CHAPTER 4

POV: SEBASTIAN

I sat in the middle of my room, still in the same clothes from yesterday. I didn't want to move, let alone go to work but I had no choice. The debts from my grandmother's funeral weren't going to pay themselves. I hated this life. I hated being poor. I hated being invisible and underestimated.

I wanted more. I wanted revenge. I wanted to be rich, powerful... untouchable. But how? I looked around, still thinking about last night—the food, the spotless house. Even my fridge had groceries. It wasn’t much, but still… someone had definitely been here. 

A robbery? I gasped. But that’s impossible. Who breaks into someone’s house just to clean, cook, and leave groceries?

Ridiculous.

Now thinking about revenge as I snap myself to reality that it was impossible for me to have it. 

A fool like me? Someone powerless like me? I don't think I was ever meant to see what happiness truly feels like. I'm tired of dreaming. Tired of people. Everything in this world seems to spin around chaos, reckless hearts and careless hands. 

Maybe I don't deserve to be happy. They say villains aren't born, they're made. Shaped by the world, by pain, by betrayal. But even then... we still get to choose. To become something worse, or to hold onto whatever good is left. And I still choose good... Because Grandma would've wanted that. She'd tell me, "Be kind, even when the world forgets how." I miss her. So much it aches.

I sighed and forced myself downstairs. A bowl of cereal cheap and flavorless was all I could afford. I used to love waffles, but now even frozen ones feel like luxury. I sat on the couch and turned on the TV, hoping to feel something. The news anchor's voice cut through the silence. 

"Authorities are investigating the gruesome deaths of five men, found with their throats slashed and their bodies dismembered across several locations..." I froze. My heart skipped.

Those faces on the screen... I knew them. They were them. The ones who ruined me. And just like that... I wasn't scared. I was relieved. A twisted, raw sense of justice filled my chest. They deserved to die. Then. A knock at the door. When I opened it, I stumbled backward. There they were.

Fingers. Five of them. Gutted and lined up on the steps like trophies. A bouquet of black roses rested beside them. My stomach turned.

There was a note.

"My dearest Melisa,

I hope you're happy with my little surprise.

These are the men who hurt you.

Their blood was spilled for yours.

And this is only the beginning.

– Yours, always."

I couldn't breathe. I slammed the door shut and stumbled to the sink, my hands shaking. I threw up.

Who is he? How does he know my name? How does he know where I live? Why does this feel more terrifying than comforting?

I couldn't call the cops.  If I did, I'd get dragged into the mess—questioned, investigated, maybe even blamed.  The truth was, I didn't have the strength for that. So I kept everything inside, locked tight beneath my skin, and forced myself to act normal. But inside, I was unraveling.

I had to be brave.

I stepped outside to breathe in the morning air, pretending nothing had happened. Pretending I hadn't just seen five severed fingers and a love note dipped in blood. I was glad it was Saturday, no classes. Just work. Tonight, I'd bury myself in school assignments and try to forget. At the bus stop, I kept my head down, trying to steady my thoughts. When the bus arrived, I got on and slipped into a window seat. The ride was quiet, almost too quiet. Then I noticed him.

A man stood a few rows ahead, wearing a dark jacket and headphones.  I didn't think much of him at first, but something about him felt... off.

Like he didn't belong.

Then I felt it. That heavy, invisible weight of someone watching me. I glanced toward him. 

He wasn't looking at me. Or so I thought. But on the third glance. Our eyes met. Cold. Unmoving. Deep enough to freeze the blood in my veins. I turned away quickly, heart pounding in my chest.

Don't panic. Don't show fear.

As the bus neared my stop, I stood up, gripping the handle tightly. I walked toward the door, trying not to look back. Once outside, I glanced over my shoulder.

He was gone.

Just like that. No trace. No footsteps. No figure getting off behind me. He just vanished. And now the chill in my spine felt colder than before. "Rose... my condolences for what happened." It was Ashley, my co-worker, the only person I could call a friend in this place. We've been working side by side for two years now. She's like a sister to me. The kind who offers warmth in the coldest moments.

But still... I never told her everything. Not about the rape. Not about the black roses or the severed fingers. Not about the voices that still echo in my head. I didn't want to be a burden. I knew she was

struggling too in her own way. Everyone was in this place. So I carried it all. Alone.

The trauma lives in my skin. Every sound of my name, every accidental touch from a man, even the brush of fabric, makes me flinch. My body remembers even when I try to forget. I've trained myself to smile, to nod, to exist... even when I want to disappear. "Melisa, is everything alright?" Ashley asked, her voice soft, concerned. I nodded quickly. Too quickly. I felt the tears threaten to spill, and I bit my lip to keep them in. I wanted to scream. I wanted to run. I wanted to disappear and never come back. But all I could do was stand there and pretend I was okay.

Because what else could I do?

After work, I rushed home. Not because I wanted to rest but because I had something to do. Something unthinkable.

The fingers.

The note.

The black roses.

I had to bury them. Hide the evidence. Erase the madness knocking louder in my head. The sky was already bleeding into twilight, and the streets

stretched darker than usual. I tightened my coat around me, hurrying down the sidewalk toward the bus station. Every step echoed. Every shadow felt alive. I couldn't help but glance over my shoulder, heart racing. What if someone followed me again? What if?

Then I saw him.

Standing beneath the streetlamp, unmoving. A man. The same man I saw on the bus. He looked exactly the same expressionless, like a ghost made of stone.  His jacket zipped high, earphones still in. But something about him felt... heavy. Cold. Still… A strange sense of comfort washed over me. At least I wasn't alone.

We both waited at the bus stop in silence. Awkward. Still. My eyes drifted toward him once, just to be sure he was real. Then, he spoke. His voice low, smooth yet sent a chill straight to my bones.

“Did you eat already? I have some candies.” The words slipped out before I could stop myself. They sounded ridiculous the second they left my mouth, floating awkwardly in the heavy silence between us. I fiddled with the candy wrapper, not sure if I was offering comfort or just trying to fill the void.

Maybe it wasn’t awkward.Maybe I was just lonely. Ashley had always been my go-to person, but lately, she had her own world—her own chaos. I didn’t want to be one more thing she had to deal with. So instead, I found myself here, talking to a stranger who hadn’t said a single word until now.

But at least a stranger doesn’t judge. They don’t know enough to. I pulled out a few candies, holding

them in my palm like some weird peace offering. That’s when his voice finally broke the silence. Deep. Cold. Controlled. It ran through me like a sharp wind cutting across bare skin. But I didn’t flinch. I wasn’t afraid.

Instead, I looked up at him. Really looked. His eyes met mine, and for a second, the world slowed. Piercing blue. Cold, yet so alive it made my chest tighten. He didn’t smile. He didn’t even blink. And still, I couldn’t look away. Something about him… it wasn’t normal. It wasn’t safe. But it was

mesmerizing. I looked away from his gaze, it gave me butterflies. His face I think is so handsome because his eyes can tell or maybe not. Do I have a crush from a stranger? This is insane, maybe I am just lonely and no one talks to me although he doesn't talk much with me but I can feel he cares at least. 

"Little girl, you shouldn't be so comfortable with people you don't know... especially a man." My breath caught. It wasn't a warning. It sounded like a reminder. I swallowed hard.

"I know," I mumbled, barely nodding. Then I looked away, pretending his words didn't crawl under my skin. I feel shy and naive he was right though after what I’ve been through I have to be careful I didnt even get a therapy of myself that sometimes I think about my workplace I think about these guys who raped me and the night were my Grandma died. 

I looked at him once again and he was gone and I looked around and just to make sure he was still but I think he left. Maybe I am so awkward, I hate it I guess and then the bus stops in front of me.

Why did that voice feel familiar?

Why did I feel like... he knew something?