The lecture hall buzzed with quiet conversation as the professor reviewed the pathophysiology of respiratory failure. I sat near the middle row, notebook open, pen in hand. Everyone around me seemed focused, but I hadn’t written a single useful thing in twenty minutes. My fingers kept drifting under my sleeve, tracing the smooth leather of the bracelet. The warmth of it against my skin felt dangerously comforting. Every time I caught myself doing it, I forced my hand back onto the desk, only for it to wander again minutes later. I couldn’t stop. And I hated how much I liked it. My thumb found the edge of the clasp beneath my sleeve. If I took it off now, maybe some part of this would loosen its grip on me. Maybe I could think clearly again. I tried. But my fingers wouldn’t cooperate. They trembled and only stilled when I let go. Relief flooded me so suddenly it made my chest ache.

Sophia leaned over during a short break, nudging my arm.

“You look kind of… peaceful? It’s suspicious. What kind of magic is that Russian man doing to you?” she whispered with a glint in her eyes.

I managed a weak smile. “It’s nothing.”

Emily, on my other side, just looked at me for a long moment.

“Are you okay?” she asked simply.

I nodded. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

She didn’t look convinced, but she let it drop. I was grateful. I didn’t have the energy to lie more convincingly right now.

After the lecture ended, we separated as we all had different classes. I walked alone across campus toward the science building. The afternoon sun was warm on my face, but my mind was somewhere else, back in that amber-lit lounge, on my knees, with Dominic’s fingers in my hair. I could still feel the weight of his hand resting on my head, neck and back. I tried to shake the memory.

Focus. You have a care plan due tomorrow. You have clinicals in two days.

My phone buzzed in my coat pocket. I pulled it out, expecting a message from Sophia or a reminder from my calendar. But it was an unknown number. I quickly tapped on my phone, intending to trash it. My steps slowed as I opened the text.

Unknown: You chose to keep it.

I stopped walking completely in the middle of the path. My heart slammed against my ribs as I clutched my phone tighter. I looked around sharply, scanning the students walking past, the benches, the windows of nearby buildings. Every dark window became a mirror. Every passing stranger made my stomach tighten. A man sitting on a bench looked up from his phone, and I immediately looked away. Was it him? Was he here? Was he watching me right now? The thought should have terrified me. Instead, my pulse quickened for an entirely different reason.

Another message appeared.

Unknown: Your hair is exactly where I told you to leave it.

Heat rushed up my neck and face. I turned in a slow circle, searching faces, but no one stood out. No one was obviously watching and yet, the feeling of being seen, truly seen, crawled over my skin like a physical touch. He wasn’t guessing. He knew.

I stared at the screen, torn between deleting the messages and staring at them. The worst part wasn’t the fear. It was the small, traitorous flutter in my stomach at his praise. Even from a distance, he could make my mind go quiet.

Unknown: You feel better when you stop resisting.

My thumb hovered over the reply box. For one shameful second, I wanted to answer him. I could ask where he was. I could tell him to stop. I could hear more from him. Instead, I quickly turned my phone off and shoved it deep into my bag. My hands were shaking. Part of me wanted to rip the bracelet off and throw it into the nearest trash can. The other part pressed my thumb against the leather through my sleeve, craving the quiet it promised. I ran to my next class.

The rest of the day blurred into nothingness. Just like my first class, I couldn’t focus. This couldn’t continue like this. Exams were approaching, and fast.

When I got home that evening, the house smelled like ginger and green onions. My nerves settled a little. Mom was cooking. Dad sat at the dining table reviewing some files, glasses perched on his nose. I tried to act normal.

“Hi Dad,” I said, hanging up my jacket.

He looked up and gave me a small nod with a smile. “Welcome back.”

That was all. No questions, no probing looks before he focused his attention to his files.

“New case?” I asked, glancing at the stack of reports beside him.

“Something like that,” he sighed tiredly before pinching the bridge of his nose. “Hopefully, we can make some progress soon.”  Save

“I know you can do it,” I squeezed his shoulders before going into the kitchen to help Mom. While moving in and out, setting the table, I felt his attention on me the entire time, the same way I used to feel safe under his watch. Now it made my skin prickle with guilt. Every time the bracelet brushed my skin, I became hyperaware of it. Of what it represented. Of how I had knelt and begged for it back just last night.

During dinner, we talked about normal things. Mom’s day at work, a new case Dad was consulting on. But underneath the conversation, the tension felt thick enough to choke on.

Later that night, alone in my room with the lights off, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling. I grabbed my phone and opened the chat with the unknown number. His words seemed to stare back at me. For a long moment, I stared at the empty reply box, unsettled by how badly I wanted him to fill it. I sighed and locked my phone. The bracelet felt heavier than ever against my wrist. I closed my eyes and I was back at the club, kneeling. I remembered Dominic’s grey eyes staring down at me, his fingers stroking my hair softly, and his voice…

Good girl.

Even now, hours later, the memory sent warmth spreading through my body. I pressed my thighs together and let out a shaky breath.

This was getting dangerous.

And the most frightening part was how safe he made it feel.