Listen to I feel like I'm drowning by Two feet

The hum of the plane's engines was oddly soothing, a low vibration that seemed to match the steady rhythm of my thoughts. Outside, the world below was a patchwork of clouds and distant land, so far removed from everything that had brought me to this moment. I pressed my forehead against the cold window, watching the sky stretch endlessly before me. I needed this.

A solo trip. No deadlines, no interviews, no unrelenting pressure to uncover every detail of a story that would, in the end, be buried under the next big scoop. Investigative journalism had consumed me for years, turning me into a machine that lived off stress, adrenaline, and coffee. I'd told myself that I was doing important work, exposing corruption, digging up the truth. But somewhere along the way, I'd forgotten how to breathe.

So here I was, on my way to a villa tucked away somewhere along the coast, far from the chaos. Just the idea of having the whole place to myself made my chest tighten in both excitement and nervousness. This was my chance to recharge, to remember who I was outside of my career. My own little sanctuary, with no one around to ask questions, no one to impress. 

I let out a breath, trying to relax. I couldn't help but feel a little silly about how nervous I was. It was just a villa, after all. Beautiful, secluded, and perfectly private. Still, there was something intimidating about being completely alone in a place that wasn't mine. What if I didn't know how to enjoy it? What if the silence was too loud?

As the plane began its descent, I opened the messages from my friends. They were buzzing with excitement, sending me every kind of support message imaginable.

"Can't believe you're actually doing this!" Josie had texted. "Enjoy the peace, girl. You deserve it. Let us know how the villa is!"

"You better take a thousand pics and send them to us!" Sabrina had added, followed by a string of emojis: a camera, a heart, and a sleeping face. I couldn't help but smile.

"Get a taste of that italian dick and tell us all about it!" Josie added with some filthy emojis. I shook my head ignoring them.

I stepped off the plane and into the chaos of Italy with an exhale of relief, only to be immediately hit with a blast of hot, heavy air. It was the kind of heat that clung to your skin like an overenthusiastic ex, not letting go no matter how hard you tried to shake it off.

 People rushed around me, all wearing sunglasses that probably cost more than my rent, moving with purpose and intent, like they knew exactly where they were going while I, the confused tourist, was just trying to find a sign that didn't look like it belonged in the fantasy section of a bookstore.

The airport was a frenzy of activity—people shouting, wheeling bags, dodging security checks, like they were auditioning for an action movie. I tugged my suitcase along, swerving left and right, hoping I didn't get trampled. 

But the worst part? Finding a damn taxi.

I wandered around the airport parking lot like an abandoned puppy. Every time I thought I had found a line, it turned out to be for something else entirely. Then, finally, after what felt like hours of asking, pointing, and generally humiliating myself, I spotted the long line for taxis. I joined it, mentally preparing for the twenty-minute drive to my villa. The villa that, frankly, I was starting to have second thoughts about.

After a 15-minute wait (during which I'd considered taking up some sort of career in airport navigating), a cab finally pulled up, and I slid into the back seat, exhausted from both the heat and my complete lack of coordination.

"Where to?" the driver asked, raising an eyebrow as if questioning my life choices, too.

"The villa on Via delle Rose," I said, glancing at the paper I'd scribbled the address on. I'm pretty sure I butchered the pronunciation, but I was too tired to care.

He nodded, his eyes never leaving me in the rearview mirror. Not a comforting glance. Maybe I was being paranoid, but I wasn't wrong. He seemed... uneasy. And suddenly, I wasn't sure if it was the jet lag or my intuition screaming.

The drive stretched on. I passed vineyards, narrow winding streets, and tiny, picturesque villages that seemed straight out of a movie. But the longer the drive went, the less charming everything felt. The further out we got, the fewer people I saw, and the more my palms started sweating. Maybe this wasn't the dream vacation I had envisioned. Maybe the driver was secretly plotting to lock me in the dungeon of a sprawling, empty villa. 

This is why I need to go out more.

Finally, we pulled up to a huge iron gate that creaked open like something straight out of a haunted mansion. Behind it stood the villa—or should I say, palace.

I blinked.

Holy. Shit.

This place was massive. I'd seen the photos online, but standing in front of it was something else entirely. The villa loomed like a giant fortress, with tall marble columns, sprawling lawns, and windows that seemed to stretch up to the sky. The kind of house that probably had a butler named Javier and a secret passageway behind a bookshelf that led to a wine cellar. It wasn't just a villa; it was an estate, an empire. 

My eyes widened, and I was suddenly hit with a wave of doubt. Maybe I had the wrong address. Maybe I was supposed to be at a cute little cottage with a modest guest room and a safe, cozy bed. But no, the driveway here was longer than the entire width of my apartment building, and it was lined with perfectly trimmed grass. Was I even allowed in? Was this where I was supposed to be? 

The driver pulled up to a stop, parked, and killed the engine. He turned in his seat, his eyes locked on me like I was some sort of dangerous wild animal.

I didn't know what kind of wild energy I was giving off, but he definitely seemed uncomfortable. Maybe he had gotten too much sun. Or maybe he wasn't getting paid enough for this gig.

He cleared his throat. "I'm not taking you all the way to that building," he muttered.

I stared at him, confused. "What?"

He gulped, his gaze darting between me and the enormous gates. "It's too dangerous. You should get out here."

My eyebrows shot up. 

"Too dangerous?" I repeated, my voice rising. "What are you talking about?"

The driver's face grew even more pale—if that was possible—and he held up his hands in surrender. "I don't want to get killed. You need to get out now." He practically begged, his voice shaking. 

I stared at him for a long moment. Maybe Italians aren't friendly to strangers. I had no clue what was going on.

He wasn't budging, though. "Please! Get out!" he practically hissed.

And so, with no other option, I grabbed my suitcase, my frustration simmering just below the surface. "What the fuck is up with you?" I muttered, slamming the car door shut.

The asshole.

And then I found myself standing in front of the huge building—alone. The long driveway stretched in front of me like a mile-long runway. I glanced around, wondering if I had accidentally stumbled onto the set of a Bond film. There was no one in sight, and the heat was starting to get to me.

Of course, this meant I had to drag my damn suitcase all the way to the house. It was a solid five-minute trek, which, under normal circumstances, would have been no big deal. But after hours of travel, a sweating taxi ride, and an encounter with a driver who clearly had some very peculiar ideas about the villa, I was ready to lose it.

By the time I finally reached the front door, I was drenched in sweat, cursing in every language I knew. "I'm already enjoying my vacation," I grumbled to the empty air.

When I finally walked through the doors of the villa, my jaw dropped. The interior was even more breathtaking than the outside. The marble floors, the opulent chandeliers, and the panoramic view of the garden made me feel like I had just stepped into a dream—or a nightmare.

The moment the front door shut behind me, I immediately pulled up my phone to FaceTime my best friends. I needed to tell them about this ridiculous adventure.

"Okay, okay, you will not believe what just happened," I said, pacing around the grand living room, my voice carrying the kind of exaggerated drama that could only be achieved by total chaos. "I think I might be at the wrong place, and I'm pretty sure my driver thinks this place is haunted."

"Yeah, sounds like he knows what's up," Josie replied. "Maybe you'll find a ghost friend to keep you company. Just don't let them get too cozy, okay?"

I paused, considering it. "If the ghost is paying, I'm open to negotiation."

 "Show us the place, come on. It better be worth $350 a night."

"Let me give you a tour," I said, laughing to myself. The crazy had already set in, and all I could do was embrace it.

With a final smirk to the camera, I ended the impromptu tour, feeling far too entertained by my own disaster. "Alright, that's the tour. But just so you know, I'm totally charging extra for this... experience."

Later that night, after the laughter died down and the world settled into quiet, I showered off the sweat and stress and slipped into bed. The sound of the villa's silence was almost too much to bear, but I welcomed it.

It was the first time in a long time that I felt I could finally let go.

                                                            _________________________________

I woke up with a start, my heart pounding in my chest, as a sound from downstairs sliced through the heavy silence of the villa. It was a dull thud, followed by a soft scuffling noise. For a second, I thought it was just my imagination—a trick of the mind, maybe. After all, I was in an enormous house, alone, and it was probably just the house settling, right? But then there was another sound, louder this time, a muffled voice followed by a sharp metallic clink that made my blood freeze.

I sat up in bed, eyes wide, straining to hear through the thick quiet of the night. My phone sat on the nightstand, but I didn't dare reach for it. The room felt cold, too cold for the heat of the day to have dissipated so quickly. My senses were on high alert. My breath was shallow, but my mind was wide awake.

Another noise, this one unmistakably human, made me freeze completely. The unmistakable sound of footsteps—heavy, deliberate, moving across the floor below.

Panic surged through me as I slowly swung my legs off the bed and stood up. My feet were bare on the cool marble floor. I held my breath, listening intently, my heart drumming in my chest.

The noises were coming from downstairs.

Slowly, as if every inch of movement might give me away, I crept toward the door of my room and peered out into the dark corridor. The villa seemed too quiet, the air too still. But there—there was a shadow moving at the foot of the stairs, flicking in and out of the dim light coming from downstairs.

There were five of them. Five men in black, moving with the kind of calculated precision that made my blood run cold. Guns were in their hands, but it wasn't the weapons that made my skin crawl. No, it was the silence, the way they moved like shadows, and how the air around them felt charged with something dark and dangerous. 

I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, just... stood there behind the stairs, hoping, praying to some god I'd never even believed in that I was invisible. That they couldn't hear the frantic drum of my heart or see the way I was trembling. But I couldn't look away.

The man in the middle was thrown forward. He crumpled to the floor like a ragdoll, bloodied, battered, and shaking. His face was a mess—his pleading words tangled in something I couldn't even begin to comprehend. The only Italian word I knew was grazie, and that wasn't going to help me in this situation.

And then, like the devil himself had stepped into the room, he appeared. Tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in a tailored black suit that looked like it was made for someone who belonged to a world I had no business being in. I could only see his back, but even then, it was enough. His posture was commanding, ruthless—powerful.

And that voice.

Fuck, that voice.

It was deep, smooth like dark velvet, but laced with something sharp and unforgiving. It was the kind of voice that made your stomach drop even before it spoke.

"Confess," he said, his tone slicing through the air with authority. "You've ruined my business. You're a fucking mole."

I could barely hear the man's response. He was shaking, sputtering something that might've been an apology or a plea for mercy. But the man in the suit wasn't having it. I could hear the slight shift of his body—he was angry. And that, that made my stomach twist in knots. When a man like him got angry, I knew enough to know it wasn't good.

The tension in the air thickened, like the calm before a storm that I could already feel brewing. The man in the suit was a presence, his power undeniable. I could hear his every move as he took a step closer, the creak of leather shoes on the floor, his breath steady and deliberate. Every second felt like an eternity.

"Apologies don't fix mistakes," his voice was low, clipped, like he was carefully choosing each word—words that didn't need to be said aloud to send a chill down my spine. 

"You think I care about your remorse?" There was a sickening pause before he continued, his words slow and deliberate, each syllable designed to remind the other man just how powerless he was.

My heart pounded in my chest. This was no negotiation. The fear in the other man's voice was palpable, the desperation clear in his frantic, broken words.

But the man in the suit remained unmoved, cold, calculating, and in control. A part of me, the part that still thought of escape, wanted to turn and run. But I knew better. I couldn't make a sound, couldn't breathe too loud. In moments like these, silence was survival. 

And then the shots came.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

My breath caught in my throat. I gasped—a stupid, involuntary sound—and it was the only thing I could think of doing. One of the men turned toward the stairs, his eyes sweeping the room. His face looked like it belonged to someone who had already decided they wouldn't hesitate to kill me if they knew I was there.

Oh shit.

I stumbled back, my body shaking so hard I thought I might collapse. My pulse was hammering in my ears, so loud that I was convinced they could hear it from down there. My legs felt like they were made of jelly, and I was frozen—frozen in place, like I had turned into stone, unable to move, unable to breathe.

Everything in me screamed to run, to hide, to do something. But my body just wouldn't listen. I could only watch as the shadows moved below me, as the figure in the suit—who, for all I knew, could've been a monster in human skin—issued commands, the kind of commands that made my entire world feel like it was closing in.

"Call the cleaners."

His voice was like ice, each word cutting through the air with a chilling finality that made my blood run cold. I didn't dare breathe, my body completely paralyzed as I pressed myself further into the shadows behind the stairs, praying they couldn't hear my heart thundering in my chest.

"I think someone is upstairs," one of the men said, his voice so casual, as if it was just another day at the office.

I froze. My heart stopped. Every nerve in my body screamed at me to run, to hide, to do anything. But all I could do was hold my breath, praying to whoever might be listening that they wouldn't come up here.

"Bring them to me," the man in the suit ordered, his voice sharp as a knife. "I'll have fun dismembering every part of them."

Oh no.