Page 2 of The Library

I wrap myself in a towel and head to my bedroom, pulling on my favorite oversized sweatshirt—the one that feels like comfort and safety wrapped around me. Paired with black panties and long wool socks, I settle into my cozy routine. The world outside might be cold, but in here, I’m surrounded by warmth and familiarity. Perfect for forgetting about the stranger who turned my world upside down for a few unsettling minutes.

Before I crawl into bed and lose myself in a new book, I cross the room to shut the window that’s still partially open, letting the chilly autumn air seep in. As I reach for the latch, I pause. My hand stills, and my eyes lock on something outside.

A black Aston Martin DBS Superleggera.

It’s parked directly in front of my building, sitting in the corner of the lot with its lights off. My heart skips a beat, the unease I’d been trying to suppress flooding back. I lean closerto the window, squinting against the darkness. The faint glow of the interior lights reveals a figure inside, sitting motionless. Watching.

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry.It can’t be the same car,I try to convince myself. But the knot in my stomach tightens, twisting with a sickening sense of dread.Could it be him?The thought sends a shiver down my spine.

Before I can think too much about it, my phone buzzes on the bed. I tear myself away from the window, grateful for the distraction, and see Anna’s name flashing on the screen.Of course.

Anna:Lilith, are you coming out tonight? You better not be hiding away with your books again! We’re young! Don’t waste your prime years reading about fictional men, come live a little!

She always calls me Lilith when she’s trying to coax me out of my room, out of the world I’ve built for myself. It’s a ritual at this point—her wild energy against my quiet comfort. And she knows the answer before I even type it. I’m not going out. Not tonight, not any night she drags me to another party where I’ll feel like a ghost drifting in the background.

I don’t even bother responding. Anna never understands why I prefer the company of words to people. To her, I’m wasting my youth, my good years, holed up with stories instead of living my life. But she doesn’t know the thrill I get from those stories—those dark, forbidden fantasies where control is as seductive as danger.

My mind drifts back to the black Aston Martin. My fingers hesitate over the phone, a nagging sensation pulling me toward the window again. Something didn’t sit right when I saw it parked there. I glance back toward the curtains, my heart quickening as the memory of those green eyes flashes through my mind.What if…

I pull the curtains aside and peek out, expecting to see the car still there.

But it’s gone.

I stand there, frozen in place, staring into the empty lot. The unease coils tighter in my stomach, and my hands grip the curtain as if it’s the only thing tethering me to reality.I swear it was just there.

The silence feels suffocating, the street too still.Am I losing it?

I shake my head, trying to shake off the irrational fear creeping up my spine.It’s nothing,I tell myself.Just a random car.The books I’ve been reading—those dark thrillers that blur the line between fantasy and fear—have been getting into my head. That’s all. My overactive imagination.

I pull the curtains closed, shutting out the night and whatever phantoms my mind is conjuring. Crawling into bed, I grab one of the new books from the pile. A smut book. It wasn’t what I planned on reading tonight, but clearly, I need a distraction. Something to pull me away from these ridiculous thoughts. Something to help me forget the haunting, fractured eyed stranger whose voice I can’t shake.

* * *

I open the book, letting the familiar thrill of dark romance consume me, drawing me away from the uneasy reality I’m trying to escape. For a while, I manage to lose myself in the words, the comfort of a world where the danger is controlled, where the fantasy is contained between pages. But as I read, the memory of him lingers like a shadow, creeping in at the edgesof my thoughts, blurring the lines between fantasy and reality, as if he stepped right out of the pages—dark, dangerous, and undeniably mine.

That night, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, but all I can see are his eyes. The way he looked at me. The way he said my name, like he was peeling back layers I didn’t even know I had. There was something about him—something dangerous, something I should have been afraid of.

But I wasn’t. Not really.

A part of me—the dark part I try to ignore—wanted more. I shouldn’t have wanted it, but I did. I wanted to hear him say my name again, to feel the weight of his gaze on me. It was intoxicating, that brief moment of connection, even if it was wrapped in danger.

I roll over, pulling the covers tighter around me, but the thoughts keep swirling, refusing to let go. His smile. His voice. The way he seemed to know something about me that I didn’t want anyone to know.

My eyes drift toward the window again, the cool autumn air still slipping through the crack I left open. The street outside is quiet, the only sound is the distant hum of cars passing by. But then, just at the edge of the parking lot, I see it.

The black Aston Martin DBS Superleggera. Back again.

Sleek. Powerful. Sitting in the shadows with its lights off.

A chill runs down my spine, my pulse quickening.It’s just a car,I tell myself.Just a coincidence.But then I see the faint glow from inside, the outline of someone sitting there. Watching. Waiting.

I step closer to the window, my heart pounding in my chest. I squint, trying to make out the figure inside, but before I can, the car pulls away, disappearing into the night as quickly as it appeared.

I stand there for a moment, staring at the empty space where the car had been. A strange sense of dread tightens in my chest.It’s nothing.I’m imagining things. Too many late nights spent reading thrillers, too many fantasies blending into reality. That’s all it is.

Still, as I crawl back into bed, the uneasy feeling lingers. My mind drifts back to him—his eyes, his voice, the way he made me feel. Exposed. Seen.

“Lily, you’re fucking losing it,”I whisper to myself, pulling the covers over my head, hoping to block out the growing sense of unease.

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