The rest of the day passed in a blur of domestic routine that felt like performance art. Cassandra moved through the house with practiced efficiency, unpacking his clothes into drawers, arranging his toiletries in the bathroom as if they'd always belonged there. She hummed while she worked, some melody Daniel couldn't place, and every few minutes she'd glance at him with that same serene smile.
"I picked up groceries earlier," she said, folding his shirts with military precision. "Your favorite cereal. Lucky Charms, right?"
Daniel stared at her. He'd never told her anything about his cereal preferences. Hell, they'd only met yesterday. The casual way she said it, like she'd known him for years, made his blood run cold.
"Right," he said, because what else could he say?
She made dinner—chicken parmesan that tasted better than anything he'd eaten in months. They sat at the dining room table like a normal couple, discussing the weather, the neighbors, plans for the weekend. Cassandra asked about his work, listened to his responses with genuine interest, laughed at his awkward attempts at humor.
It was the most convincing performance of normalcy Daniel had ever witnessed.
By ten o'clock, she was yawning, stretching like a cat. "I'm exhausted," she said. "Ready for bed?"
Daniel's throat tightened. "Yeah. Sure."
They brushed their teeth side by side at the bathroom sink. Cassandra wore a simple black nightgown that made her dark hair look like spilled ink against her pale shoulders. Daniel changed into boxers and a t-shirt, hyperaware of her presence in the room, the way she moved around the space like she owned it.
Because she did own it. She owned all of it.
When they climbed into bed, Cassandra curled up behind him, her arm draped over his waist, their fingers intertwining in the darkness. Her body pressed against his back, warm and soft, her breath tickling the nape of his neck. Daniel lay rigid, every muscle in his body coiled tight, trying to figure out how to escape without waking her. Within minutes, her breathing had evened out into the rhythm of sleep, but her grip on his hand remained firm even in unconsciousness.
The digital clock on the nightstand glowed: 11:47 PM.
He turned his head to look at her. Even in sleep, Cassandra was beautiful in that dangerous way that made his chest ache. Her face was peaceful, almost angelic, but there was something unsettling about how still she was. Her breathing was so controlled, so measured, that it seemed deliberate. Like she was holding each breath, counting the seconds between inhale and exhale even while unconscious.
Daniel had never seen anyone sleep so quietly. It was as if she'd trained herself not to make a sound, not to disturb the careful illusion of peace she'd constructed around them.
The clock clicked to midnight.
Daniel couldn't take it anymore. He slowly, carefully, began to disentangle himself from her embrace. He lifted her arm gently, placing it on the pillow beside her, then slid out from under the covers inch by inch. Cassandra stirred slightly but didn't wake, her breathing remaining steady and controlled.
Daniel padded to the window. The night air was cool against his skin as he pulled back the curtain and looked out at the neighborhood. Noah still hadn't replied to any of his messages. The silence from his friend felt like another door closing, another escape route cut off.
Stars scattered across the dark sky like thrown salt. The moon hung low and full, casting everything in silver light. Daniel pressed his forehead against the glass and closed his eyes.
'I'm losing my fucking mind,' he thought. 'This isn't real. This can't be real. But I'm standing in a house she bought, wearing clothes she picked out, sleeping in her bed like we're actually married.'
The confession sat heavy in his chest, a truth he didn't want to acknowledge. Despite everything—the terror, the fake photos, the way she'd invaded every aspect of his life—part of him was drawn to her. Part of him wanted this strange, twisted version of domestic bliss she was offering, and that scared him more than anything else.
He let his mind empty, focusing on the rhythm of his breath, the cool glass against his skin, the distant sounds of the sleeping neighborhood. For a moment, he felt something like peace.
Then he heard it.
A sound drifting from the house next door—the Hendersons, the ones Cassandra had mentioned. Their upstairs window was lit, a warm yellow rectangle in the darkness, and through it came a soft, rhythmic sound. A woman's voice, low and breathless.
Daniel's eyes snapped open. He could see into their bedroom from here, could make out shadows moving against the lit window. The sound grew clearer—definitely a woman, her voice rising and falling in a pattern that was unmistakable like a moan.
He leaned closer to the window, squinting into the darkness, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.
Then
Arms wrapped around him from behind.
Daniel's entire body went rigid. He hadn't heard a single footstep, not even the whisper of bare feet on hardwood. She moved like smoke, like shadow. Her arms encircled his waist, her cheek pressing against his back, and for a moment he couldn't breathe at all.
"You haven't slept," she murmured against his back. There was no accusation in her voice, just gentle observation.
Daniel's breathing was ragged. "No. I haven't."
"Is everything okay?"
He could feel her warmth through his thin t-shirt, could smell that faint vanilla scent that seemed to follow her everywhere. "Not really."
She loosened her embrace, allowing him to turn around in her arms. Her black nightgown seemed to absorb the moonlight, making her pale skin glow ethereally. Her dark hair fell in waves around her shoulders.
Cassandra stepped closer, close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from her skin. Her voice was soft, hypnotic.
"It will take time, dear. It's hard to believe, I know."
She reached up and touched his face, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "Turn around and look at me."
Daniel turned to face her fully. Her eyes seemed to glow in the darkness.
"Look at my face," she whispered.
Her thumb brushed across his lips, feather-light. The simple touch sent electricity through his entire body.
"It's going to be okay," she said. "Nothing feels strange when you accept it. I'm your wife. This is reality."
Before Daniel could respond, her lips were on his. The kiss was soft at first, questioning, but when he didn't pull away, she deepened it. Her hand slid to the back of his neck, fingers threading through his hair.
Daniel felt himself breaking apart. Despite everything—the fake photos, the impossible situation, the terror that had been eating at him all day—his body responded to hers. His arms came up around her waist, pulling her closer, and suddenly he was kissing her back with a hunger that surprised them both.
The moonlight painted them silver as they stood at the window, lost in each other, the rest of the world falling away. Noah's silence, the fake photographs, the impossible reality of their situation—none of it mattered in that moment. There was only her mouth on his, her body pressed against him, and the terrifying realization that he was beginning to want this as much as she did.