It was the middle of the night. The room was dark and silent. She clutched the blanket with trembling hands. Beads of sweat covered her forehead and soon spread across her whole body. Her heartbeat pounded in her chest, each thud echoing in her ears. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, the fear making it hard to breathe.

Desperately, she started taking heavy breaths from her mouth, gasping for air. Her head throbbed with a relentless pain as if someone were hitting it with a hammer. Tears welled up in her eyes, spilling over and streaking down her cheeks. She gripped the blanket even more tightly, her fingers digging into the fabric.

"Please, no " she whimpered, her voice barely above a whisper. "No, no, please leave me, please leave me" she suddenly shouted, her voice cracking with desperation. "Please don't do this, please," she pleaded, her voice breaking as sobs shook her body. "I beg you, I beg you, please " she cried out, her voice hoarse.

The nightmare was relentless, a dark and twisted spectre haunting her dreams. She saw a shadow figure hovering in on her, his face was obscured, but his intentions were clear. The fear clawed at her, an icy grip that tightened with every passing second. She felt utterly helpless, trapped in a nightmare from which there was no escape.

Her mind was a whirlwind of terror and confusion, each second stretching into an eternity. She could hear his voice now, low and menacing, whispering threats. Her cries grew more desperate, her pleas more frantic. "Please, I beg you " she sobbed, her body shaking. "Don't do this, please " she repeated, the words a desperate mantra against the darkness.

She felt the weight of his presence pressing down on her, suffocating her, drowning her in fear. She clung to the blanket as if it were a lifeline, the only thing grounding her in this terrifying reality.

She held the blanket more tightly, her voice a trembling whisper. "Please, no" she murmured, her fear palpable. "No, no, please leave me, please leave me" she suddenly shouted, her voice breaking with desperation. "Please don't do this, please, I beg you, I beg you, please" she cried, her sobs wracking her body.

Hearing her cries, her father rushed toward her room. He flung open the door, his heart breaking at the sight before him. She was curled up on the bed, clutching the blanket.

"Please no, please " she sobbed, turning onto her side and hugging her body tightly, pulling her legs close to her chest. "I will obey you, please, please" she cried, her voice filled with desperation.

"Petal" her father called, as he hurried to her side. He reached out and gently took hold of her arm, trying to turn her toward him. "No, please, please don't touch me, please " she begged, struggling to free herself from his grasp. "I will not escape, I will listen to you, please"

"Petal, wake up, it's me " he said, shaking her gently in an attempt to pull her from the nightmare. His heart ached as he watched his daughter, so lost in her terror. He could see the fear etched on her face, her body trembling with each sob.

"Wake up, petal " he pleaded, his voice breaking. "It's just a bad dream, I'm here." He continued to shake her gently, his own eyes welling up with tears. "You're safe, I promise."

Slowly, her eyes fluttered open, the nightmare's grip loosening. She looked up at him, her vision clearing. "Dad?" she whispered, her voice hoarse and filled with confusion.

"Yes, Petal, it's me," he said softly, relief flooding through him. He pulled her into a tight embrace, feeling her body relax against him. "You're safe now. It was just a dream."

She clung to him, her sobs gradually subsiding. "He was here, Dad," she whispered, her voice still shaky. "He was hurting me. It was so real," she cried, her tears soaking his shirt.

Her father held her even tighter, his heart breaking for her. "Shh, It's over now," he said softly, trying to keep his voice steady. 

"Who is this, Dad? Why does he haunt me so much? What does he want from me?" she cried, her voice filled with desperation and confusion.

"Shh, Petal, it was just a dream," he said softly, hiding the truth. His heart ached knowing the torment she endured.

"Why do I keep having the same dreams?" she sobbed, burying her head in his chest, trying to disappear into his embrace. Her tears soaked his shirt.

"Shh, Petal," he murmured, stroking her hair gently. "You will get ill at this rate." He was deeply worried about her, the intensity of her distress tearing at his heart.

"Dad, please do something, please," she pleaded, her voice breaking with emotion. The desperation in her eyes was almost too much for him to bear.

"Shh," he whispered, his voice calm and soothing as he patted her back. He wished he could take away her pain, but all he could do was offer his presence and comfort. He held her close, his hand moving in slow, comforting circles on her back.

"You're safe now," he said softly, continuing to stroke her back. "I'm here with you. The dream can't hurt you anymore."

She nodded against his chest, still trembling but finding comfort in his words. They stayed like that for a long time, her father holding her close, his presence a comforting shield against the lingering shadows of her nightmare. The room, once filled with the echoes of her screams, now felt calmer. The shadow that had seemed so menacing began to recede, replaced by the warmth of her father's embrace.

After a while, when her sobs began to subside and her breathing calmed a bit, he helped her sit up. "I'll be right back," he said softly, heading to the kitchen. He returned with a glass of water and handed it to her. She took it with trembling hands, still crying softly, the nightmare replaying in her mind.

He then brought her some medicine. "Take this," he insisted gently.

She quickly swallowed the medicine, knowing from experience that it would help. Every time she had this kind of dream, her dad gave her medicine, and it always brought relief. She needed that relief more than anything right now.

"Rest, Petal," he said, tucking her back into bed and starting to leave.

"Please stay with me," she begged, her voice small and frightened. She was terrified that the nightmare would return as soon as she closed her eyes.

"You are a strong girl, right?" her dad asked, turning back to look at her.

She looked up at him with her tear-filled eyes and shook her head. "No, Dad, I'm not. I never can be," she cried, lowering her head in defeat.

Her father's heart broke a little more at her words. He walked back to her and sat down on the edge of the bed, taking her hand in his. "Petal," he said gently, "strength isn't about never being afraid. It's about facing your fears and not giving up. And you, my dear, are the strongest person I know because you keep fighting, even when it's hard."

She looked up at him, her eyes searching his for reassurance. "But it feels so real, Dad. Every time, it feels like I'm there."

"I know, sweetheart," he said, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "And I'm so proud of you for facing it. It's okay to be scared. It's okay to ask for help. And it's okay to need me here with you."

She nodded, her tears still flowing but her heart feeling a little lighter. "Will you stay with me, Dad?" she asked again, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Of course, Petal," he replied without hesitation. "I'll stay as long as you need me."

He helped her lie back down, tucking the blanket around her. Then he sat beside her on the bed, holding her hand. He began to hum a lullaby he used to sing to her when she was little, the familiar melody soothing her frazzled nerves.

Slowly, her breathing evened out, and the tension in her body began to ease. Her father's presence, his voice, and the lullaby all worked together to pull her away from the nightmare's grip.

As she finally drifted back to sleep, he whispered, "I'll always be here for you, Petal. Always." He stayed by her side, his hand gently resting on her back, a silent promise to protect her from the nightmares that haunted her. 

He stayed with her for the rest of the night, keeping watch over her as she slept. Each time she stirred or whimpered, he was there, his touch and voice guiding her back to peaceful sleep. By morning, the terror of the night had faded, but he knew the battle was far from over. Still, he was determined to be her anchor, her haven in the storm of her fears.

...

On the other side :

he lay in bed, restless and unable to find sleep. He was exhausted from the day's work and had thought he would fall asleep the moment his head hit the pillow. But sleep eluded him. Her face kept appearing before his eyes, haunting him, mesmerizing him.

The moment he had removed the cloth from her face, he had lost himself in her beauty. He had dropped to his knees in front of her, overwhelmed. She had been unconscious, slumped in the chair, her arms bound behind her back. She wore a full-length, red-coloured dress that accentuated her graceful figure.

Her hair, a cascade of midnight black, flowed past her hips, so thick and beautiful that it covered her entire milky white back and half of her front.

He had been entranced by the sight, his fingers tingling with the memory of touching her soft skin as he had gently brushed a strand of hair from her face.

"God, I can't take this anymore," he muttered, his frustration mounting. He sat up abruptly, running a hand through his hair. "I need relief," he said, his voice rough with desperation. He stood up and began pacing the room, the memory of her beauty seared into his mind. Her vulnerability had stirred something deep within him, something he couldn't quite understand but couldn't ignore either.

He walked into his closet, heading towards his most worn collection of clothes. He stood in front of it, unable to control his impatience any longer. With a swift motion, he pushed everything down onto the floor, revealing a hidden handprint lock behind the racks. Placing his fingerprint on the scanner, he unlocked a concealed basement hidden behind his closet. A smirk crept onto his face at the thought of seeing her again.

The secret passage was vast, though not as luxurious as his mansion. 

It was a place only he knew about, apart from one servant who did the cleaning under strict orders. The servant knew that uttering a word about this place would cost him his life. As he walked through the dimly lit corridors, various cages caught his eye, each a testament to the horrors he inflicted on his captives. "It's been days since I went hunting," he thought to himself, feeling a thrill of excitement.

Impatience gnawed at him, and he began shedding his clothes along the way. He unlocked his belt and let it drop to the floor, unbuttoning the first three buttons of his shirt as he moved forward. He reached his destination with a big grin on his face. He opened the door to a spacious room, dominated by a large screen that covered an entire wall. The light from the screen illuminated two chairs in the middle of the room. One of the chairs, facing the door, was where he had bound her.

Grabbing the remote from a nearby table, he made his way towards the chairs and sat down, his eyes fixed on the screen. He imagined her still bound to the chair in front of him, unconscious and vulnerable. He reached out, trying to touch her, but his hand passed through empty air, snapping him back to reality. She wasn't there, and the realization made him furious.

"Where the hell are you?" he shouted in anger, kicking the chair in front of him and sending it crashing to the floor. His rage consumed him, and he tightened his grip on the remote, ready to smash it to the ground. Just then, the screen flickered to life, and there she was.

His anger dissipated instantly as his eyes landed on her image. The screen was enormous, covering the entire wall and giving the illusion that she was actually in the room with him. She was slumped over, unconscious, her head hanging down. He imagined himself sliding her hair away from her face, his touch so gentle it woke her. She stirred and looked around, fear flashing in her eyes.

"Relax, relax, don't be scared," he said, his actual voice and the voice from the screen blending. She started to struggle, pulling at the ropes that bound her, causing herself pain in the process. "Stop, you're hurting yourself," he and his screen voice said in unison again.

But she didn't listen. Panic had taken hold, and she fought against her restraints with all her might, tears streaming down her face. He watched, torn between frustration and fascination. Her resistance only made him more determined.

"Please, stop," he said more softly, almost pleading. "I don't want to hurt you."

She paused for a moment, her eyes meeting his on the screen. For a second, it seemed like she might listen, but then she resumed her frantic efforts to free herself. Her defiance was both infuriating and exhilarating.

"Stop it " his shout made her scared. She closed her eyes tightly in fear.

As he let the videos play, he opened his pants and pulled out his member. He was hard as a rock, just watching her on the screen was making him want to cum so bad.

"Look at me, darling," he said, as he grabbed his member in his hand and started stroking it gently, giving himself the light pleasure he craved.

He couldn't help but feel a surge of pleasure run through his body as he heard her voice, pleading and crying "Please let me go," she cried.

"Oh gosh, your voice," he said, his head falling back on the chair with pleasure.

"Speak again," he said, increasing his pace.

She didn't respond.

"Say it again, darling," he said, his voice growing husky with desire. "Beg again."

She still didn't respond. 

"Beg again "his anger got the best of him 

"Please, please," she cried, and he felt his pleasure increase tenfold.

"Keep saying it," he said, increasing his speed. "Please."

"Again," he said, his voice growing rougher with each stroke.

"Fucking again," he shouted, his pleasure reaching its peak. 

"Please, please," she cried, he felt himself cumming hard, his body shaking with the intensity of his orgasm.

As he came down from his high, he couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction, the night was still long, but it would never be enough when it came to her.

....

The next day::

Petal came downstairs. Her father was in the kitchen, busy making breakfast for both of them.

"Good morning, Dad," Petal said, entering the kitchen and capturing his attention.

"What are you doing up, Petal? You should be resting. Let me bring your breakfast to your room," he suggested, concern etching his features.

"I'm alright, Dad," Petal replied, trying to assure him.

"Petal," her dad said softly, still worried about her wellbeing.

"Please, Dad," she insisted, her eyes pleading.

He understood her unspoken request. "Fine, but you are going to rest after you finish eating, okay?" he said firmly.

She nodded, knowing he meant well.

"Go sit," he instructed, and she complied, settling down at the table. A moment later, her dad joined her, placing a plate of sandwiches and a glass of fresh orange juice in front of her.

As they ate, a comfortable silence enveloped them.

"Dad," she finally broke the quiet, attempting to spark a conversation.

"Don't worry, I won't ask," he responded, thinking she might be anxious about her recent dream. Little did she know, he was already aware of its details.

"Dad, you're hiding something from me," Petal said, her gaze piercing his. The tension in the room thickened. "Please, Dad, tell me what it is," she begged her voice a mixture of urgency and worry.

"Petal, I'm not hiding anything. Why would I?" he replied, though his tone lacked conviction.

"Who is that man?" she pressed, her intuition guiding her.

"He's just a nightmare, nothing more," her dad said, his voice firm yet gentle. "Just forget about him," he insisted, but Petal felt drawn to the mystery.

As she pushed her food around her plate, her father sensed she needed a distraction. "We received an invitation," he said, breaking the heavy silence.

She looked up, momentarily forgetting her worries. "What invitation?" she asked, curiosity piqued.

Her dad retrieved the elegant invitation card from a drawer and handed it to her. "Your mom's wedding," he said, watching her reaction closely.

"Already?" Petal was taken aback, the day arriving sooner than she expected. Her mom had left a few years ago in search of freedom, and while her dad had respected her decision, it was still difficult for Petal to process.

"This is beautiful," she said, studying the invitation's intricate design.

"So, are we going?" she asked, a hint of excitement breaking through her earlier tension.

"Only if you want to," her dad replied, his tone encouraging.

"We should go," Petal decided, her spirit-lifting.

"Alright," her dad said, smiling in relief. She beamed back at him, the warmth between them momentarily easing the weight of her thoughts.

As she admired the invitation, her eyes fell on the groom's name. A wave of unease washed over her.

"What's wrong?" her dad asked, noticing her sudden shift.

She met his gaze, searching for the right words. 

"What's wrong, Petal?" he asked again, a hint of concern in his voice.

"I think I've heard this name before," she replied, unease creeping in.

"It's a common name, Petal," her dad reassured her, though she could sense his tension.

But deep down, Petal knew it was not just a common name.

-----

He was staring at the invitation card, his mind swirling with thoughts. The only thing he could focus on was how happy it would make him if the bride turned out to be her.

"It's already here? I thought it would take longer," his friend entered the room, breaking his reverie.

"Show me," he demanded, curiosity flickering in his eyes.

He handed over the card, watching him intently. "What's with this behaviour? Aren't you happy?" he asked, noticing the tension in his friend's demeanour.

"Do I look happy?" he replied, frustration edging his voice.

"What's going on now?" his friend pressed, concern etched on his face.

"I'm just missing her," he admitted, sinking into his chair, the weight of his emotions palpable.

"Now? When you are getting married? What kind of rubbish is this?" his friend exclaimed, but he instantly regretted his words when met with a sharp, serious gaze.

"Chase, you need to move on. It's been a year. Why are you still clinging to her memory?" he tried to reason, but the stubbornness in Chase's eyes was unyielding.

"I can't move on. Not now, not ever," Chase replied, determination flooding his voice.

"Then why are you marrying Maya? Why put her through this?" his friend said, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

"Because she resembles her," Chase confessed, a spark igniting in his eyes. "The way Maya carries herself, her long dark hair cascading over her shoulders-it's eerily similar. Even her smile, though not quite as innocent, brings back memories of the past. There's a certain grace in how Maya moves, a softness in her features that reminds me of her. It's almost like looking at a reflection, but one that's been tinted with a touch of life's experience. It's uncanny how the shape of her eyes and the curve of her lips echo those of the woman I lost. When I see Maya, I can't help but feel that familiar ache, that longing for what once was."

"What if you find her someday?" his friend inquired.

"I will never let her slip away again," Chase declared a fierce resolve lighting up his expression.

His friend sighed, weighing the implications of Chase's words. "But what about Maya? She deserves your whole heart, not just the fragments left behind."

Chase's gaze softened, torn between two paths. "I know. But the heart doesn't always listen to reason."

The room fell silent, the gravity of their conversation hanging in the air as both friends grappled with the complexities of love, loss, and the choices that lay ahead.

.....