3

"You’re ignoring me," Darien said as he leaned against Vera’s cubicle wall. She looked up quickly, scanning the room, making sure there was no sign of danger.

"I’m not. It’s just..." Before she could finish, he stepped inside and leaned closer. She pulled back instinctively, trying to keep some space between them.

"Then why do I feel like you’re lying to me?" he asked with a smirk, reaching out to wipe some cupcake cream from the corner of her lips with his thumb.

"Stop it, Darien," she said softly, brushing his hand away. Her eyes held fear—fear of Roman finding out about Darien’s presence, or worse, how Darien was starting to behave around her.

"You need to control yourself," she added, stepping away. She didn’t want to give him any wrong idea. She didn’t want him to read her kindness as something more. She had only needed a friend—someone she could smile with and feel normal around. Lately, however, Darien has been acting differently. At first, she brushed off his flirting. It seemed harmless. But now, it felt like something more—a kind of obsession that made her uneasy.

Her heart raced as she walked down the hallway and entered the kids’ room. It was her turn to teach them crafts. Time with the children was the only part of her day that felt light. She loved how their laughter filled the space, making her forget, even for a moment, how much darkness surrounded the rest of her life. Once she finished her work, she looked outside—it was already dark. No part of her wanted to go home. There was no one waiting for her. Her husband barely stayed at home. He only came when the doctors sent him a message—those cold reminders about her ovulation days, the days she could possibly get pregnant, the days he could try to fulfill his only wish: to get an heir.

She swallowed the pain. Last night was one of those nights. Maybe it was the last one. Maybe he wouldn’t come anymore. Maybe he didn’t care whether she got home safely or not. A quiet sigh left her lips.

She lowered her head and walked back to her cubicle. After picking up her bag, she checked the rooms to make sure everything was locked, the wardens were alerted, and security was in place. Only then did she leave the building.

She had already asked her driver to wait in the parking lot. The walk down the street was quiet and lonely, but it gave her a strange sense of freedom. It was one of the few moments she could breathe fresh air without feeling watched.

The wind picked up, and she clutched her bag tighter to her chest as she walked against it. She liked windy nights. They made her feel less trapped. But suddenly, it started raining fast and heavy. She was too far from the building to turn back, and too far from the parking lot to run forward. She was stuck in the middle, unable to find any shade, completely exposed to the rain.

The rain felt beautiful. It sent shivers through her body, made her feel alive, even if just for a moment. She was enjoying the short walk to the parking lot when someone suddenly grabbed her.

The pull on her arm was sharp—it made her gasp in pain. Before she could react, she felt a soft thud against her head as she collided with a chest. Her eyes lifted—and locked with a familiar pair.

"Darien," she whispered.

He was drenched from head to toe, his hair plastered to his forehead. "Vera… let’s go from here," he said, urgency thick in his voice.

"What?" she blinked, confused.

"You heard me. Let’s leave. I know everything about you. You don’t have to live with your devil of a husband anymore. He won’t know."

Her eyes widened in shock. She froze. How could Darien say something like this? How could he even think of such a plan?

"I’m married," she snapped.

"You don’t know him. He’ll kill us both," she added, her voice full of fear.

"I don’t care," Darien said firmly. "I have friends. We just need to cross the border. Once we’re out, he can’t touch us."

He wasn’t listening. He wasn’t seeing how dangerous this truly was. He had no idea how deep she was trapped. Vera pushed him gently, hoping he’d hear her out, hoping he’d understand.

"Darien, listen to me… you’re not getting it—" But before she could finish, he moved closer. He leaned in, his hand grabbing her wrists and pinning them above her head.

His eyes locked on hers. His face just inches away.

"I don’t want to hear anything. If you think my feelings for you are an obsession, then fine. But I know how he treats you—like you’re nothing. I’m not him. I can take care of you," he said, his voice trembling with intensity.

She went still.

Her lips trembled. A fragile hope flickered inside her—something she hadn’t felt in a long time. Could this be real? Could someone actually want to save her from the nightmare she lived in?

She bit her lower lip, thinking. Overthinking. Could she really risk someone else’s life? One wrong step could cost a life. Could she really put someone else in danger for her own escape?

"I... I’m not..." she whispered.

Darien leaned in closer. Close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath against her cold, wet skin.

“You’re a fire... and I’m—” He didn’t finish.

He moved closer, and she froze. Her eyes fluttered shut, heart pounding.

This wasn’t just a kiss. It was something her husband had never given her—something he’d stolen and buried with the man she once loved.

And now, it was happening again. Would her husband take this from her too?

Just as she parted her lips to return the kiss, she tasted something sharp and metallic.

Her eyes snapped open.

Darien was still there, still looking at her—but something was wrong. Her eyes widened as she noticed a strange object sticking out of his beard. She jerked back, and the view cleared.

A pocketknife had been driven into his cheek, piercing deep through the skin. His mouth was open, but blood spilled out in thick streams. The blade had cut through so brutally it had severed part of his tongue.

His hands dropped from hers. He stumbled back—and fell.

"Darien!" Vera screamed.

Then, shadows moved.

Men stepped out from the darkness, surrounding her. And through them, he appeared. The devil himself.

Roman.

He walked toward her, dressed in a black coat, soaked in rain, calm as if nothing had happened. His face held no emotion.

Vera turned to him in pure shock. Darien was coughing blood, his hands trembling, trying to remove the knife, but failing. She rushed to Roman and pushed him with all her strength, but it was like trying to move stone. He didn’t budge.

"What have you done?" she screamed, pain tearing down her spine. She watched helplessly as another innocent life slipped away—just because Roman chose it.

"What have you done?!" she shouted again, her voice breaking.

"He just wanted to help me..." she cried, her sobs spilling with guilt, grief, and helplessness.

Roman said nothing at first. He walked over to where Darien lay, crouched down, and gripped the knife.

"You shouldn’t touch what belongs to someone else," he muttered coldly.

Darien’s bloodshot eyes met Roman’s. "You... you’re a monster," he managed, choking on blood. Fear was written all over his face. He could see death coming, and he knew it was too close now.

Roman tilted his head slightly. "Then you shouldn’t touch what belongs to this monster."

And with that, he rammed the knife into Darien’s throat. The blade crushed his windpipe with a sickening sound.

Vera screamed.

Darien struggled, gasping for air, his body twitching. Roman stood there, watching him die—slowly, mercilessly—taking pleasure in every second of it.

Vera tried to run to Darien, but Roman grabbed her wrists and held them tight. She struggled to free herself, but his grip was like steel.

"No!" she cried, tears streaming down her face. "Let me go!"

But he didn’t. He just stood there, holding her back, forcing her to watch as the last bit of life slipped from Darien’s body.

"Leave me! Let me go!" she screamed, her voice raw with desperation.

But no one was there to hear her cries. No one but the thunderous night that swallowed her voice whole. The storm raged on above them as if nature itself was mocking her pain—hiding her screams beneath the crack of lightning and the roar of the wind.

She struggled harder, her wrists burning under Roman’s grip, but it was useless. The only thing that answered her was the rain, washing away the blood, soaking her to the bone—along with her hope.

Roman leaned down and pulled the knife from Darien’s lifeless body. Blood dripped from the blade, warm and thick. He stood tall, turning slowly toward Vera, his eyes stormy—cold coal gray, dark and unreadable, pinning her in place like chains.

She was still sobbing, shaking, when her eyes fell on the knife. Her body jerked back instinctively, her breath catching in her throat as panic rose in her chest.

He reached out and gripped her jaw with his left hand, firm and unyielding. Her mouth parted slightly under the pressure. Then, with his other hand, he brought the blood-soaked knife to her lips.

He caressed it across her mouth—slowly, deliberately—smearing the blood of the man who had just died trying to save her.

She choked, trying to turn away, coughing and spitting, but his grip only tightened.

“Next time you think about giving your lips to someone else,” he said, his grip unrelenting, “Remember—this is the only taste you’ll ever get. Blood. Because that’s what betrayal tastes like to me.”

It wasn’t just a threat. It was a declaration.

A punishment for a sin she hadn’t even committed—but one he had seen in her eyes. The thought of that kiss. He had known.

Finally, he released her jaw.

She dropped to her knees and vomited on the wet pavement, the metallic taste still clinging to her tongue. Her whole body trembled. The blood on her lips was a reminder—another innocent soul had died because of her. It didn’t matter if she hadn’t done anything. Roman had made it so. He reached down and grabbed her wrist. His grip was tight—unyielding.

“We have a party to attend,” he said flatly, as if nothing had happened.

She didn’t resist.

Like a lifeless doll, she let him pull her up. Her legs moved, but she felt nothing. No strength, no will—just a hollow silence screaming inside her.