Page 6 of Chasing the Flame

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I bolt upright, the remnants of sleep clinging to me like cobwebs. My heart pounds, lungs straining to keep up. For a moment, I don’t know what pulled me from sleep until I hear it again.

Thump.

Then a slow, deliberate drag. Like something heavy scraping across the floorboards above. Not over the bedroom—but from the far end of the house.

I sit still, listening. The sound doesn’t repeat, but the silence it leaves behind is worse—thick, humming, expectant.

Images flicker through my mind: the plate exploding against the kitchen wall, the tightness in Luke’s jaw, the way he stormed out afterward, leaving me alone with the mess, and how my body shook with rage as I swept porcelain into a dustpan, telling myself to breathe.

I creep now, slipping out of bed. The hardwood floor is cold beneath my feet as I slip into the hall, trembling as I make my way up the stairs. The wood groans beneath my weight, the floorboards creaking with every step. When I reach the top, I catch a flash of something out of my peripheral vision.

My eyes widen as a shadowy figure comes into view. It’s...Luke. Shirtless, perfectly disheveled, his eyes still heavy with exhaustion.

“There you are,” he says with a smile that feels rehearsed. His voice is warm and syrupy, touched with just enough pity to make me feel small. “Roaming around again, huh?”

I nod, swallowing down the knot rising in my throat.

He tilts his head, studying me like a hunter surveying his prey. “Did you have a bad dream? Or are we hearing things again?”

I keep my mouth shut, unwilling to load his arsenal with anything else he can twist.

Luke’s smile stretches a little wider, and my heart plummets. “Poor thing. This new house is playing tricks on you, isn’t it?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer—just touches the small of my back and steers me gently toward the stairs.

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s get you something warm. You’re too sensitive for sleep when your mind starts spinning. Besides, this levelisn’t safe. The floors are weak in certain spots, and I don’t want you coming up here without me.”

I give him a questioning look, which, in true Luke fashion, he ignores.

As we descend the stairs, uneasiness spirals through my stomach, twisting my insides in an uncomfortable knot. Luke turns on the kitchen light, and I blink several times to adjust the brightness. The kitchen is still and spotless, you’d never know what happened here. I’d made sure of it.

Luke hums as he puts on the kettle. Calm and composed—like he hadn’t shattered a plate against the wall hours earlier. As if that version of him lives entirely in another world.

Hell, maybe it does.

He pulls two mugs from the cabinet and adds honey. Then, so casually it makes my stomach twist, he uncaps a small dark bottle and tips a few drops into mine.

I watch the liquid vanish into the tea, my mind whirring in fear. My throat constricts, and I can’t seem to swallow the lump down.

He places the mug before me, his expression soft—indulgent. Though we both know there’s a monster lurking under the surface of his skin. “Here we go,” he says, his voice sweet and condescending. “One calming cup of tea for my wife’s overactive imagination.” He gives me a wink, like he’s making a playful joke.

I wrap my hands around the mug to stop them from shaking. I don’t want to drink it. Every instinct tells me not to. But I remember the sharp edge in his voice earlier. The way the air changed when the plate hit the wall. If I refuse…

So I lift it and take a small sip. Just enough to appease him.

The warmth spreads fast. Too fast. My limbs go heavy, my thoughts muddy at the edges.

Luke crouches beside me, resting his chin on my knee like I’m delicate yet ridiculous. “There,” he whispers. “All better now. Let’s not scare ourselves next time, hmm?”

The cup slips from my hands, hitting the floor with a soft thud. Luke stares at me, an evil grin spreading across his face. And before the darkness takes me, I hear it again. A single reverberation of sound that sends a spike of fear through my heart.

Thump…..

There’s a grimy haze clinging to my mind, and I feel like no amount of coffee can scrub it clean. I had every intention of being productive. Plans of unpacking, putting away our belongings while I tidy up, and maybe even a quick jaunt into town for some much-needed wine.

The hard truth?

I woke up alone.Naked. Tangled in a sheet, with sticky shame dripping between my legs.