As the hour ticked by, she remained normal, sitting stiffly in the dimly lit living room. The clock on the wall showed 11:35 PM, and Reg hadn't looked away from her once. His piercing gaze tracked her every movement, like a predator studying its prey.
"How old are you?" he blurted out suddenly, breaking the tense silence without thinking.
"Nineteen today," she said softly, her voice almost drowned out by the sudden growl of her stomach.
He laughed, the sound low and casual. "Oh, looks like someone's hungry. Want some cake?" he said, already pulling out his phone to order one.
"Sure," she chuckled, a small smile tugging at her lips.
Just then, the doorbell rang, and Reg sprinted to get it, his movements swift and efficient. Moments later, he returned, holding a small, cute box. Placing it on the table between them, he opened it to reveal a delicious, delicately decorated cake.
"Happy birthday, Little Thing," he said, his voice unusually soft.
It was the kindest gesture anyone had ever done for her in her nineteen years of life. Her parents never celebrated her birthday—it was the day they signed their divorce papers, a date they would rather forget.
"My name is Rexan, you know," she said, her voice trembling slightly.
He smiled knowingly. "I know. Eat up."
The hunger hit her suddenly as she stared at the cake. Her hands instinctively grabbed the edges of the table for support as a sharp, agonizing pain shot through her body. Her heart pounded in her chest, her bones twisting and contorting unnaturally. The searing pain coursed through her, ripping a strangled gasp from her throat.
She was starving.
"There you are," Reg drawled, his tone dangerously calm.
Her head snapped up to look at him, her gaze shadowed by thick, long lashes. Something in her eyes had changed, their intensity sending a chill down her spine.
"Did you miss me?" he asked, his voice dripping with a mixture of amusement and menace.