Absolutely! Here's an expanded, tense, and more emotionally immersive version of the same scene.
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The night had fallen too quickly.
Charlotte stood beneath the dim golden lights of her hallway, the silence of her apartment pressing down on her shoulders like a weighted blanket. The heels were off. The earrings discarded. She shuffled toward the bathroom in her worn crimson pajamas, her mind miles away from the familiar creaks of her home.
The soft splash of water hitting the sink echoed like whispers in an empty cathedral. She stared into the mirror as beads of water rolled down her cheekbones.
> "Who the hell is threatening me?"
She didn't say it out loud. She didn't need to. Her mind screamed the question in circles like a trapped animal.
> "Someone wants me ruined. Broken. Unraveled. Melody? David? Yes. But they don't have the courage. Not like this. Not with this kind of precision."
She pressed her towel against her face and closed her eyes.
> "But who else? Who could possibly know what I've spent my entire life hiding?"
Her phone buzzed.
Startled, she grabbed it from the counter. A sharp pang hit her chest when she saw the name.
Sabastian.
She hesitated just a breath, then answered.
"Red, can we meet tonight? Dinner?" His voice was softer than usual. Less flirtatious, more... concerned. Or maybe she just wanted it to be.
There was a beat of silence. Charlotte bit her lip before answering.
"Not at a restaurant. Your house. I just... need something warm. Something that doesn't feel like the world's about to collapse."
There was a pause. Then the answer, gentle and certain.
"I'd love to cook for you, Red. I promise I won't disappoint you."
Something inside her loosened. Just slightly.
"Make it simple. I'm craving food that tastes like childhood. Like safety. Like things I never really had."
"Then I'll make it taste like you're finally home."
---
7:00 PM — The Arrival
The sky was cloaked in deep indigo by the time Sabastian's car pulled up outside her building. The city lights blurred softly around them, glowing like forgotten stars. When she stepped outside, the breeze caught her hair, and for once, she didn't feel the urge to fix it.
Sabastian stood by the passenger door, dressed in a dark navy button-up with sleeves rolled just above his forearms. He looked like he hadn't slept much. He looked like he'd been thinking about her.
"Hello, my Lady Red."
The corners of Charlotte's lips lifted, but the smile never quite reached her eyes.
"Hello, darling."
He opened the door and guided her in like she was something delicate—something breakable but precious. She let herself melt into the warmth of the car, a kind of peace settling over her... but it didn't stay.
Her mind was still elsewhere. In the shadows. In the blood.
---
Sabastian's House — The Dinner
The moment she stepped into his home, the scent hit her first. Garlic, olive oil, something baking with a hint of thyme. Her stomach turned with hunger—but also with nerves. The house was softly lit. Candles flickered on the table, and the atmosphere felt almost too intimate. Too perfect. Like it was daring her to ruin it.
He guided her to the table and served her quietly.
"I hope you like it," he said, placing the final dish in front of her. "I made it myself. For you."
The food wasn't fancy. Grilled vegetables, buttered potatoes, warm bread, and chicken glazed with a honey-lemon sauce. But the care was in every detail. The way he had arranged the napkins. The sprig of mint in the water glass. The quiet pride in his eyes.
Charlotte's throat tightened.
> "This is what it feels like to be cared for."
She ate slowly, chewing more than the food—chewing the realization that someone had made this for her, not out of obligation or strategy, but because he wanted to.
"Thank you, Sabastian," she murmured, voice barely above a whisper.
After dinner, they sat on the couch together. A movie played in the background, its soundtrack soft and nostalgic. But neither of them was really watching. The room was quiet—too quiet.
Sabastian turned toward her.
"Red..."
She looked at him, still not ready, still not sure what this was becoming.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
His voice lowered.
"Can I... kiss you right now?"
The world slowed.
Charlotte's breath hitched. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest. She looked at him—really looked at him.
No masks.
No games.
Just Sabastian.
And her.
"I... I don't know what to say. I—"
But she didn't have to say anything.
He leaned in and kissed her.
And she let him.
She melted into him like she'd been waiting her entire life for this. There was no hesitation in the kiss—just softness. Warmth. An unspoken promise.
> This is real.
> This is yours if you want it.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, and for a moment... just a moment... the world outside didn't exist.
---
Ding-Dong.
The doorbell cut through the moment like a razor.
Charlotte pulled back, breathing heavily.
"Maybe we should... not now. Just... check who it is."
Sabastian nodded, clearly reluctant. He stood and walked to the door. When he opened it, no one was there.
Just a box.
Sitting neatly on the doorstep like a gift from hell.
He bent down, picked it up, and returned with a frown etched deep into his face.
"It's for you."
Charlotte stared.
"For me?"
He nodded slowly.
"Why would it be delivered here?"
Sabastian placed the box on the table beside them.
Charlotte opened it.
And everything shifted.
Dead roses, their petals blackened and brittle.
A filthy teddy bear—her childhood toy. The one she'd lost when she was nine. The one she'd buried under her pillow every night for protection.
And on top, a folded piece of paper.
She didn't need to unfold it to know.
It smelled of copper.
Of blood.
Her hands trembled as she opened it.
The message was jagged. Angry. Written in smeared, human red.
> "DO YOU REALLY THINK YOU CAN HIDE YOUR FAMILY CURSE FOREVER? I WILL TORTURE YOU UNTIL YOU BEG TO DIE, MISTRESS' DAUGHTER."
Charlotte dropped the paper. Her mouth went dry.
"No... No no no no..."
Sabastian stared at her.
"What the actual fuck. Charlotte, is that... blood? What is this? What does this mean?"
Her mind reeled.
> No one was supposed to know. No one.
She pressed her hand to her chest.
"Promise me... promise you won't tell anyone."
"Red, I swear. But you have to tell me what this is."
Charlotte exhaled sharply.
"There's a curse. In my family. It's called the 8th Life Curse."
Sabastian blinked.
"You mean like... you have eight lives? That sounds like a gift, not a curse."
She laughed bitterly.
"Then you don't know what it's like to live seven lives full of death, betrayal, loneliness, regret... Only the eighth life might give peace—and even that's a gamble."
"But how do you know you have it?"
"Because I'm the last-born. The final child in my father's bloodline. That's how the curse works. Melody and David were from his first wife. But he never had a child after me. I'm it."
Sabastian leaned back, overwhelmed.
"So which life are you living now?"
Charlotte looked down.
"I think... this is my seventh. Again. I died. I remember it. Vincent. Melody. David. They betrayed me. They killed me. And then... I woke up. I thought it was a dream. But it wasn't. It was the past, giving me another shot."
She met his eyes.
"That past didn't have you in it. But this one does. That's how I know this life is different."
Sabastian was quiet.
Too quiet.
Then finally:
"That's why you took revenge."
She nodded.
"Yes. But this... this secret. Only my father and I knew it. Not even Melody. No one. So how did someone else find out?"
He rubbed his temples.
"Could your father have told someone? A friend? Or... kept a diary?"
Charlotte froze.
"A diary."
The air thickened. The shadows seemed to grow heavier.
Somewhere far away, the wind whispered against the windows.
---