"Killing is easy. What you do after is the hard part"
The house was too quiet.
Not the peaceful kind of quiet... the heavy kind that presses against your skin, making every breath feel like a warning. I stood at the bottom of the stairs, one hand on the rail, the other hovering near the gun in my pocket. The power outage had hit like a punch. One second, soft light. The next—blackness swallowing every corner of the estate.
I knew darkness.
But this... this felt wrong.
I scanned the hallway. Nothing. No footsteps. No shadows. Not even the faint hum of the refrigerator or the distant creak of settling wood. It was the silence of a place holding its breath.
Then a crash. Glass.
Upstairs.
My heart stopped. My mind didn't. SOPHIE.
I took the stairs two at a time, each sound amplified in the dark. Halfway up, I nearly collided with Miranda. Her hair was messy, eyes wild. "What's happening?" she whispered, panic stretched across her face.
"Call the police," I ordered, sharper than intended. "Now."
She nodded and vanished into the darkness with trembling hands.
I kept running.
When I reached Sophie's door, I froze just long enough to press my ear to the wood. The cold surface hid nothing.
A gasp.
A muffled struggle.
A low grunt; definitely male.
My chest tightened so painfully it felt like bone was cracking from the inside.
I thought she had locked the door herself earlier.
This meant... someone else locked it this time.
My blood iced. I didn't think. I didn't breathe.
I stepped back, lifted my knee, and kicked with everything I had.
The door crashed inward.
And the world narrowed to one horrifying image—
Sophie, in the dark, fighting for her life. A figure behind her, arms around her throat. Her hands were clawing, legs kicking, breath slipping.
"SOPHIE!" I didn't hesitate.
My gun was out before thought caught up.
A shot rang out, sharp and final in the suffocating dark.
The man staggered back and collapsed to the floor.
Sophie fell forward, coughing, her knees buckling. I caught her before she hit the ground. Her fingers fisted into my shirt, desperate, trembling so violently I felt it in my bones.
"It's okay," I whispered, voice raw. "I'm here. You're safe. I've got you."
Her breathing was uneven, shaky, broken around the edges.
Mine wasn't much better. I held her until the trembling eased just enough for her to pull away, eyes still wide with panic. She looked toward the fallen man, the dim moonlight from the window outlining his shape.
Slowly, she reached out, grabbed the edge of his ski mask, and pulled it off.
The world tilted.
Clint.
His face twisted into a smile—one that didn't belong in any living human's expression. His breaths were ragged, but somehow his voice slithered into the silence. "You really think Victor is dead?"
Sophie froze beside me.
Clint chuckled; a hollow, hateful sound.
"Victor never leaves. Not your dreams. Not your nightmares. Not your life. You'll never be free of him. Not then—" He coughed, eyes flaring with cruel satisfaction. "Not now. I should've finished you at the construction site—"
Another shot. Mine.
His voice died instantly.
Silence reclaimed the room, but it wasn't heavy anymore... it was empty. Echoing.
Sophie didn't say "thank you."
She didn't need to. She just moved toward me, knees weak, and sank against me. Her forehead pressed to my shoulder, her hands still trembling but gripping me like I was the only solid thing left in the world.
And in that moment, I felt something inside me finally stop shaking too.
"It's over," I murmured into her hair. My voice sounded tired. Older. But certain.
Her breath hitched... a soft, fragile sound of disbelief and relief mixing together.
Clint was gone.
The one who had terrorized her.
Hunted her.
Haunted her.
Gone.
Sophie exhaled slowly, like she'd been holding that breath for years.
Maybe she had.
For the first time since I met her...
She looked free.
---
The red and blue lights painted the estate in broken colors; flashes of emergency brightness cutting through the dark that still clung to the house like fog. Officers moved in clusters, talking rapidly into radios, their boots echoing against the driveway tiles.
But my entire world was the girl leaning against me.
Sophie sat on the back of the ambulance steps, wrapped in a blanket so oversized it nearly swallowed her. Her head rested on my shoulder, her hair brushing my jaw every time she breathed. The paramedics had checked her throat, her pulse, asked her questions she was too shaken to answer. So, I answered for her.
I kept my arm around her the whole time.
She hadn't spoken a single word. Not one.
And I didn't ask for any.
Together, we watched as officers lifted Clint's body onto the stretcher. They were efficient, focused, unemotional; yet for Sophie, every second dragged like time was forcing her to relive everything.
She didn't flinch.
She didn't cry.
She just leaned harder into me, her breathing shallow, eyes locked on the scene.
When they wheeled him away, her fingers slipped around my wrist, gripping tightly. Like she was afraid he'd sit up again. Like nightmares could be dragged out from under the bed and back into reality.
"It's really over," I murmured, quietly enough only she could hear.
She nodded, barely.
The officers gave statements, Miranda translated what she'd heard, and the estate finally began to breathe again. But exhaustion weighed on Sophie like a shadow that refused to lift.
When the last officer left, she finally exhaled.
Slowly.
Heavily.
I held her until dawn.
---
The Montez Empire arranged everything, because despite the hell Clint had caused, he had been part of their inner circle. Manipulating them. Lying to them. Coiling through their trust like poison.
Dozens of them arrived in black.
Men in suits, women in long coats, all with the same expression—something between sorrow and disbelief. A lifetime of loyalty crumbling in a single night.
Sophie stood beside me near the entrance of the hall, hands clasped tightly in front of her. Her eyes didn't wander. She simply stared ahead at the coffin draped in white cloth, flowers arranged neatly at its sides.
Every once in a while, she'd lean subtly toward me, like checking if I was still there.
I always was.
People approached her one by one. Some offered brief hugs—gentle, careful, as if she might break. Others placed a hand on her arm or shoulder. Quiet words floated around her like muted confessions:
"We can't imagine what you've endured."
"You're stronger than any of us knew."
"We're so sorry you had to go through this."
"Victor would have wanted you safe."
She didn't respond out loud. But I saw the way her breath quivered each time.
I saw the way she held herself together by a thread. She had been hurting silently for so long that sympathy felt like unfamiliar territory.
And the world noticed.
Cameras stayed far, respecting the Montez Empire's conditions, but the news was already everywhere. Every channel. Every headline.
Montez Heiress Saved in Final Confrontation.
Clint Harlow Found Dead After Attack in Estate.
Long-Buried Secrets of the Empire Surface.
Sophie didn't react to any of it.
She just watched the coffin being lowered, her fingers brushing mine, seeking something—reassurance, maybe strength, maybe just a reminder that she wasn't alone in this ruin.
When the final flower was placed and the last mourner stepped back, she exhaled a tremor-filled breath and leaned her forehead briefly to my shoulder.
For the first time since the attack...
She looked like she believed she was safe.
I wrapped an arm around her. And silently promised she always would be.