Chapter 3: "Encounter"

CULLEN’s POV 

The rain poured heavily. The dark clouds loomed above, seething with fury. I sipped my bittersweet coffee as the Death Note on my desk began to glow faintly.

I reached out and took it in my hand.

An unfamiliar name appeared, along with the details of death.

“Clark Stephen Daniel,” I muttered with a sigh.

“Your time has come. I’m coming to collect,” I whispered, my voice void of warmth.

It was time to reap his soul. The details were clear—he would die tonight, inside a nightclub.

I drove my black Mercedes into the night, heading toward the scene. You see, I am still human—flesh and bone, not spirit. I don’t know why. That’s just what I am. But one thing I know: my blood runs cold, and colder still is my heart. Emotionless. Silent.

I eat only to maintain this hollow shell. Hunger is foreign to me. I simply preserve what remains of this vessel—this empty frame that walks between the living and the dead.

PAIGE’S POV

Shaking in fear, I realized the dilemma I was in. The good life I had imagined… shattered. I’d been scammed.

From a distance, I saw an old woman approaching. Her lipstick was a deep, unsettling red, and her hair was dyed an artificial blonde. Her eyes were buried beneath thick, smudged eyeshadow. The tick-tack of her sandals on the cold floor echoed so sharply it felt like it pierced through my ears. She looked terrifying—scary wasn’t even enough to describe her.

"Hey, my love… welcome," she grinned, lips stretching too wide.

She grabbed my face with both hands and examined me from head to toe.

"Fresh, fresh, fresh," she muttered under her breath, as if admiring a new doll.

"Can someone please explain what’s going on here?" I finally found the strength to speak, my voice trembling.

"Oh, darling… you’re paid to make men happy. Period. Don’t you worry—you’ll have a good time here," she said, laughing with a crisp, chilling edge.

"This… this isn’t what I applied for," I objected, my throat tightening.

"Oh, it’s too late now. Bring her to her quarters," she ordered, turning to two large men in black suits.

"Wait!" I cried, panic rising in my chest.

But before I could say anything more, she pointed a gun straight at me.

"If I were you," she said in a low, terrifying voice, "I’d do as I’m told—if you want money, not death."

My body went numb. Trembling, I couldn’t fight back as the two men dragged me away into a room filled with costumes, oversized mirrors, and trays of makeup.

"Fix yourself. I’ll pick you up in two hours," the woman ordered coldly.

"Your visa is with me. So don’t even think of doing anything stupid, my dear," she added, then turned and walked out, heels clicking against the floor

My nerves were still trembling with anxiety. 

One thing was certain—I had to do what she told me.

Just the thought of my siblings, of giving them a better life, gave me enough strength to keep going.

“You can do it, Paige. You’ve come this far,” I whispered to myself.

“After all… there’s nothing left to lose,” I added quietly, my voice heavy with sorrow.

Two hours passed. Then, two men in black suits escorted me into a room dimly lit by a flickering overhead bulb. Inside, I counted five men. They looked like businessmen at first glance, but something about them felt off—too polished, too hungry.

The woman I’d spoken with earlier walked in right after.

“Gentlemen, here’s your order,” she announced, practically bubbling with excitement.

“Fresh and new,” she added with a wicked grin.

I heard the men chuckle, their laughter thick with lust. The room reeked of weed, cigars, and alcohol.

My legs weakened. I froze on the spot.

Then, a man in his thirties stepped toward me. Without asking, he slid his hand along my arm and stared at me with unblinking eyes.

He leaned in and sniffed me—like a dog.

“What’s your name, lady?” he whispered into my ear, sending a chill racing down my spine.

My heart thudded wildly in my chest.

“I said, what’s your name?” he asked again, this time with a desperate edge.

“She’s yours tonight, Clark,” someone yelled from across the room.

“Happy birthday, bro!” another one laughed.

“Thanks, brother,” Clark replied, his voice laced with sick anticipation.

Clark reached for my wrist with a firm grip, his touch cold and possessive.

“Come,” he said, dragging the word like he owned it. “Let’s not keep the night waiting.”

My feet felt like stone, but they moved—half out of fear, half out of instinct. He led me down a narrow hallway lined with peeling wallpaper and dim yellow bulbs that buzzed like dying insects. Every step echoed like a warning I couldn’t outrun.

The room at the end of the hall creaked open. Inside, it was smaller—too quiet. A single bed with red-stained sheets, an armchair in the corner, and a cracked mirror facing the wall.

He closed the door behind us with a loud click.

The sound made my stomach twist.

Clark loosened his tie slowly, keeping his eyes on me like I was prey. He walked over, closing the space between us until I could smell the mix of whiskey and aftershave on his breath.

He tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

“You’re shaking,” he whispered. “But don’t worry… I like them scared.”

I flinched as his hand brushed against my waist, lingering far too long.

He leaned in closer, nose grazing my neck, inhaling like he was memorizing my scent.

“Soft,” he muttered, voice low and hungry.

I turned my face away, biting back the scream building in my throat.

“Look at me,” he said, grabbing my chin. His grip was rough, his fingers digging into my skin.

The air was thick. My heart pounded so loudly I thought he could hear it.

But I stayed still—silent.

A part of me already drifting far, far away.

Something inside me cracked. The weight of this moment unlocked a door I had spent years trying to keep shut.

Dark memories surged forward like a flood— 

My father’s shadow in the doorway… 

The way his hands silenced me… 

The sound of my own breathing, terrified and helpless in the dark.

I wasn’t a woman in that room anymore. I was that little girl again, broken and voiceless.

Clark’s hands roamed freely now, unbothered by my stillness. He pushed me gently onto the bed.

But then—I saw it.

A half-empty bottle of wine on the desk.

Glass. Weight. Escape.

My eyes flicked toward it. My body followed.

In one desperate move, I grabbed the bottle and swung it at his head.

But he saw it coming.

Clark caught my wrist mid-air and snarled. The calm, charming mask he wore shattered in an instant.

“You little b*tch,” he growled.

He shoved me against the wall, the bottle slipping from my grip and crashing to the floor.

Then his hands were around my throat.

Tight. Crushing.

I kicked, scratched, clawed—but he didn’t budge.

Everything blurred. My lungs burned.

I was dying.

But just as my vision began to fade, I saw something—no, someone—behind him.

A figure cloaked in shadows. Tall, still, watching.

The room seemed to grow colder.

Clark’s hands loosened, just slightly, his eyes locked onto the dark figure.

“Who the hell are you?” he hissed, turning toward the presence.

The shadow stepped forward. Pale skin like porcelain, eyes blacker than night itself, and a presence that made the air feel too heavy to breathe.

“I am what waits at the end of your kind,” the figure said, voice deep and hollow. “You were given years you did not deserve, Clark.”

“What the f*ck are you talking about?!” Clark spat, backing away. “Get out of here—this is none of your business!”

The Reaper tilted his head.

“You stole her breath. Now, I take yours.”

In a flash, the Reaper closed the distance. One cold hand touched Clark’s chest.

Clark gasped. He tried to scream, but no sound came out.

His body jerked once—twice—and then fell to the floor, lifeless.

Silence.

The Reaper turned to me.

Blood rushed in my ears, too loud to hear whatever he said—if he said anything at all.

My body gave in to the darkness.

And I collapsed.

Cullen’s POV

The man’s body dropped like a stone. Soul ripped. Breath silenced.

One more wicked name scratched from the list.

My task was done.

But something wasn’t right.

She hadn’t moved since the moment she collapsed — but she was still breathing. Faint, shallow, but there.

Alive.

I took a step toward her, unwilling.

She lay sprawled on the floor, chest rising in jagged rhythm, throat bruised where his hands had tried to end her.

She wasn’t one of mine. Fate hadn’t marked her.

So why the hell was I still here?

I crouched, close enough to hear her heartbeat — uneven, panicked, clinging to life.

And I felt it.

Something in me twisted. A sharp, silent ache that clawed at my chest.

Not pity. Not sympathy.

Recognition.

But I didn’t know her.

Or did I?

Her face, even broken and pale, pulled something ancient out of me. Like a memory I didn’t own, like a dream I forgot but couldn’t quite let go.

I shook my head and stood.

This was dangerous.

I don’t feel. I don’t wonder. I don’t stay.

“You’re not mine,” I murmured, half to her, half to myself. “You should’ve died tonight. But you didn’t.”

I turned toward the shadows that always waited for me, cold and familiar.

It was time to go.

But I looked back once more.

Just once.

And somehow, that glance lasted longer than all the lifetimes I’d reaped.

Who are you?

I vanished into the dark.

But the question followed me like a curse.

Paige’s POV

Darkness held me gently at first — like sleep.

Then the pain came back. My throat burned. My lungs fought for air. And the cold floor beneath me reminded me I was still alive.

I opened my eyes.

The room spun. My head throbbed.

Then I saw him.

Clark.

His body lay twisted near the bed, eyes wide open, mouth frozen mid-scream. Something in his face looked… wrong. Empty. As if whatever made him human had been sucked out.

I gasped, dragging myself backward until my spine hit the wall.

What happened?

I remembered his hands. The choking. The way my vision darkened. The last thing I saw…

A shadow.

A man in black.

But no one was here now. Just me. And the corpse.

My chest tightened. I couldn’t breathe. My hands trembled as I stared at the lifeless figure on the ground.

Then—

BANG BANG BANG.

A knock at the door.

My heart nearly stopped.

“Yo, Clark! You good in there?” a voice called out. “Man, you better not have finished early. It’s still my turn.”

Laughter followed.

Another knock. Louder.

“Open up, bro. Don’t make me come in.”

Panic flooded my veins. I glanced around. No windows. No exit but the door. No sign of the shadowy man who saved me — or whatever he was.

I was trapped.

With a dead man.

And his friends were waiting.

Cullen’s POV

Her face lingered behind my eyes like a flame refusing to die out. The fear, the strength, the pain carved so deep it echoed inside me.

I didn’t know her name. 

Didn’t know her story.

And I shouldn't care.

But I do.

For the first time in centuries, I care.

I leaned against the cold wall of my realm, head bowed, fists clenched. The silence around me felt louder than ever.

My thoughts kept dragging me back.

To her.

The girl.

She wasn’t supposed to matter. Just another bystander. A name that wasn’t on the list.

But I saw the bruises on her throat. The panic in her eyes. The tremble of someone used to being hurt and never saved.

I’ve reaped kings, monsters, children, and thieves. But never — never — have I walked away wondering if someone survived.

I paced.

What if the others found her? 

What if they blamed her for his death? 

What if I left too soon?

“Stop it,” I growled under my breath, hands clenching. “This isn’t your concern.”

But the weight in my chest wouldn’t lift.

Reapers aren’t meant to feel. Not anymore. That part dies with your own name.

And yet… I felt it.

Worry.

Sharp. Bitter. New.

Whatever she was… whoever she is…

Our paths crossed by accident. 

Or maybe fate is playing a cruel game.

Either way—

What an encounter.