murmurs. “But I will. Every time.”

Y/N’s breath hitches. “Silas, please—don’t do this. Not here.”

He leans down, lips nearly grazing hers.

“This is the perfect place, angel. You’re surrounded by men who’d kill to be near you—but they can’t. Because you’re already owned.”

He pulls something from his pocket and dangles it in front of her.

A small, gold padlock key on a delicate chain.

“This matches your necklace,” he says with a wicked grin. “But only I get to use it.”

He hooks the chain around her neck, layering it beneath the lock.

“Two pieces. One game.”

Then, softer, colder:

“If you take either off… I’ll come for someone else in your house.”

He pulls away, smooths her dress like nothing happened.

“Now smile. Fix your lipstick. And come watch me train your brother.”

Y/N walks back out.

Composed. Silent. Shaken.

No one notices the second chain around her neck. No one notices the bruise forming beneath her jaw where his thumb pressed too hard. But he sees it. And he smiles like he just won.

Her brother is practically glowing in the backseat, still sweaty from training but grinning like a kid on Christmas.

“He said I’m a natural!” he beams. “Did you hear that, Dad? He said I had power in my stance.”

Their dad chuckles, proud. “He’s not wrong, son.”

In the passenger seat, their mom is scrolling through photos she took of the session. "I got one of Silas showing you how to block—look how intense your face is!"

Y/N sits in the back, crushed against the door again. The necklace with the lock feels heavier now. The key chain underneath it rubs against her collarbone like a secret no one else can see.

Her thighs are pressed tight together. Her hands shake in her lap.

Silas, up front beside her father, turns slightly to glance back at her. His smile is calm. Polite. Too calm.

“You alright, sweetheart?” he asks smoothly, the word twisting in her stomach.

Her mother glances back too. “You’ve been so quiet all day.”

Y/N nods quickly. “Just tired.”

Her voice is flat, too soft.

Silas’s fingers rest on the center console—close enough for her to see them twitch.

Instead of going straight home, Silas insists on treating them to something small—frozen yogurt, of all things.

They go.

Because everyone trusts him now.

He pays for everyone. Even picks out her flavor without asking.

“Vanilla with raspberries,” he murmurs to the cashier. “It’s her favorite.”

Y/N doesn’t correct him. Her throat’s too tight.

Her brother and his friend sit outside, laughing over toppings. Their mom and dad share a bench, enjoying the quiet.

Silas stands beside Y/N as she stares into her melting cup.

“You don’t get to run from me,” he whispers, voice low enough no one else hears. “And you definitely don’t get to hide.”

The Next Day

The sun is warm. They sit on a picnic blanket in the park, iced drinks in hand. Her friends are talking about summer, boys, music.

Y/N hasn’t said much—until she finally breaks.

“He touched me in the bathroom. On my birthday. He followed me in. Locked the door.”

Her voice is quiet, but it shakes.

One of her friends blinks. “Silas? Silas Vegas? Are you serious?”

Y/N nods.

“He left underwear in my room. A photo of me. He… he put his hand on me yesterday. I didn’t want him to.”

Another girl bites her straw. “Okay, that’s… intense.”

“Creepy,” another mutters. “But like… are you sure? He seems kind of… protective.”

“I’m sure,” Y/N snaps, eyes wide, tears building. “He threatened me.”

A silence falls.

It’s awkward. Heavy. They don’t know what to say. No one gets up. No one rushes to hug her.

Finally, one of them shifts the subject.

“Hey,” says the one with the sunglasses, “you should come with us to the summer camp pits.”

Y/N blinks.

“Camp?”

“Yeah. The annual one. You know—two weeks of hiking, swimming, taking care of little kids. It’ll be a break. You’d be a counselor this time.”

“And Silas can’t follow you there,” one of them adds, more gently. “He won’t even know where you are.”

That thought nearly makes Y/N sob.

She nods, clinging to the idea like a raft in the storm.

“I want to go. I’ll go.”

That Night –

She stands in the kitchen with her hands folded, her voice practiced.

“There’s this camp. I’d be a counselor. Two weeks. Just girls and kids. No phones allowed.”

Her mother frowns. “Two weeks? Alone?”

“You won’t be alone,” her dad says gently. “But you just turned eighteen…”

“Which is why I want to do this,” Y/N says quickly. “I need some space. Some clarity.”

Her mom hesitates.

“It’s just—it feels sudden. You’ve been spending time with Silas. And now you’re rushing off?”

Y/N feels her heart drop into her stomach.

“He doesn’t need to know,” she whispers.

Her dad tilts his head. “Is something going on, Y/N?”

She almost says it.

Almost.

“No,” she lies. “I just want to be around people my own age.”

That Night –

Y/N stands quietly as her parents talk in the kitchen. She can hear the concern in her mom’s voice—but it’s her dad who finally ends it.

“She’s eighteen. And she’s been… off lately. Let her go.”

Her mother sighs. “I just… it feels sudden.”

Her father glances toward the hallway—where Y/N stands just out of sight—and softens.

“She needs time with people her age. With girls. Camp’ll be good for her.”

Her mother doesn’t argue again.

Y/N barely makes it to her room before her legs give out. She sinks onto her bed and stares at the ceiling.

For the first time in weeks… she feels a sliver of hope.

[Time Skip: One Week Later]

The days pass quietly, almost too quietly.

Y/N barely speaks to Silas. She avoids his texts. Ignores the necklace. She’s careful. Cautious. Every step closer to leaving feels like a stolen breath.

She’s packed her bag in secret. Folded clothes, tucked in sunscreen, worn-out sneakers. No white dresses. No heels.

Just comfort. And escape.

Her friends pull into the driveway in a beat-up car, all piled with duffels and sleeping bags. The windows are down. Music’s playing low.

Y/N walks out with her bag slung over her shoulder. Her father steps out onto the porch and gives her a hug.

“Be safe, kiddo.”

She nods. “Thank you, Dad. Really.”

Her mom lingers by the door, arms crossed but silent.

Her brother stumbles out, yawning. “Wait—where are you going?”

Y/N hesitates. “Camp. I’m going to be a counselor.”

“Since when?”

“Since now,” she says softly. “It’s just two weeks.”

He shrugs, not thinking much of it. “Okay, cool. Send pics.”

She climbs into the car.

As they drive off, the necklace with the lock bumps lightly against her chest. She tucks it deep into her hoodie.

Later That Day –

The gym is humid, alive with energy. Her brother is sweating through drills, gloves pounding against the pads.

Silas watches from across the mat, still and unreadable.

“Keep your chin down,” he says. “Don’t leave your right hand hanging.”

“Yeah, yeah,” her brother pants. “You’re really uptight today.”

Silas doesn’t answer. His mind is elsewhere.

That’s when the brother says it, totally casual.

“Y/N left for camp this morning, by the way.”

Silas’s world goes still.

“What?”

“Yeah. Like two weeks. All-girls camp. She’s a counselor or whatever. She packed last night and just dipped.”

Silas stares at him.

“She didn’t tell me.”

The boy blinks, confused. “Uh… she said it was kind of last-minute. Guess she didn’t think you’d care.”

Silas doesn’t speak.

He simply turns, walks toward the back office, and shuts the door behind him with a quiet, final click.

The door locks.

He paces. Breathing sharp. Controlled.

She ran.

Not far. But far enough to think he wouldn’t follow.

He opens his phone.

No texts. No updates. No location ping.

He closes his eyes.

Good girls don’t run. Good girls don’t hide.

He opens a drawer. Pulls out something small.

The second key. The matching padlock.

He runs his thumb along the gold edge.

“Two weeks,” he whispers. “She thinks that’s enough time to forget who she belongs to.”

#yandere #dark fantasy #fantasy #tw noncon #x reader #dark romance #power dynamics #sfw noncom #age g4p #boxer #fight club #twistedheartsclub

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