Chapter 3

It was then that Thomas suddenly took out an exquisite invitation from his suit pocket. He handed it to me, saying, "Ruth and I are getting engaged next month, Calvin."

He then flashed a strained, insincere smile, adding, "You were my closest friend back in our university days after all, so you should be there to witness my joyous occasion."

I took the exquisite, black-and-gold invitation and unfolded it, noting that the engagement banquet was scheduled to be held at the Gibson residence, and the time was 12:00 am. I lightly ran my fingers over the printed letters as I read them.

It was such bizarre timing, yet Thomas, completely intoxicated by the prospect of instant wealth, remained oblivious to the whole thing. I was well aware that 12:00 am was when malevolent energy reached its peak.

In my past life, my engagement banquet had taken place here as well, at this same eerie timing. I merely assumed it was an odd tradition of the wealthy back then. It was only later that I finally grasped what that engagement banquet truly signified.

I thought to myself, "Do you truly believe that was an invitation to a celebration, Thomas?"

I looked up, locking eyes with the smug anticipation shining in Thomas' gaze. I said with a smile, "I'd be delighted to. I wouldn't miss a big occasion like this for the world!"

…

I arrived early at the Gibson residence on the day of the engagement banquet. I drove down a narrow, deeply shaded path, which opened onto a huge, imposing mansion. I stepped out of the car, and a sudden, chilling wind swept over me, carrying the unmistakable stench of something decaying.

Thomas also invited a few other close friends from his university days. They all seemed a bit spooked as they took in the surroundings.

"Why is this place giving off such an eerie vibe, Thomas?"

"Why would you hold the engagement banquet here? Why are there so many white candles all around, Thomas?"

Thomas was sitting on the couch in the lounge in a crisp white tuxedo, his face alight with unchecked anticipation and smugness.

He waved away his friends' concerns with a casual dismissal, saying, "You guys wouldn't get it. You ought to know that this is considered classy. The Gibson family has been around for centuries, so they're all about traditions.

"Ruth told me that this is their family's most sacred ceremony, which must take place in the ancestral mansion to receive the ancestors' blessings."

Thomas' explanation was enough to quell the unease of his naive friends. Their initial fear instantly dissolved, replaced by a surge of obvious envy.

"I get it now! I guess wealthy families are just built differently!"

"You really scored big this time, Thomas! Ms. Gibson treats you so well!"

I remained seated, watching Thomas bask in the adulation, his face brimming with expectations.

I was certain that he probably thought that he would become the Gibson family's legitimate son-in-law, rising without hindrance and never again being underestimated. He was completely unaware of the horror that awaited him, though.

In the meantime, as the night deepened, the surroundings of the mansion grew eerily still, save for the dry, scraping sound of leaves moved by the breeze. There was no sign of a lively banquet, just white lilies and white candles flickering quietly in the courtyard.

Thomas' friends were no longer smiling. Their faces had gone pale as they huddled nervously together.

Thomas alone remained lost in the beautiful delusion he had constructed.

It was at that precise moment that the antique clock mounted on the wall began its fateful chime, announcing the 12th hour. The chimes rang hollow and far, as though they had traveled from another realm.

Then, the officiant, dressed in dark formal wear and sporting a completely impassive expression, stepped forward. He declared in a flat, uninflected voice, "It is the appointed time now. I now present Ms. Gibson."

Those present immediately turned their attention to the corridor leading from the hall. Thomas, too, looked in that direction with eager anticipation, straightening his bow tie as if ready to receive his fiancee.

Ruth emerged, still clad in her signature black corporate attire, her expression utterly glacial. She wasn't holding an engagement gift. Instead, she held a black memorial plaque.

There was a name etched plainly on the center of the plaque, standing out starkly—Ruby Gibson. There was also a blown-up memorial portrait right next to the memorial plaque, and the woman in the photo looked identical to Ruth.