SARAH WEST (POV)
The night always finds me.
It doesn't matter how exhausted I am, how late I stay at work, how many calming teas I drink…
The dream still comes for me.
Tonight is no different.
Darkness folds around me like smoke, thick and warm, and the air turns cold enough to raise goosebumps along my arms. My breath fogs as if I'm standing in winter, not inside my own mind. I know it's a dream—but it feels real in a way that makes my stomach tighten.
Then I hear him.
That voice.
Deep. Velvet. Sinfully calm.
A voice no human man could ever imitate.
"Little one…"
My pulse kicks. The sound glides over my skin like a touch I never allowed. A presence stands behind me—close, too close—his breath whispering against the shell of my ear. My body reacts before my brain can reason, heat curling low in my stomach.
But my jaw tightens.
My hands clench.
I won't be weak. I won't melt for a shadow in the dark.
I try to turn, to confront him, but the darkness holds me trapped—like invisible hands locking my limbs in place. I can't see him, yet every inch of me knows exactly where he is.
Then he whispers the word that makes my spine stiffen: "Mine."
My breath catches—not in surrender, but in shock, defiance burning hot in my chest. My instinct rises like fire.
I am not yours.
But my voice doesn't work.
Dreams take what they want.
The darkness trembles—like he heard the refusal I couldn't speak.
Before I can fight it, I snap awake.
My lungs drag in air too fast, too desperate. Sweat covers my skin, the sheets a tangled mess around my legs. My heartbeat thunders in my ears.
This dream…
It's not just a dream anymore.
I'm still gasping when my bedroom door flies open.
"Sarah?" Mia's voice is soft with panic.
My roommate appears in the doorway, hair a chaotic mess, her pink pajamas sliding off one shoulder. She rushes toward me the moment she sees my state.
"Oh my god—again?" she breathes, grabbing a tissue to wipe my forehead. "You're soaked."
"I'm fine," I say, forcing my voice steady even though I'm shaking.
Mia sits beside me, eyeing me with that mixture of worry and frustration she's perfected over the past weeks.
"That dream?" she asks.
"Yes," I whisper.
She frowns, squeezing my arm. "Sarah… this is the fifth time in two weeks. You look like you ran a marathon."
I swallow, unable to explain the truth—not without sounding insane.
I can't tell her that a voice touches me.
That the darkness feels alive.
That every night, a stranger claims me like he has the right.
And that part of me wants to punch him in the face.
Mia brushes hair away from my cheek.
"Do you want me to stay with you?"
I hesitate, then shake my head. "No. I'm okay. I just need… a minute."
She nods, reluctantly backing away. "I'll be right outside. Door stays open."
When she leaves, the silence closes in again.I pull my knees to my chest, breathing slowly, forcing my heartbeat to steady.
Strong or not…
Independent or not…
Even I can't ignore this anymore.
The dream isn't trying to scare me off.
It's pulling me toward something.
Someone.
And deep down, in a place I don't want to admit exists, I know:
When I meet the man behind that voice—
I will have to choose whether to fight him…
or fight myself.