Chapter 218: Until the Last Day

The streetlight flickered outside her apartment window like a heart about to stop.

Camela jolted, almost dropping her phone as she slowly grabbed it. The screen lit up with an Unknown Number.

She sat on the couch, frozen with the phone pressed to her ear, her hands trembling as she answered, “Hello?”

There was nothing but silence—no voice, no sound at all. Just silence.

“Who is this?” Her whisper cracked with the tension in the room. “Please stop calling me.”

The silence lingered until she felt a faint breath brush her ear through the receiver.

Then—click. The line went dead.

Camela pressed the phone to her chest, holding her tears back. “Stop it…please stop…” she cried out.

She threw the phone onto the couch, her chest heaving. Her hands trembled as she pressed them to her face, feeling overwhelmed. It had been the same for weeks: calls with no one on the line, shadows lingering too close, notes slipped under her door.

And she always sensed him—Vincent, alive and watching her.

She sat up straight on the couch, breathing fast and clutching a blanket like it could protect her.

Suddenly, a knock rattled the door.

Her whole body became tense. She forced herself to stand up, dragging her feet along the floor.

The hallway was empty. But there on the mat lay a slip of paper folded in half.

Camela’s stomach twisted in knots as she bent down to pick it up with her hands trembling.

Her name was written at the top in black ink: “Camela. Until the last day. I’ll be watching.”

Her knees gave way beneath her as she slid down against the wall, clutching the note to her chest.

Her whisper broke into the silence. “Why won’t you just leave me alone?”

She hurried to her bed, her feet getting caught in the blanket as she pressed against the wall.

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “This can’t be happening. This isn’t real. He’s gone. He’s gone.”

The next morning, sunlight spilled across her kitchen table. She tried to ground herself in normal things—coffee, bread, and the chirping sound of birds outside.

But when she opened the refrigerator, she found a folded piece of paper on the top shelf. Her hands shook as she took it out.

Two words were written in his handwriting: “Found you.”

Camela dropped the piece of paper to the ground in shock, her knees almost buckling beneath her.

Her phone buzzed again with a text from an unknown number. It read: “Safe is an illusion.”

Her stomach churned. She called her best friend, Zora—a girl she met at the bookstore. She had become comfortable and really close with her, telling her everything about what was happening to her.

“Zora, he’s here! He’s watching me! He left me a note!” she said over the phone in panic.

Zora’s voice turned soft and worried but still doubtful. “Camela, sweetie…you’ve been through so much. Maybe it’s trauma? Maybe your mind is just…replaying things.”

“It’s not my mind!” Camela shouted. “It’s him! He’s back!”

There was silence on the other end of the line until Zora finally let out a sigh. “Just…take care of yourself. Call the police if you see anything real.”

Camela felt her throat tighten as she questioned. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

“Cam…” Zora whispered. “I believe you’re scared.”

Camela hung up. She felt hurt inside. She wasn’t crazy; she wasn’t imagining him at all. She recognized that eerie silence all too well.

That night, Camela pushed her apartment door open. She had returned home late from the bookstore and felt too exhausted to think. She dropped her bag and the grocery bags, kicked off her shoes, and walked into her bedroom.

Suddenly, her scream tore through the silence. There on her pillow lay her old leather journal—the one that had been destroyed. The very same journal that had been taken from her months ago.

Mrs. Doyle rushed into her room after hearing her screams, but Camela explained that she had spotted a rat in her room which scared her. Mrs. Doyle then went back to her room, promising to send someone to look into it by morning.

Her hands shook as she flipped her journal open. The pages were mostly blank except for one new line written in his cruel and perfect handwriting:

“Until the last day. I’ll be watching.”

Camela breathed sharply and staggered back, knocking over the lamp. The light went out, plunging the room into darkness.

She quickly slammed the journal shut, holding it tightly against her chest. Her voice trembled in the silence. “Stop. Please stop.”

Her phone buzzed once more with another unknown text: “Check the mirror.”

She turned her head sharply toward the mirror by the door. Her reflection stared back—her eyes wide and trembling.

But behind her in the mirror, she saw another figure standing—Vincent.

She spun around fast but the room was empty. Yet the mirror still showed him.

The next few days blurred into feelings of paranoia.

She spotted a figure in the reflection of the bookstore window and noticed a shadow moving in the corner when she looked behind her. Her phone buzzed in the middle of the night, but there was only silence when she picked it up.

Camela stopped eating. Stopped sleeping. She jumped at every knock or sound in the hallway.

The next evening, she couldn't take it anymore. She armed herself with the kitchen knife in her hand, her fingers trembling as she held it tight. Every sound, every shadow, and every gust of wind reminded her of him.

She whispered to herself, “If you show up again…I won’t let you ruin me. I’ll stop you.”

A voice answered back from the dark corner of the room. “Stop me? Bride…you’ve never been able to stop me.”

Camela spun around, knife raised high. “Get out!” she roared.

Vincent stepped out from the dark into the light, looking calm with his eyes blazing gold. His presence filled the room and made her feel overwhelmed.

“You wanted a normal life,” he said softly. “You thought the world could erase me. But deep down, you know the truth: I live inside you.”

Her hand trembled as she aimed the knife tip at his chest. “Why are you doing this? You said you freed me!” she roared.

“I did,” Vincent replied softly. “I freed you…from them. But not from me.”

“Why?” she asked, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Why won’t you let me live and be happy?”

His smile was gentle yet cruel, almost affectionate as he replied, “Because you need me.”

Camela’s voice cracked. “No, I don’t!” she responded sternly.

“Yes, you do,” he whispered back. “Every shadow shows it. Every note and every silence proves it. You feel me in your bones and breathe me in your sleep. Without me…you'd be nothing but empty air.”

Her knees threatened to give way, but she forced herself to stay standing, with the knife still trembling in her grip.

“You’re lying! You’re trying to break me,” she said sternly.

Vincent stepped closer, slow and patient as though each step weighed heavily on her.

“No. I’m here to remind you. You’re mine…until the last day,” he said softly.

She screamed and lunged forward with the knife—

But he caught her wrist, twisting it gently until the blade fell to the floor.

Her body shook in his grip, tears streaming down her cheeks as she spoke. “Please…just stop…”

For a brief moment, his gaze softened. His claws lightly touched her cheek as he leaned in, his breath warm against her skin.

Then—he kissed her forehead.

Her heart froze.

She shut her eyes in the feel of the moment and by the time she opened them again, he was gone.

Only silence filled the air.

Camela sank to the floor, sobbing and holding her head in despair. The knife lay forgotten next to her.

Her phone buzzed one more time.

She forced her trembling hands to pick it up. Another message from an Unknown Number appeared, it read:

“This was only the beginning. Next time…you’ll beg me to stay.”

Her phone slipped from her hands and hit the floor. The lights in the apartment flickered.

And in the mirror across the room—Vincent’s reflection still stood there, smiling and watching.