Chapter 3. Marked

Rae:

“You’re not fine! You vanished! No text. No call. Your phone went straight to voicemail. I thought someone kidnapped you!” Her voice cracks, and it hits me in the chest.

I collapse on the couch.

She stands over me, fierce and trembling.

“And your mom…” she exhales, rubbing her forehead. “She came by. Full meltdown. Called you irresponsible, dramatic. Accused you of doing it for attention. She even said you probably ran off with some creep to ‘teach her a lesson.’”

That gets a laugh out of me.

A sharp one. Bitter.

“She’s not wrong,” I murmur.

Eliza crouches in front of me, her hand resting on my knee. “Talk to me, Rae. Where were you?”

I close my eyes.

His face.

His heat.

His hands.

The way he kissed like he wanted to destroy me.

I open them again.

Meet hers.

And I tell her.

“During the wedding… I went for a walk. I wasn’t thinking. I just wanted air. Then he showed up.”

Her brows furrow.

“A man. He found me. Or maybe I found him. I don’t even know. He didn’t say much. Just… led me. Took me to his villa. Didn’t even ask my name.”

Eliza doesn’t interrupt. She just watches. Listens.

“And then what?”

“We…” I pause. My cheeks heat. “It happened fast. Like a fever. I couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t stop him. I didn’t want to.”

“Was he rough?” she asks gently.

“Yes. And careful. And dangerous. All at once. He didn’t hurt me, Eliza. But… everything about him felt like a warning. Like walking into a trap and still smiling.”

She smirks. “Sounds hot.”

“Eliza.”

“I’m just saying.” She nudges me. “You’ve been closed off for months. And now you’re glowing like a girl who just got wrecked by the devil himself.”

I roll my eyes and start to peel off my coat. My skin itches under the fabric. Like it remembers his hands.

I pull my top over my head and toss it onto the floor.

Eliza freezes.

“Rae?”

“What?”

Her gaze is fixed on my back.

She stands slowly, walks behind me.

“When did you get a tattoo?”

“I didn’t.”

“You’re telling me that isn’t ink?”

I frown, stand, and walk to the hallway mirror. Turn.

And there it is.

On the back of my shoulder blade—

Deep crimson. Faintly iridescent under the light.

Not a bruise.

Not a scratch.

A mark.

A sigil.

Circular. Sharp lines crossing through a blackened crescent.

It glows faintly, like the last ember of a dying fire.

I shiver.

“Eliza…”

“Oh my god,” she breathes. “He marked you.”

I stare at my reflection.

The mark doesn’t hurt.

But it thrums.

Like it’s alive.

“I didn’t feel it. I didn’t see it.”

“You were too distracted getting possessed by Sex Dracula,” she mumbles with a horrified grin. “He branded you, Rae. Like some twisted claim. What kind of man did you meet?”

I don't answer.

Because I don’t know.

All I know is this:

He didn’t leave a note.

But he left this.

And I’m starting to realize… I may not be the same girl who left home last night.

I keep staring at the mark.

Like if I look long enough, it’ll disappear.

Like this is still a dream I haven’t woken from.

But then—

That feeling.

That prickle on the back of my neck.

The ghost of a breath against my spine.

My body stiffens.

“Eliza…”

I whip around and bolt to the window, pushing the curtain aside with trembling fingers.

There.

Down the street.

Halfway to the corner.

A sleek black car, idling for just a second too long before slipping away, slow and deliberate like it wanted me to see it.

It’s the same car.

I know it.

The one from last night.

The one that brought me to his villa.

Eliza rushes to my side. “What’s wrong?”

I don’t answer.

My heart’s racing.

My breath comes sharp.

My body is wired, like prey freshly scented by its predator.

She follows my gaze.

Her eyes land on the tail lights vanishing down the road.

“Rae… who the hell did you sleep with?”

I shrug.

It's weak. Useless.

The kind of shrug people use when they want to lie but don’t have the energy.

She doesn’t buy it.

“Oh no. Nope. That’s it. You’re packing a bag. You’re coming to my place.” She starts pacing, already planning aloud. “There’s no way in hell I’m letting you stay here alone. Not with mystery men branding you and creeping outside your damn window.”

“Eliza…”

“No. I’m serious. You don’t know him, Rae. You don’t know what this is. That thing on your back could be a curse for all I know. Or a tracking spell. Or—hell—*a gang symbol.*”

I raise a brow at her.

She crosses her arms and narrows her eyes like a pissed-off sister who’s one breath away from fighting God on my behalf.

“You’re staying with me.”

“I’ll be fine,” I say. It even sounds convincing.

But we both know it’s not the truth.

She groans, throws her hands up. “You’re so stubborn.”

“I promise,” I add, quieter. “I’ll be careful.”

Eliza exhales. Watches me. Doesn’t push again. But the worry stays heavy in her eyes as she grabs her bag and heads toward the door.

I lock it behind her.

And then I stand there.

Still.

Silent.