Page 14 of Unholy Vows

Layla

I t had been over two weeks since I’d put on my little performance for Malachai. Two weeks since I’d surrendered and given in to his game.

I’d cracked the door open just enough for him to step inside.

And then… nothing.

Not a word.

No notes.

No sign of him lurking in the shadows or watching from dark corners.

Had he lost interest?

The thought hit harder than it should have, carving a hollow ache in my chest I didn’t want to name.

I shouldn’t feel abandoned by his silence.

I shouldn’t crave the attention of a man who stalked me, invaded my life, and shattered my world.

But want and logic had never occupied the same space.

Now, in the silence he left behind, I couldn’t tell if I was still merely his prey, or if I’d become something even worse.

Something willing to bleed just to keep him hunting me.

I needed to get a grip and focus on anything but Malachai O’Connor.

Sitting down at my desk, I opened my laptop and busied myself with work to escape my spiraling thoughts. It wasn’t hard to block out everything around me and lose myself in the mountain of emails that demanded my attention.

A vast majority of them were from Reece requesting revisions he could do himself, but I dismissed that thought as quickly as it came and reminded myself that he paid well.

As the hours ticked by, the strange gnawing feeling that had enveloped me slowly ebbed, and the chaos of my work life took root.

I was so engrossed in my task, I almost missed the flicker of shadow beneath my front door. It lingered for the briefest moment before disappearing.

It was likely a courier heading to one of my neighbors.

My gaze travelled back to my laptop, but no matter how hard I tried, I was unable to find my rhythm. The words on my screen blurred, and I couldn’t seem to make any progress.

Frustrated, I pushed away from my desk and rubbed the back of my neck to ease the tight muscles.

Without my permission, my mind wandered to Malachai once more, and not for the first time, I questioned whether I’d done the right thing by not reporting him to the police.

I wasn’t sure if he was dangerous, but he was a far cry from harmless.

You didn’t hide cameras in a stranger’s home without some dark intentions lurking underneath.

And I had deliberately gone out of my way to taunt someone like that.

Nice job, Layla.

Just as the weight of my thoughts threatened to crush me, something unsettling caught my eye.

A shadow bled through the crack beneath my front door, long and motionless, swallowing every bit of light from the hallway.

Someone was standing on the other side.

They didn’t shift, not even an inch.

They simply waited.

My heart skipped a beat and then sped up as it hammered against my ribcage.

The hum of my computer was the only sound inside my apartment as my breath locked in my throat.

The door handle rattled in place, shattering the stillness.

It wasn’t a knock; a polite request for my attention.

It was a deliberate test of the strength of my defenses.

The scrape of metal against metal fractured the silence, raising the hairs on the back of my neck. Whoever was on the other side wanted me to know that the fragile barrier between us wouldn’t keep them out.

The handle twisted again, harder this time, and a sick wave of helplessness washed over me. My hand groped blindly across my desk for anything I could use as a weapon. My fingers brushed a pen, then a cold cup of coffee.

Both were completely useless against an intruder.

The door shuddered in its frame, and a tiny whimper slipped from my lips before I could stop it.

Sweat slicked my palms, and the moisture was cold and clammy against my skin.

Adrenaline surged through me, setting every nerve on fire, and I couldn’t seem to get a full breath.

Each inhale was shallow, sharp, dragging through my lungs like broken glass.

My muscles locked up, trapping me in place as the sound of my heartbeat filled my ears, blocking out everything else.

A prickling sensation crept along my flesh, a primitive warning that screamed at me to run and hide . But my body wouldn’t obey. I couldn’t move as I sat frozen.

Then, just as suddenly as it had started, the rattling stopped. The handle stilled, and the sound of grinding metal vanished into a suffocating silence.

Sitting rigidly in my chair, I didn’t dare blink as the shadow beneath my door receded. It moved slowly, almost tauntingly, until the faint line of hallway light returned.

The weight in the air didn’t lift; it shifted, leaving a cold vacancy just as terrifying. Whoever had been on the other side of the door was gone, but the sense of being hunted clung to me, thicker and heavier than ever.

And this time, fear was all I felt.

The silence stretched on as I tried to convince myself to move.

I had to check the hallway, but my body refused to listen.

My mind screamed at me to stay where I was. Yet, the need to know they were truly gone was almost unbearable.

My pulse quickened, and my throat grew dry as my eyes flicked toward the door.

What if they were still out there?

Waiting.

I took a slow, shaky breath, forcing my limbs to obey my command. I had to check. There was no way around it. If I didn’t, I’d never be able to relax.

I stood from my desk, my heart pounding with every movement. The floor was cold against my bare feet, sending a jolt of icy panic to my chest.

The rational side of me knew I was overreacting, but fear held me tightly within its grasp.

I forced my legs to move, each step slow and unsteady as I approached the door. The boards creaked beneath my weight, the sound too loud in the otherwise oppressive quiet. The door seemed miles away, yet with every step closer, my senses heightened, bracing for danger.

When I finally reached for the handle, my hand trembled violently as I closed my fingers around it. The metal felt cold and foreign under my touch.

Just as I twisted the knob, a loud bang echoed from the other side.

A hand slammed the door, followed by sharp, rapid knocks that made me jump.

A scream ripped from my throat — piercing, panicked, a raw, guttural sound of terror.

My body froze in place, my chest heaving as I stared wide-eyed at my front door.

I barely had time to recover before a voice slipped through the crack.

“Delivery for Miss Layla Monroe,” a man called.

The sound was so mundane that it was almost comical in its absurdity.

I stood there, heart racing, blood pounding in my ears, just staring at the door in disbelief.

It was just the postman delivering a damn package.

I leaned against the doorframe, closing my eyes for a moment to steady myself, as my heart thundered in my chest.

The tension, the fear, still clung to me like a second skin, but the reality felt like a punch in the gut. The terror of the unknown — of what I thought was happening — was far worse than the ridiculous truth.

As I plastered on a fake smile, I swung the door open and faced the confused-looking man.

“Hi.”

My voice was barely audible, sounding strained.

“I’m Layla.”

The man eyed me before deciding he didn’t care if I was losing my mind or not and shoved a device under my nose.

“Sign here.”

He pointed to the screen, and I hastily scribbled my signature before thanking him and closing the door. A laugh bubbled up my throat as the tension finally cracked.

I couldn’t believe I’d allowed myself to get so worked up. The situation with Malachai had me second-guessing everything.

In a building like mine, it was far more likely someone had simply forgotten their keys and tried the wrong apartment.

I glanced down at the envelope still clutched in my hand. My fingers brushed over the rough paper, but there was no address on the front. When I flipped it over to examine the back, I found no return address either.

How had the postman even known I was the recipient? As quickly as the thought arose, I dismissed it, deciding it was one of many things I didn’t have time to be concerned about.

A knot twisted in my stomach as I slipped a finger beneath the sealed flap and tore it open. My heart beat faster with every passing second. Equal parts dread and anticipation roiled in my chest.

Carefully, I pulled out the single folded sheet inside.

Time to play, Little Sinner. Go back to where it all began. W here people go to lie.

I stared at the words so long they seared themselves onto the back of my eyelids, branding me from the inside out.

The message included an address and meeting time.

Tomorrow. Midnight.

A ripple of unease coursed through me, and I clutched the letter tighter, crumpling the edges. I told myself to throw it away, burn it — do anything but stand frozen like prey in a hunter’s sights.

But I didn’t.

I pressed the paper to my chest, right over the frantic thrum of my heart, and let the truth seep into my bones.

He was still out there. Still watching. Still playing his fucked-up little game.

And deep down, buried beneath the rational part of me that screamed to call the police, was another part.

A part that ached to open every door and window, making it easy for him to slip inside.

I hated that part of me.

But not enough to stop feeding it.

I set the letter down carefully on the coffee table like it was something sacred and unholy all at once. My hand hovered over it for a second longer, fingers trembling with the need to trace the loops and cuts of his handwriting.

My mind raced with a thousand stupid, reckless thoughts.

Was he proud of how easily I fell apart? Was he smiling in the dark, knowing that one tiny message had gutted me open? Was he waiting for me to beg?

I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

I’d have to be a complete fool to play his game again.

And yet, as the thought took shape in my mind, a thrill pulsed through my blood.

Father Malachai O’Connor had returned.