“She’s completely unconscious. Bring her here, but make sure she doesn’t have any marks this time.”

When I heard my husband’s voice on the recording, a chill ran through me.

It wasn’t a stranger speaking.

It was Julian—the man I shared my home, my bed, and my future plans with.

And he was talking about me.

It had started a few weeks earlier.

I worked at an office in downtown Dallas and often stayed late to finish my work. Julian and I lived in Southlake, Texas, less than half an hour away.

Whenever he had evening work commitments, he asked his brother, Marcus, to pick me up.

At first, I thought it was thoughtful.

Marcus always arrived on time in his large, dark SUV, carrying a bottle of water.

“You look exhausted, Sofia. Have some water before we go.”

I had no reason to mistrust him. He was my brother-in-law, someone I’d known for years and shared countless family dinners with.

Then strange things began happening after those rides.

The first time, I woke up in our building’s underground garage with almost no memory of the drive.

Marcus said I’d fallen into a deep sleep.

The second time, my neck hurt badly, and I noticed a bruise on my arm.

The third time, I woke with back pain and my clothes rumpled.

Each time, my memory faded soon after I drank the water Marcus offered.

When I told Julian, he brushed off my concerns.

“Sofia, you work too much. You spend all day at a computer. Of course you’re tired.”

“But I can’t even remember the drive.”

“You’re just sleeping deeply. Stop imagining things.”

I wanted to believe him. I desperately hoped he was right.

Still, a quiet voice inside me kept saying something was wrong.

So I bought a tiny digital recorder and tucked it into the inside pocket of my purse, beneath some papers.

I didn’t tell anyone—not even Julian.

On the night of the fourth ride, Marcus was waiting outside my office. It was 9:40 p.m.

He greeted me with his usual smile.

“Long day?”

“Exhausting.”

He handed me a bottle of water that had already been opened.

“Then have some. It’ll help.”

This time, I turned on the recorder before getting into the car.

I took a few sips. I remember the city lights passing outside the window and Marcus talking about traffic.

Then everything grew hazy.

When I opened my eyes, the dashboard clock read 11:08. We were in the underground garage of our building.

The passenger seat was almost fully reclined.

Marcus was gone.

I tried to sit up, but pain shot through my back. My neck was stiff, one stocking was torn near the knee, and my shoulder ached strangely.

I checked the time. Far more time had passed than the drive from Dallas should have taken.

I grabbed my purse and went upstairs.

Julian was sitting in front of the television.

“You’re back,” he said without getting up.

“I fell asleep again.”

He smiled.

“I told you. You need to rest.”

“Julian, this time I hurt all over.”

“Maybe you should get some exercise.”

I said nothing. I waited until he went to bed, then took the recorder into the study.

At first, I heard only my own voice thanking Marcus for the water. Then came the sound of the engine, the traffic, and a few casual remarks.

About ten minutes later, I stopped speaking.

A long silence followed.

Suddenly, the car’s Bluetooth system announced an incoming call. Marcus’s voice came through clearly.

“It happened again. She passed out.”

A second voice answered.

I recognized it immediately.

Julian’s.

“Good. Take her to the usual place. Vanessa is already there.”

My breath caught.

Marcus hesitated.

“Are you sure we can keep doing this?”

“Follow the instructions. And be careful this time. I don’t want any more bruises.”

“The last one was barely visible.”

“That doesn’t matter. One mark could make her suspicious.”

I sat frozen, staring at the recorder.

My husband knew. He didn’t just know I was blacking out—he was arranging what happened afterward.

On the recording, I heard the SUV stop. Then came the click of a seat belt and the electric mechanism as the seat reclined farther.

Marcus murmured, “You trust your family too much, Sofia.”

There was a rustling sound close to the microphone, as if someone were moving my clothes.

I stopped the recording.

My hands shook so badly I nearly dropped the device.

I rushed to the bathroom and locked the door. In the mirror, I pulled the collar of my blouse aside.

A dark bruise sat just below my collarbone.

I’d noticed it that morning but convinced myself I must have bumped into furniture.

I couldn’t keep lying to myself.

Someone was hurting me while I was unconscious.

And Julian was part of it.

I leaned against the sink and tried to steady my breathing. I wanted to wake him and demand an explanation. But if he had arranged all this, confronting him before I knew more could put me in danger.

I picked up the recorder again. There was still part of the conversation I hadn’t heard.

I pressed play.

Marcus’s voice sounded farther away.

“Vanessa wants to know if this is really the last time.”

Julian took a few seconds to answer.

“That depends on what she manages to get tonight.”

“And if Sofia starts remembering?”

The silence that followed felt endless.

Then Julian said something that chilled me to the bone.

“Then we’ll have to change the plan.”

I turned off the recorder.

I sat on the bathroom floor with my knees pulled to my chest. I didn’t know where they had taken me or what had happened during the hours I couldn’t remember.

But one name kept circling through my mind:

Vanessa.

Who was she? Why had she been waiting for me? And what was she trying to get from me while I was unconscious?

Part 2 gets even more shocking… Comment “NIGHT” if you want the next chapter.