“You can’t stay here, Randall.” Her voice was stern brokering no argument. She was proud that she had not crumbled under his furious gaze.


He laughed, a harsh, humorless sound.


“And where, pray tell, do you suggest I go? My grave?” He pauses, his gaze fixed on her. “Or perhaps you’d prefer to join me there?

”

Jade stiffened, she could practically hear the buzzing sound of a fly in her apartment. A nice, but short distraction from the impending threat. It hung heavy in the air, a suffocating weight. Her heart pounded against her ribs, she was still as a statue, seeing black spots in her vision due to her not breathing. Tendrils of sweat rolled down her temple. If she tried to make a single move, it would be all over.


She had to think. She had to fight. Her mind and heart were at war with each other. Her heart wanted her to play this smart, to remain calm and play to his oh so obvious weaknesses. Her mind wanted her to retreat, to run and to never appear in public again.


But what would that solve? Nothing. He’d just find her again, like now, and it would start all over again. Her only option would be to play this out and wait for an opportunity to strike. How, is the question.

She was not the woman who had cowered under his shadow refusing to even breathe. Five years of cautious independence had forged a new kind of strength within her.


Jade's glance darted to the ornate grandfather clock in the corner of the living room, its pendulum keeping its steady, merciless rhythm. Beyond the walls, the Earth was waking up, unaware of that nightmare within. No one knew he was alive. No one would ever believe her…she was on her own.


The thought came like an erratic, desperate spark. The phone. Her cellphone, a possible lifeline to the outside world, sat much too far. She could reach into her pocket with a trembling hand and call 911... but he was too close, too vigilant.


"You look like you're plotting something, Jade," he said with an amused undertone. "Don't bother. I've had five years to think about this, five years to plan our reunion."


The scent of him—cold, earthy—swept over her, stronger than before. His eyes, dark and endless, pierced hers and sent down a chill that far exceeded any winter gale.


“You don’t understand,” she whispered, desperation clawing at her throat. “I moved on. I built a life without you.”

He scoffed.


“A life built on a lie, Jade. On my supposed demise.” He leaned in close, his breath warm against her ear, a stark contrast to the icy touch of his presence.


“But now, the truth has come knocking. And it’s time to pay the piper.” Jade laughs bitterly, her eyes narrowing as she juts her chin.


“And how exactly was I supposed to know you were going to fake your death? It’s not like you share your thoughts and plans with me. You forget I’m nothing more than your prisoner, your punching bag!”


Jade watched as Randall raised his hand to slap her, but she remained still, unflinching. Her eyes stared at his hand, making her arch an eyebrow. She had already expected him to lash out at her words, knowing pointing out his weaknesses would make him violent.


Instead, his hand stopped and lowered. He reached out, not to grab her, but cup her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. A chillingly familiar gesture, one he’d used countless times to assert his dominance. But this time, Jade saw the shift in his eyes, the subtle tremor in his hand. He wasn’t as composed as he appeared. The years, wherever he’d been, whatever he’d endured, had left their mark.


She remembered the fleeting moment of panic in his eyes when she’d mentioned the police, the brief flash of something akin to fear. He might be back, but he wasn’t invincible. And Jade, the woman he thought he’d broken, was no longer a victim. A surge of adrenaline coursed through her veins. This wasn’t about fear anymore. It was about survival. And she would not be broken twice.


Suddenly, a loud sound was made outside, making Jade flinch. Then the entire room went dark. All the lights, and the electricity went out. “What the fuck just happened?”


Jade didn’t give an answer as she struggled to keep her triumphant smile off her face. Damon. It had to be Damon. He must have heard everything from next door, and created a distraction. A very clever one. Randall, in his usual meticulous and controlling way, would see this as an intrusion and deliberate disruption of his grandiose return, a challenge to his authority. And that was the one thing he most loathed.


"You stay here," said Randall with eyes darting toward the front door. "I'm going to check it out." His next steps were now heavy, dark reflections of his earlier predatory grace. The front door clicked shut, and Randall's shadow joined the night.


Jade was already moving the moment he was gone. Not yet to the door. Damon's brilliant distraction activated her brain into overdrive. Very carefully, she headed for the kitchen, her bare feet quiet on the tiles. She took the heaviest knife, the sharpest from the block. Its cold weight was reassuring in her hand.


She would not go out the back. She knew Randall was too smart for that. He would anticipate her escape. Damon was trying to steer Randall outside, to a spot where he could get stuck.


A moment goes by, and Jade goes to stand next to the door with the knife ready to slash at intruders…or better yet, Randall. She raises her weapon as the front door gives a tentative soft click. Jade stopped, knuckles whitening around the knife handle. It couldn't have been Randall…the footsteps were too light.


The door opened, and a figure slipped inside, locking the door behind him quietly. It was Damon. Usually, his face relaxed and friendly, now bore a guise of desperate urgency with his wide eyes drowning in terror and relief the moment they focused on her.


"Damon, thank god it’s you." The knife lowered a little.


"Jade, I heard everything through the wall. I heard him." He took a cautious step forward. "Are you okay? I was scared shitless!"


Jade shook her head; the sudden rush of panic had faded, replaced by chilling, cold calculation. "I’m fine. I’m going to need your help.” Her gaze darted toward the door for a brief moment.


“You mean to help you run again? Of course, let’s get you out of here now while we have the chance!” He grabs her hand to pull her out of the apartment, but she stops him.


"I can’t run anymore, Damon! He wants me to run. He wants to confirm his suspicions." Damon's eyes were full of confusion and fear.


"What are you crazy? Jade, you can't be serious?! We have to call the police. We have to tell them he's alive."


"And you think they'll believe me? They’re going to think I was in on this!" Her voice dripped with bitterness. "Randall has already threatened to make it look like this was my plan all along: A wife plans her husband’s fake death for the insurance money? They'll think I'm an accomplice. Randall knows that." She drew a breath, the cold steel of the knife a grounding presence in her hand.


"He'll be back soon. We don't have time. Can you meet me at the coffee shop tomorrow morning?"


"Yes. After your run, I presume?" Damon said, his tone hushed.


“Yeah. Meet me at 10AM. Be careful and don’t let Randall see you.” He gives a nod, hugging her to calm himself down. Jade gives a reassuring squeeze, feeling better knowing Damon is nearby to intercept should anything happen between now and tomorrow.


"What are you going to do until then?” She takes a breath, her posture relaxing.


“I've been thinking about that since he showed up. He knows I can't run. And I can't stay here and be his prisoner either. The best I can think of is to play along. Act like I’m still his terrified wife who's just seen a ghost. He mustn’t know what I’m thinking and he can’t know that you’re here either. He'll be watching my every move. So, give him what he expects." Damon nods slowly as the horrible plan took shape in his mind.


"Then you go for your run tomorrow morning," he continues, his eyes drilling into hers. "You run past our coffee shop down the street. We'll meet there. It's public, he won't expect it, and we'll be able to talk without him hearing through the walls. We'll make a plan there. A real one."


"A plan to rid of him." Jade whispered, the question hanging in the air. Damon eyes were steady as she completed his thoughts.


"Right…He's been declared dead. That's a powerful tool." While the impulse behind this plan was undeniable, it was the certainty in her eyes that cemented his resolve. She wasn't just a victim anymore: she was a survivor with an ally. She was a new kind of threat.


"Looks like we have the beginnings of a game plan," she said firmly. "I'll see you tomorrow morning."


Damon gave her a quick, reassuring nod before slipping back out the door, the lock clicking silently behind him. Jade was alone again. But not entirely. She put the knife away; her hands no longer trembled. From now on, this won't be about fear. It would be about making strategic moves on this chessboard of life she hadn't known she was playing.


Tomorrow she would be lacing those running shoes, and with the man she buried watching, she would head to meet the man who was going to make sure Randall dies for good.