Page 2 of Impure Love

I look around the lux decor of the penthouse with curiosity and find myself wandering away from the crowd. My eyes roam across hanging art and shimmering decor, as the sounds of the party fade into the background.

I spot a door just off the main room, partially hidden behind a large potted plant. It’s probably a bathroom, I think. My curiosity gets the better of me. What could a penthouse bathroom look like? If the rest of the place is any indication, it’s got to be incredible.

I glance around. No one’s watching. The room hums with conversation, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. I take a deep breath, steadying my nerves. What’s the harm in just a quickpeek? With the way these people flaunt their wealth like it’s nothing, they won’t miss one curious caterer snooping around. With a ripple of excitement, I push the door open.

The first thing that hits me is the smell. Coppery and sharp, it twists my stomach into knots, making me take a step back. The room is dimly lit, the only light coming from a single bulb hanging from the ceiling, casting long, eerie shadows across the floor.

My heart begins to race as my eyes adjust to the gloom, revealing dark stains on the tiled floor. Something is very wrong here, and my instincts scream at me to leave, but my feet seem glued to the spot.

And then I see him. My heart stutters in my chest as I take him in.

He's tall, sharply dressed, and holding a gun. A man lies dead at his feet, blood spreading across the pristine marble floor like a dark, crimson puddle. My heart beats so hard it feels like it's trying to break free from my ribcage.

I bring my hand to my mouth to stifle a gasp. I should leave, run, scream, do something. But I'm frozen, rooted to the spot, unable to tear my eyes away from the scene. This is not how I forsaw my first day of work going.

Then he looks up, his dark eyes locking onto mine. Looking straight through me, like I'm transparent. For a moment, neither of us moves, the tension stretching thin, ready to snap.

My mind races, a whirlwind of thoughts and fears, but my body refuses to cooperate. I'm like a deer caught in headlights, knowing danger is imminent but unable to escape.

The air around me is thick, suffocating, and my breath comes in shallow, ragged gasps. His grip on the gun tightens and I swallow roughly, hoping I'm not next. I’m practically paralyzed as my eyes locked onto his, unable to look away. I stand here, feeling the intensity of his stare pressing down on me.

A shiver of fear runs through my body and the tray I'm still holding slips from my grasp. It hits the floor with a deafening clatter, shattering the tension and silence like glass. My breath catches in my chest. The man's eyes—dark and piercing—continue to hold me captive, his expression terrifyingly unreadable

My heart is racing, and I will myself to keep my shit together. I tear my eyes away from him and immediately notice the way his muscles ripple under his suit as he stands there, tense and unmoving. I can't help the way my eyes slide back to his, trapping myself in the tangible tension.

My chest rises and falls as I stand there like an idiot. The man exudes power and danger even in his silence. His chiseled jaw is clenched. He's incredibly attractive, and I can't believe that's even a thought in my mind right now. His gaze holds me, his breathing deep and rumbling, dangerously daring me.

Why isn’t he moving, I think to myself. He could easily shoot me and no one would be the wiser. After all, I never even heard the initial gunshot, so why would a second be any different?

The man looks me up and down curiously, but makes no move to hurt me. It's as if for some reason he intends to let me live and I don’t want to stick around to find out if I’m wrong.

I take a deep breath, willing my legs to listen to me and fucking move already. My chest aches from holding my breath, and suddenly, like a rubber band snapping, I break free from my shock and his consuming stare.

I turn on my heel and bolt out of the room, my heart pounding so loud it drowns out everything else. My shoes echo on the marble floors as I sprint down the hallway, not caring who sees me or what they think. I just need to get away.

I push through the crowd, barely registering the protests of the guests as I force myself to keep moving. The cacophony of annoyed murmurs and laughter fades into the background,becoming a distant hum. I don't stop even when I burst out of the building and into the cold night air, the chill biting into my skin.

My legs keep pumping, carrying me down the city streets without any conscious thought, driven by sheer instinct. The skyscrapers blur past me, neon lights flashing in the periphery of my vision, a chaotic dance of colors that barely registers.

My breath comes in ragged gasps, my chest tight and burning with every intake of air. The scene I walked in on is burned into my mind, seared into my memory like a brand.

The body, the pool of blood, and the man’s piercing gaze—his melting, fucking gaze. I can’t unsee it, no matter how hard I try. I keep going, my feet pounding against the pavement, the city a hazy whirlwind around me, my thoughts a jumbled mess of terror and disbelief.

My legs are burning as I stop in front of my apartment building, bent over and gasping for breath. The city sounds have faded, replaced by the pounding of my heart in my ears. Sweat drips down my face, stinging my eyes. I glance around, paranoia creeping in.

Did he follow me? Did anyone see me? Every shadow seems to move, every distant sound makes me jump.

"Come on, Aliyah, get it together," I mutter, fumbling for my keys. My hands shake so badly that it takes three tries before I manage to get the key in the lock. My fingers feel numb, the metal slipping from my grasp. I push the door open and practically fall inside, slamming it shut behind me.

I lean against the door, chest heaving, and slide down to the floor. My mind races with images of the murder, the blood, the man's eyes. The horror of it all. I feel like I might throw up. Why didnt he kill me? My stomach churns, and I press my forehead against my knees, trying to steady my breathing. But the terror won't let go.

2

ALIYAH

Ipull the curtains tighter, the faintest sliver of light slicing through the darkness like a knife. It's been a week since I saw him—the man with the gun, the dead body. Since then, I've barely left my apartment. The walls seem to close in on me, the air thick with fear and uncertainty. Every noise makes me jump; every shadow seems to move.

Sophia's voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. "Aliyah, you can't keep doing this."

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