A dense haze of smoke escaped from her mouth, turning the already dimly lit room into an acrid, suffocating chamber. She lounged on her couch, her posture relaxed but mind thinking quickly into some new drama. The cigarette dangled from her fingers, its embers glowing ominously in the gloom. Her other hand was holding a collection of photographs, their contents hidden beneath her grasp like dark secrets waiting to be revealed.


    The relentless pounding on the door shattered the fragile silence. Her head jerked up, her eyes locking onto the clock: midnight. The insistent knocking shattered through the apartment, each thud echoing like a damn warning. Panic flared in her chest as she realized the gravity of the interruption.


    With a burst of frantic energy, she immediately snuffed out the cigarette, its ember hissing as it met the sink water. Her fingers trembled slightly as she yanked open the window, trying to expel the choking smoke that seemed to cling to every corner and nock. She felt a pang of fear—if someone were to come in, the smell of cigarettes and the hidden photographs would betray her.


    Her heart raced as she swiftly shoved the photographs beneath the couch cushions, in an attempt to protect the images of her dark plans and hidden truths concealing them from any prying eyes. The knocking grew louder, more insistent, a rhythmic battering that seemed to shake the very walls of her own self.


    She dashed into the bathroom. She turned on the shower, the icy water cascading down. The spray was cold and unforgiving, but she stood there, drenching her head.


    Minutes stretched into an agonizing eternity as Laura struggled to regain her composure. The sound of the relentless knocking seemed to pierce through the rush of the shower, each bang a reminder of the urgency of the situation. Her breathing came in ragged bursts, the cold water doing little to soothe the pounding of her heart.


    In a frantic, almost mechanical motion, she washed her skin, rinsed her mouth trying to rid herself of the smoky stench that clung stubbornly to her clothes, hair and mouth.


    As the minutes wore on, She emerged from the shower, shivering slightly, her hair plastered to her face.


    The knocking had not ceased; if anything, it had intensified. With a deep breath, Laura steeled herself. She needed to appear calm and collected, despite the chaos swirling within. It had been 10 minutes since the door was knocking, even her phone was ringing violently… She brushed a stray lock of wet hair from her face and cautiously approached the door.If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    “Who is it?” she called out, her voice attempting to convey nonchalance but betraying a hint of strain.


    “John,” came the muffled reply from the other side. The name sent a jolt of fear through her. John Blake—one of the few people who could unravel her carefully constructed fa?ade.


    “Coming,” she managed to reply, her voice now steady. She wiped her damp face with the back of her hand, trying to mask her disheveled appearance. The door rattled again, more urgently this time, as if John was losing patience.


    Laura took another deep breath, straightened herself, and swung open the door. John Blake stood in the hallway, his expression a mix of irritation and suspicion. His eyes swept over her with a practiced gaze, noting the disarray of the apartment and the faint idea of her over cautiousness.


    “What took you so long to open the door?” John’s tone was sharp, his gaze lingering on her with a scrutinizing intensity.


    “I was in the bathroom,”


    couldn’t hear the door.”


    John’s eyes flicked and Without waiting for an invitation, he stepped inside, his gaze scanning the room.


    Everything good??? She asked…


    Nothing, I just left some papers here…


    Leaving he there He moved towards the kitchen, where he began to gather the scattered papers on the counter. Her heart was racing, and, her anxiety mounting as she watched him from the doorway.


    As he was about leave the kitchen, John’s attention was drawn to a suspiciously dusty spot on the floor. He crouched down, his hand brushing through the ash powder. His expression darkened as he sniffed the residue, his movements deliberate and analytical.


    She was now standing at the entrance of the kitchen with a shrug now covering her shoulder, she was forcing herself to remain calm. John stood up, shaking his head slightly. He walked over to her, stroking her wet golden blonde hair, and hand passing over her delicate neck…


    the strangle scar on her neck was still visible.


    He was touching it with care as if not to hurt her… she flinched a little


    “Good he died by himself; otherwise, I would have killed him with my own bare hands.”


    Laura’s smile softly and holding his hand she kissed it, and said silently, her voice almost like a whisper, “Don’t bother with it. Don’t get dirty blood on your hands.”


    John’s smile was brief and knowing. He nodded and made his way out of the kitchen, his departure swift and deliberate. Laura watched him leave, the door closing behind him with a soft click. As soon as he was gone, she spat on the floor in disgust, her anger simmering beneath the surface.


    “Crazy man,” saying this she spits on the floor” throwing away her shrug onto the counter and racking her hair so as to dry it, and fell onto the couch once again. She opened her phone camera and saw her strangle mark. Touching it and then feeling the disgust she turned it off and lit another cigarette with a fierce resolve … The room was soon engulfed in smoke, the haze thickening as she retrieved the photographs from beneath the cushions. Her fingers traced the images with a mix of reverence and malice and her long nails, scratching the face of the subject of the photograph.”


    “Ah, my sweet Vivian,” Laura cooed, her voice dripping with venom. “I will make sure you take a sweet poison.”


    With a wicked smile, she added, “I will make sure to double what I have been suffering. Every ounce of pain I’ve endured will be paid back to you.”


    She tossed the photographs onto the table with a sense of grim satisfaction, her eyes glittering with malicious intent. The smoke swirled around her like a dark omen, amplifying the malevolent satisfaction in her gaze. Her heart raced with a dangerous excitement as she let the full weight of her intentions settle in.