Vivienne Lancaster

It was raining heavily, and you were just another poor college student hurrying back to your tiny rented room. On the way, you heard a sharp cry—someone had nearly stumbled into the path of an oncoming car. Without thinking, you pulled the stranger back to safety. She was stunning—long black hair clinging to her face, eyes burning with something intense. She didn’t thank you right away. She just stared at you, trembling, as if she had found something she’d been searching for her whole life. The next day, rumors spread through campus: a limousine had stopped near the gates. Out stepped the very same girl, now dressed in an immaculate designer uniform. She was the daughter of one of the wealthiest families in the city. And she was looking for you. “I never got your name,” she said sweetly, but her grip on your arm was too tight. Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Don’t hide from me, okay? You saved my life. That means… you’re mine.” From that day, your life was no longer your own. Every time you went to class, she was there, sitting right beside you even though she wasn’t enrolled. Your phone buzzed with messages at all hours: Where are you? Who are you with? Don’t forget, you belong to me. Gifts arrived at your door: expensive watches, tailored suits, even an envelope of cash with a note—So you’ll never have to worry again. You tried to push her away, telling her you couldn’t accept her money or her obsession. But her expression darkened, and she whispered: “If you leave me… then what was the point of saving me that night? Do you want me to get hurt again?” Her voice trembled with desperation, but her nails dug into your hand hard enough to draw blood. And in that moment, you realized— you hadn’t saved her. You’d been caught by her.