MasukHealing with the Monster The music at the campus party was too loud to hear my own fear. I trusted the drink my friend gave me. It was the last thing I remembered before my world went dark. That night cost me everything—my reputation, my family, and the life I once knew. Five years later, I’ve finally found a fragile peace… until tragedy strikes again, leaving me desperate to save my son. Then he appears. Julian. A man with a dark past. A man tied to my child in ways I don’t understand. A man I should fear… But can’t stop falling for. Because the deeper I fall, the more I realize the horrifying truth— He isn’t just connected to my past. He is the monster who destroyed it. Can love survive something this unforgivable… or will the truth destroy us both?
Lihat lebih banyakThe bass was a physical weight. It throbbed in the floorboards of the off-campus apartment, vibrating through the soles of my sneakers and settling in my ribs. I hated it.
"Elara, stop looking at your phone! Your parents aren't going to call fire and brimstone down on you before midnight," Emma shouted over the music, her laughter bright and infectious. She looked beautiful—full of life, her braids swinging as she danced.
I tried to smile, but my hand instinctively went to my phone in my pocket. "You know how my father is, Emma. If I’m not back by eleven, the 'Godly' lectures start at five a.m."
"Relax, babe," a new voice joined us. Dyna stepped out of the shadows of the hallway. She wasn't dancing. She was holding two plastic cups, the red liquid inside sloshing against the rim. "It’s the end of the semester. Even a minister’s daughter deserves one night of freedom."
Dyna handed me one of the cups. Her eyes were fixed on mine, steady and unblinking.
"I don't know, Dyna..." I hesitated.
"It's just punch, Elara. Non-alcoholic, just for you," Dyna insisted, her voice smooth. "Mark is already at the VIP section. He’s waiting for you to 'loosen up' so he can introduce you to the senior department heads. You want to be a good girlfriend, don't you?"
I looked across the room. Mark, my "perfect" boyfriend, was surrounded by people, laughing and looking every bit the golden boy. He didn't look my way.
"Fine," I sighed, taking the cup. "One drink."
"That's my girl," Dyna whispered.
As I raised the cup to my lips, I felt a strange prickle on the back of my neck. It was that feeling of being watched. I looked toward the darkened kitchen archway.
A man stood there. He was tall, his frame nearly filling the doorway, shrouded in a dark hoodie. I couldn't see his face, but the light from the disco ball caught a heavy, silver watch on his wrist. Even from five feet away, a scent cut through the smell of sweat and cheap cologne in the room: expensive cedarwood and something sharp, like hospital-grade antiseptic.
It was a cold scent. A clean scent.
I took a sip of the drink. It tasted sweet—too sweet, with a bitter metallic aftertaste that clung to the back of my throat.
"Go on, finish it," Dyna encouraged, her hand resting on my shoulder.
I drained the cup. Within minutes, the music changed. The thumping bass didn't feel like a heartbeat anymore; it felt like a hammer. The lights began to bleed into one another, turning the room into a kaleidoscope of terrifying colors.
"Emma?" I reached out, but my arm felt like it was made of lead.
Emma was spinning, her face blurring into a smear of brown and white. I looked for Dyna, but she was gone. I looked for Mark, and for a split second, I saw him. He was standing with Dyna, his back turned to me, his head leaning in close to hers.
"Mark..." I tried to scream, but my voice was a whisper.
The floor tilted. The world rushed up to meet me. As I began to fall, the scent of cedarwood grew stronger, wrapping around me like a shroud. A pair of strong, gloved hands caught me before I hit the ground, and the last thing I felt was the cold wind as I was carried out of the noise and into the silent, predatory night.
The red dust kicked up by the Bedford convoy hung in the midday air like a thick, amber fog, coating my tongue with the gritty taste of iron and clay. Julian and I remained flat on our stomachs in the elephant grass, the scorching heat of the earth baking through our clothes as the last multi-axle truck cleared the perimeter gate.Fifty yards away, the infantry squad stood in the middle of the shimmering tarmac, their rifles slung carelessly over their shoulders. Their commanding officer was staring intently at a handheld military-grade Vane monitor, tapping the glass with a frustrated, rhythmic click of his finger. He was looking for data spikes that no longer existed, waiting for digital pings that we had systematically buried beneath the chassis plates of the departing fleet.Beside me, Julian let out a low, ragged breath, his forehead resting against the back of his grease-stained hand. "They’re completely blind, Elara," he whispered, a sharp, nervous edge to his voice. "Look a
The roar of the heavy diesel engines vibrating through the concrete floor of the warehouse signaled that the groundnut convoy was preparing to move. Outside, the line of flatbed transit trucks sat idling, their exhaust pipes spitting thick plumes of black smoke into the shimmering midday heat.Inside the ginnery, the pace was frantic.Julian and Yusuf were hauling the fresh, heavily embossed sheets of the fifth edition straight off the printing bed. Because the text was physically stamped into the deep fibers of the linen paper, the wet, graphite-heavy sump sludge sat perfectly in the grooves, completely immune to the sticky heat. We didn't have time to let them dry in the racks; we were stacking them directly into heavy burlap sacks, the grease staining the coarse fabric from the inside out.On the workbench, the passive Vane scanner gave a final, erratic chime before the display corrupted into a jagged line of static.Total Decrypted Accesses: 5,612.SYSTEM ERROR: FREQUENCY DAM
The air in the ginnery felt as thick as the sludge we were pulling from the earth. The industrial grease from the hydraulic sump was a different beast entirely than the locomotive oil—it was denser, packed with coarse flakes of aged graphite that caught the dim shafts of sunlight like tiny, fractured mirrors. Every time Julian dragged the heavy wooden roller across the duplicating frame, it made a thick, wet tearing sound, like boots pulling out of deep river mud."It’s tearing the waxy layer right off the stencils," Julian panted, his forearms shaking as he lifted the iron frame. He wiped a splattering of black grease from his cheek, his breath rattling in his throat. "The text is still sharp, Elara, but we're only getting thirty impressions before the master sheet disintegrates under the weight of this gunk."I sat at the edge of the iron gear casing, my knees braced against the cold concrete of the sump wall. My hands were completely black now, the crude oil seeping into the gra
The cavernous silence of the cotton ginnery swallowed the heavy, metallic echo of my manual typewriter. Outside, the midday heat was baking the corrugated iron roof until the rafters groaned, but inside, the air remained cool, smelling faintly of ancient burlap and the sharp, chemical tang of the industrial grease we had scraped from the locomotive pits.Julian stood by the modified Vane scanner, his face illuminated by its persistent, pale blue glow. His brow was furrowed, his fingers typing rapid commands into the hardwired interface he had jury-rigged from old telegraph wires."The replication rate is hitting a wall, Elara," he said, his voice tight with frustration. He turned the screen toward me.Total Decrypted Accesses: 4,912.STATUS: NETWORK BANDWIDTH THROTTLED — GRID SECTOR 04."The Vane Corporation hasn't purged the devices yet, but they’ve begun a targeted frequency degradation across the Zaria-Kaduna corridor," Julian explained, running a hand through his dust-matted
The massive iron doors of the abandoned cotton ginnery groaned in protest as Yusuf and Ibrahim threw their shoulders against the rusted panels, forcing them open just wide enough to roll the hand-car inside. The interior was vast, dark, and cavernous, filled with the sweet, faint ghost-scent of lo
The blinding glare of the morning sun hit us like a physical blow as we cleared the shadow of the repair shed. We kept our bodies bent low, our boots digging into the jagged granite ballast of the rail bed as we manually shoved the heavy hand-car along the western spur. The silence was agonizing;
The low, high-frequency whine began before the dust did. It was a sound I knew down to the marrow of my bones—the predatory, mechanical hum of a Vane Corporation hunter-recon drone. It didn’t rely on a global satellite grid; it was tethered to the local transit towers, processing data via an indep
The smell of the new batch was rancid and heavy, filling the locomotive shed with the sharp, toxic tang of industrial petroleum and old friction. Yusuf hoisted the tin bucket onto the workbench, splashing a thick, viscous dollop of the black sump-sludge onto our mixing slate. It didn't look like i


















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