The Night I Was Followed
It started as a thrilling night out—just me, the city lights, and the intoxicating rush of stepping out as my other self. The heels clicked against the pavement, my skirt swayed with every confident step, and the cool night air whispered against my skin. It was empowering. Liberating.
But then I noticed him.
At first, it was just a shadow in the corner of my vision, a man in a dark coat lingering a little too long on the opposite side of the street. I told myself it was paranoia. People stare all the time—some out of curiosity, some out of malice. I was used to it. But the way he moved, slow and deliberate, staying just out of reach yet never too far, sent a shiver up my spine.
I quickened my pace. So did he.
By the time I reached my apartment building, my pulse was hammering in my ears. I slipped inside, locking the door behind me, my breath shallow. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe I was imagining things.
Then the lights flickered.
The power cut out for just a second, enough to make my stomach drop. And then—
A hand over my mouth. A sharp yank backward. The world tilted, spinning into darkness.
I woke up on the cold, textured floor of a dimly lit room, my body restrained—ropes tight against my arms, legs bent in a cruel arch. My wrists burned where the knots bit into my skin. A gag muffled my scream. My mind raced. Where was I? Who had done this?
Footsteps approached.
A figure crouched beside me, their voice a low murmur in my ear.
“You were beautiful tonight.”
Terror coiled in my stomach.
The night wasn’t over.
It had just begun.
















