I never believed in curses—until misfortune clung to me like smoke. I’d been robbed on a lonely country lane, swindled by a lover’s honeyed lies, and betrayed by friends who smiled as they stole my confidence. My husband vanished the night he confessed to years of deceit; my family turned their backs when slander tarnished my name; employees I’d trusted pillaged my fledgling company from within. With every fresh wound, I swore I’d risen, only to find that trouble shadowed my every step.

When I finally escaped that spiral of ruin—setting sail for a distant town under a new name—I thought the darkness stayed behind. Instead, it followed, a silent passenger in every car I hired, a flicker of movement at the edge of deserted streets. Doors that should have been locked were found ajar; phone calls ended before I could speak. Each time I sensed the presence, my pulse spiked, as though my own shadow was breathing down my neck.

Last night, I met him.

The streetlamp outside the pub threw his face into relief: handsome, unremarkable, someone I might’ve invited for coffee in another life. He offered to walk me home—and despite every warning my gut screamed, I took his arm. His voice was low, comforting, and for a moment the years of hurt faded. We passed my flat in silence until, at the threshold, he slipped a key from his pocket. “I thought you might’ve forgotten,” he said.

Inside, the lights were dim, the air thick with anticipation. I searched his eyes for danger, finding only a careless warmth. He moved closer, guiding me gently against the wall, and raised his hand… not to strike, but to tuck a stray hair behind my ear. Relief washed over me. A tremor of hope I hadn’t felt in years.

Then steel glinted in his palm.

“I trust you,” she says as his knife points to her throat.

His smile was slow, deliberate—a blade carving through every trusting bone in my body. My heart skipped, then thundered, as the room contracted around us. The man I’d leaned on, the shadow I’d never shaken, stood inches away, unmasked at last.

The final gasp of air caught in my throat—sharp, panicked, defiant. In that fraction of a second, I knew the truth: trust can be the bloodiest betrayal of all. The world swayed. The last thing I felt was the clean, chilling promise of the steel kiss, and I understood that sometimes the only way out is through the knife’s edge.