Cat and Mouse

“When you feel the breath on your neck, it’s already too late.”

Part I – The Fox Knows Where She Sleeps

Dominique didn’t go home right away.

She took the long way—past the shuttered shops, past the all-night diner glowing blue in the dark like a mirage. Her boots clicked across the broken sidewalk as the night wind tugged at her jacket.

She didn’t feel powerful.

She felt watched.

I’m in the room behind you.

That message echoed louder than any moan, any praise, any tip she'd ever received.

She had trained herself to be unshakable. On-screen, she could make grown men beg for permission to speak.

But off-screen? In real life?

The mask of Domica was hardening into a second skin.

When she finally reached her house, all the lights were off. Her parents were either out late or pretending to sleep—either way, she didn’t care.

She stepped inside, locking the door behind her with a double click. Her hand lingered there.

For the first time in months, she checked the windows.

All locked.

She climbed the stairs quietly.

Everything looked untouched.

But her body felt it. That animal hum at the base of her spine.

Something wasn’t right.

Part II – The Note Under Her Pillow

Her room was exactly how she left it. Pristine. White candles on the dresser. Velvet throw draped across the foot of the bed. Her laptop blinking patiently.

And yet…

She turned toward the bed and froze.

A fold of paper stuck out from under her pillow.

She hadn’t written it.

Slowly, she unfolded it, heart pounding harder than it had in the cage earlier.

“You looked beautiful tonight. But you should really close your closet door when you leave. I’m shy.”

—F

Her head snapped toward the closet.

It was open half an inch.

Nothing more.

But that was enough.

Part III – Infiltration

Dominique didn’t sleep. She lay still, arms crossed on top of her blanket, a knife tucked under her pillow, phone on her chest.

She stared at the ceiling.

Breathing shallow. Muscles wired tight.

By morning, she had read the note a dozen times. She didn’t tell her parents. Didn’t call Damien. Didn’t even log on to check messages.

She went through her room with a fine-tooth comb.

Nothing was stolen.

But someone had been there.

The Fox wasn’t just watching now.

The Fox had touched.

Part IV – A Glitch in the System

At school, Damien cornered her between classes.

“You disappeared after the stream. Everything okay?”

She didn’t answer immediately. Just stared at him.

He frowned.

“What happened?”

“He was there, Wolf.”

His entire expression changed.

“What?”

“Last night. In my room. He left a note under my pillow.”

“Did you tell anyone?”

“No.”

“You should’ve told me.”

She pulled out her phone and showed him the note. He read it once, then again.

“This isn’t just obsession,” he said quietly. “This is escalation.”

Dominique nodded.

“He’s done watching.”

“He wants in.”

Part V – Eyes at Home

When Dominique returned home that evening, something felt… different.

She checked every lock.

She called out into the house—no answer.

But when she passed the mirror in the hallway, she stopped.

Something was taped to the bottom corner.

A printed screenshot of her Domica stream.

On it, the Fox had scrawled:

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell your mommy.”

Underneath was a pressed flower.

A bleeding heart.

Dominique’s hands trembled—but not from fear.

Not anymore.

She peeled the taped screenshot from the mirror with clinical calm. Folded it into quarters. Slid it into the inner lining of her journal.

Then she locked the bathroom door, turned on the fan, and leaned over the sink.

She stared at her reflection. Hard. Searching for the fracture lines in her face.

She didn’t cry.

Not this time.

“You want to play, Fox?”

She took a deep breath and turned the tap to cold, splashing her face until the chill numbed the edges of the tension crawling through her neck.

Then, she grabbed her phone and opened her encrypted messages.

Damien had texted twice already:

Any update?

Seriously, Dominique. I can’t help if you shut me out.

She didn’t reply.

Not yet.

Instead, she opened a hidden folder buried deep in her files. A secondary backup—one even Damien didn’t know existed.

Inside were usernames, chat logs, payment records from suspicious subscribers. Not enough to name the Fox, but enough to build a behavioral profile.

She clicked open a new file and started writing.

Tends to use flora-based symbolism (foxglove, bleeding heart, etc.)

Well-versed in code-breaking and layered messaging

Speaks as though they know me personally

Has physical access to my home

Has not harmed me… yet

Knows how to watch without being seen

Purpose: psychological destabilization? Obsession? Possessive control?

Conclusion: Wants to own Domica. Wants to unravel Dominique. Wants the girl behind the mask to break, not just bend.

She stared at the last sentence.

Then deleted it.

Rewrote it in red:

Not going to happen.

That night, she didn’t log on to stream.

Instead, she posted an anonymous story to the same domme subreddit where Domica had once been worshipped. This time, it wasn’t about seduction or games. It was a calculated message.

“I see you.

The flower you left wasn’t love—it was bait.

The next time you step into my home, you better come prepared.

Because Domica bites back.”

—D.

She knew the Fox would see it.

She wanted them to.

Around midnight, she heard it again.

That faint creak on the stairs.

But this time, she was waiting—hidden in her closet, silent as a breath.

She didn’t see him.

But she smelled something unfamiliar. A cologne not her father’s. Faint. Earthy.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Until her phone buzzed in her pocket.

A text from an unknown number.

Don’t wait in the dark, darling. Let me show you how bright it can get.

—F

She flinched so hard the phone nearly slipped from her hand.

When she finally stepped out of the closet, the hallway was empty again.

But the flower he’d left earlier?

It was gone.

Part IX – Lines in the Dust

By sunrise, Dominique had made a decision.

No more waiting.

No more hiding.

The Fox wanted a performance?

She’d give him one.

A live stream. With masks.

With layers.

With enough bite to pull the predator into the open.

Because if he wanted to trap her, he’d have to walk into her lair.

And this time, she wouldn’t be alone.

She picked up her phone and texted Damien:

Suit up. It’s time we hunt a Fox.