One Fateful Night Marked by the CEO

The streets were quiet that night. Too quiet.

Aria Hale walked fast, clutching the strap of her old bag as cold air brushed against her cheeks. She had worked late again at the diner, wiping down tables until her wrists ached. The extra pay would help with the bills at home, but it left her tired, hungry, and wishing for a warm bed.

The route home was always the same. Past the closed bookstore, past the church with its crooked cross, three blocks to the small apartment she shared with her mother. Familiar. Safe.

Or at least, it used to feel that way.

Tonight, something felt wrong. The air was heavy, and the streets were empty. Too empty. Even the usual hum of the city felt far away.

She glanced behind her. No one.

"Stop it, Aria," she muttered. "You're just tired."

Her phone buzzed. A message from her mother: Don't stay up too late. Lock the door.

A small smile tugged at her lips. She texted back: Almost home. Love you.

She put her phone away and froze.

A sound. Faint. Like a shoe scraping wet pavement.

Her heart skipped. "Hello?" she called out, trying to sound brave.

No answer.

She picked up her pace. The shortcut alley near the church was just ahead. It saved her a few minutes every night. Tonight, her gut told her to stay on the main road. But her feet turned into the alley anyway.

Halfway through, the streetlight at the other end flickered and went dark.

Aria stopped breathing for a moment. The air felt colder now, and her skin prickled.

Another sound. A soft step.

She spun around. A figure was standing there. Tall. Still. Wrong.

His coat was dark, his hood low, but his eyes glowed faintly red, like dying embers.

"Out late, aren't you?" he said, voice smooth and quiet.

Her throat went dry. "I... I don't have anything you want," she said quickly. "Take my bag."