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Katie: Dinner ends at 9? We'll be outside at 10. Masks ready!
Emily: I said no. Please don't push.
Nyla: Too late. We already told your dad it's a surprise girls' night. He approved!
Panic surged. Her dad poked his head in later. "Girls coming over after cake? Have fun, but be safe."
She couldn't argue without raising suspicion.
By evening, dinner wrapped up. Cake sung, wishes made. Then the doorbell: Katie and Nyla, giggling with bags.
"We're kidnapping her!" Katie announced.
Her dad laughed. "Take care of my girl."
Before she could protest strongly, they bundled her into Nyla's car.
"Guys, stop! I don't want to go!"
"Relax, Em," Nyla said, driving off. "One night. You'll thank us."
The club loomed in her mind. Everything repeating.
At Nyla's house first, they changed: short dresses, heels, masks, elaborate feathered ones for anonymity.
Emily's hands shook as she put hers on. "I feel sick. Take me home."
Katie rolled her eyes. "Drama queen. One drink, then we can leave if you hate it."
The club was just as she remembered: throbbing bass, dim lights, bodies writhing, air thick with sweat and desire. Explicit acts in corners, masks hiding identities.
They hit the bar. Drinks appeared, same as before.
Emily pushed hers away. "No drinking for me."
But peer pressure mounted. One sip. Then another.
Masked men approached, just like the dream. One group invited them to dance.
Katie vanished with a guy. Nyla followed another.
Emily stood alone, scanning the crowd. There, a tall figure in a black mask, broad shoulders, commanding presence. Alexander.
He was watching her.
Terror gripped her. She bolted for the exit, pushing through the crowd.
Outside, cool air hit her face. She called a rideshare, heart hammering.
Safe. For now.
But as she waited, her phone buzzed. Unknown number.
You looked stunning tonight, even hidden behind that mask. Happy birthday, Emily.
How did he know?
The cycle wasn't broken yet.
Emily stumbled out of the rideshare and into the quiet house, the front door clicking shut behind her like the closing of a trap she had barely escaped. It was just past midnight, her eighteenth birthday now officially underway, but there was no joy in it. Only a pounding heart and the lingering scent of the club clinging to her skin: sweat, alcohol, and something darker she could not name.
She kicked off her heels in the entryway, not caring about the noise, and climbed the stairs on shaky legs. Her bedroom felt like a sanctuary again. She locked the door, leaned against it, and slid down until she sat on the carpet, knees drawn to her chest. The mask was still in her hand, feathers crumpled from the frantic escape. She stared at it as if it were evidence of a crime.
The text glowed on her phone screen, mocking her.
You looked stunning tonight, even hidden behind that mask. Happy birthday, Emily.
Unknown number. No name. But she knew. Of course she knew. Alexander had seen her. He had recognized her, even through the disguise, even across the crowded room. How? She had been careful. She had stayed on the edges, avoided the dance floor, left before anything could happen. Yet he had still found her.
Her fingers trembled as she blocked the number. It felt pointless. In the dream, he had always found ways around barriers. Phone numbers, locked doors, her own willpower. Nothing had stopped him.
She crawled into bed fully dressed, pulling the covers over her head like a child hiding from monsters. Sleep did not come easily. When it finally did, it was shallow and restless, filled with fragmented images: his gloved hand reaching for her in the dark club, the weight of his body pinning her down, the cold satisfaction in his voice when he whispered her name.
Morning light crept through the curtains far too soon. Emily woke with a start, disoriented for a moment, half expecting to find herself years older, trapped in the nightmare life again. But no. The calendar on her wall still read the day after her birthday. She was still here. Still free.
Downstairs, her dad was humming in the kitchen, the smell of bacon drifting up. Normal. Safe.
“Morning, birthday girl,” David called cheerfully as she appeared. “How was the surprise girls’ night? You’re home earlier than I expected.”
Emily forced a smile, pouring orange juice with hands that still felt unsteady. “It was okay. The club was too loud. I got a headache and came home.”
He frowned slightly, concerned. “You sure you’re all right? You look pale.”
“Just tired,” she lied. “Too much excitement, I guess.”
Her phone buzzed on the counter. She flinched, but it was only Katie.
Katie: Where did you disappear to last night?? We looked everywhere! You okay?
Nyla: Yeah, one minute you were there, next gone. Rude! But happy actual bday babe!!
Emily typed quickly.
Emily: Sorry, felt sick. Grabbed a ride home. Didn’t want to ruin your fun.
Katie: Lame but okay. Brunch later to make up for it?
Emily: Rain check. Need a quiet day.
She set the phone face down and tried to eat. Every bite tasted like cardboard.
The doorbell rang mid-morning. Her stomach lurched.
David wiped his hands on a towel. “That’ll be Alex. He said he’d swing by with your gift.”
Of course he would.
Emily considered fleeing upstairs, but that would look suspicious. Instead, she stayed at the table, gripping her mug like a shield.
Alexander stepped inside carrying a flat, elegantly wrapped box tied with silver ribbon. He looked immaculate as always: dark jeans, crisp white shirt open at the collar, the faintest shadow of stubble that made him look dangerously attractive. His green eyes found her immediately.
“Happy birthday, Emily,” he said, voice smooth and warm. He placed the box in front of her. “I hope you like it.”
David beamed. “Open it, kiddo.”
Her fingers felt clumsy as she undid the ribbon. Inside was a delicate gold necklace with a small pendant: an intricate mask charm, feathers etched into the metal. Exactly like the one she had worn last night.
Her breath caught.
“It reminded me of you,” Alexander said softly, watching her reaction. “Mysterious. Beautiful. Full of secrets.”
David laughed. “Poetic as ever, Alex.”
Emily forced her lips into a smile. “Thank you. It’s… lovely.”
She did not put it on.