Chapter 4 : She was the light that kept me alive.

The house was cloaked in silence when Marken stirred awake at midnight. The faint hum of the refrigerator filled the dim kitchen as he quietly moved about, his shadow stretching long across the tiled floor. He opened the pantry, took out a few simple ingredients, and began to cook. The sizzle of oil, the aroma of freshly toasted bread, and the soft clatter of dishes filled the air—gentle, domestic sounds that almost made him forget the tension coiled in his chest.

When the food was ready, Marken carried the small tray down the hall to the locked room.

Serena was still sitting on the cold floor, her arms wrapped around her knees. The dim light from the hallway cast a pale glow over her face, emphasizing the exhaustion etched into her features. Her gaze flicked up warily when the door creaked open.

Marken stepped inside, his expression unreadable. “Eat something first,” he said quietly, setting the tray on the table. He reached out, helping her up with a gentleness that felt out of place given the circumstances. Pulling out a chair for her, he gestured for her to sit.

Serena hesitated, confusion flickering in her eyes. For a moment, she wondered if he had lost his mind.

Marken noticed her guarded look and lowered his lashes, a faint bitterness ghosting across his features. “Serena,” he said softly, “things are… complicated. I don’t even know how to explain it. Just think of it as someone else—someone with a bad temper—living inside me.”

Serena stared at him, her brows furrowed. Someone living inside him? What kind of nonsense was that?

He lifted his hand instinctively, as though to touch her shoulder, to reassure her—but he stopped midway. That right was gone. His hand hovered in the air for a moment before he quietly lowered it.

“There are people stationed outside,” he murmured. “You can’t leave right now. But I’ll help you when the time comes. For now, eat something. I’ll… figure out who this person inside me really is.”

Serena said nothing. Her eyes searched his face, but she couldn’t tell if he was joking, delusional, or just broken.

Marken crouched down so he was level with her. The dim light glinted against his tired eyes. “I won’t hurt you,” he said, voice low and deliberate. “And I’ll never hurt Alexander.”

But the instant those words left his mouth, a mocking voice echoed inside his head—sharp and venomous.

Sanctimonious Marken. If I am your second self, then I was born from your unwillingness—your resentment. You can’t stand that Alexander has everything that was once yours. That he has your life… and your lover.

Marken’s jaw tightened. He didn’t respond. He only stared at Serena, steady and silent, willing the voice away.

Serena met his gaze. For a fleeting second, she saw the Marken she used to know—the calm, rational man beneath the chaos. But the moment was brief, fragile. Too much had already happened for her to truly believe it.

Marken stood slowly, brushing invisible dust from his sleeves, regaining his composure. He rested a hand lightly on her shoulder, a gesture almost gentlemanly in its restraint. “Eat something,” he murmured. “Even if you want to resist, you’ll need your strength.”

Serena lowered her gaze and picked up the spoon. The meal was warm, surprisingly flavorful—comforting, even. Marken still remembered how she liked her food, and that, somehow, made it worse.

When she was done, he gathered the dishes onto the tray, careful and methodical as if trying to preserve a fragile peace. Pointing toward a door on the other side of the room, he said, “There’s a bathroom. Take a shower, get some rest.”

Serena’s eyes narrowed slightly, suspicion glinting through her fatigue.

Marken didn’t explain further. He simply turned, his back straight and shoulders heavy with an unspoken burden, and walked toward the door without another word.

The quiet click of the lock echoed through the room as he stepped out, leaving Serena alone with the soft scent of food and the faint, disquieting realization that the man who once loved her might now be at war with himself.

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The moment Marken stepped out of the room, the voice in his head returned—sharp, venomous, and far too familiar. “If you try to team up with Alexander,” his alter ego hissed, “I’ll kill Serena the moment I take control of this body.”

Marken froze mid-step, his jaw tightening. He knew the voice wasn’t bluffing. Every word it spoke dripped with intent, and he had seen before what it was capable of when pushed.

He pressed two fingers to his temple, massaging away the dull ache that had taken permanent residence behind his eyes. “I won’t go to Alexander,” he murmured under his breath. “I just want to go abroad to investigate a few things.”

“I don’t want to go abroad,” the voice countered sharply, echoing inside his skull with a sneer that wasn’t his own.

Marken exhaled slowly, the faintest hint of frustration coloring his tone. “You wanted me to run those experiments for you—to strengthen your control over this body. Only advanced laboratories overseas can conduct research at that level.”

A pause, followed by the cold, deliberate voice again. “Then I’m taking Serena with me.”

Marken’s hand stilled mid-motion. He opened his eyes and stared at the far wall as if his reflection were hidden within it. “Are you planning to use her to threaten me,” he asked quietly, “or is this just for your own selfish reasons?”

“What selfish reasons could I have?” the alter ego replied, feigning innocence, its tone tinged with amusement.

Marken said nothing. The silence stretched between them like a taut wire, humming with unspoken tension. He knew pressing further was pointless. The creature within him—whatever consciousness had taken root—was cunning, patient, and ruthless.

Even if he demanded Serena’s freedom now, it would refuse, or worse, lash out.

This whole situation had spiraled out of nowhere, dragging him—and now Cornelius—into something far darker than he’d anticipated.

With a weary sigh, Marken dropped onto the nearby couch. The leather creaked under his weight as he leaned back, one arm draped over the armrest, his other hand covering his eyes. The faint hum of the city outside barely reached him through the thick glass windows, but it did little to quiet the chaos in his mind.

His thoughts drifted—back to Cornelius, to their recent conversations. The old man’s wary gaze, the concern hidden behind his words, and the questions he’d avoided answering.

The memories were like old wounds—raw, festering, and impossible to ignore.

After accepting a classified national mission years ago, Marken’s identity had been exposed at a foreign research base. That revelation turned his life into a nightmare. Captured by those who viewed human life as nothing more than a test subject, he was thrown onto a cold metal table under the sterile glare of surgical lamps—transformed from a prodigy into a living experiment.

Those hands—once steady, graceful, capable of building and healing—had been pierced hundreds of times by needles and scalpels. The once-unblemished skin of a Vanderbilt heir was scarred by countless punctures, evidence of a cruel science that had stripped him of his humanity.

Live human experimentation—an act long condemned by every nation—had become his reality.

And it was his other self, his darker half, who carried those memories with chilling clarity.

Recently, that alter ego had begun whispering to Cornelius in a voice too persuasive, too calm.

“Grandpa,” he said, “your most beloved grandson was treated like an animal—strapped to a table, injected, cut open. To them, I wasn’t a genius. I wasn’t even human. I was just a specimen waiting to be dissected.

And all of this happened because you let me take on that mission.”

Cornelius, frail and trembling, could barely listen. His fingers twitched on the armrest of his chair, knuckles pale as bone. Marken’s alter ego pressed on mercilessly.

“Tell me, Grandpa—why does Alexander get to live under your protection, basking in your love, while I was left to rot in a laboratory? If I weren’t his brother, would I have been spared the duty of shielding him? Would I still be whole?”

The words struck Cornelius like blades, slicing through decades of pride and restraint. His chest tightened violently, and he broke into a ragged cough. For a man who had once commanded boardrooms and soldiers alike, the weight of helplessness was unbearable.

In his youth, Cornelius had been decisive, sharp as steel. But now, age had softened him—his wealth, his influence, his legacy—all of it meant nothing next to the fragile thread that tied him to his grandsons.

He had believed Marken dead for years. Entrusting the Vanderbilt Group to Alexander had seemed natural, even necessary. But now, learning that Marken had survived—tortured, dehumanized, broken—shattered him completely. The thought of his gentle, brilliant grandson enduring such torment made his heart feel like it was being torn apart.

Marken’s alter ego told these stories over and over again, replaying the horrors in vivid detail until Cornelius’s mind cracked under the weight of guilt. At one point, the old man fainted and lay unconscious for hours. When he finally woke, his face was sunken, his body lighter by several pounds—as if the guilt had consumed him from the inside out.

And through it all, Marken felt powerless.

His alter ego—the dark, vengeful version of himself—was growing stronger, slipping further into control. What began as a whisper had become a presence that could twist emotions, manipulate hearts, and turn even love into a weapon.

This time, that sinister side used Cornelius’s love against him.

Cornelius, a man who had built his life on integrity and honor, now found himself cornered by his own conscience—forced to deceive the very family he once vowed to protect. And the worst part was that he did it for love—for Marken, for the grandson he had failed.

That night, Serena’s eyes haunted him. Her worry was sincere, her tenderness cutting through him like glass. But what tormented Cornelius most was the knowledge that he had to help Marken’s alter ego—no matter the cost.

The alter ego’s demand was simple and absolute.

“I want Serena,” he said. “Grandpa, don’t you know? She was my first love. I took that mission abroad because of her—because I wanted to escape the country’s control and build a life where we could be free. I brought back the most vital research data, but I paid with my body… with my dignity. All I want now is Serena. You must help me separate her from Alexander.”

His voice softened, almost wistful. “When I was in that lab, facing pain every day, I survived by thinking of her. She was the light that kept me alive.”

What the alter ego said was not entirely false—it was Marken’s truth, twisted by obsession and pain. The boy who once dreamed of love had returned from hell as a man divided.

Marken, the real Marken, had come back with nothing left but a dying wish—to keep his promise to her.

But now, even that promise was slipping beyond his reach.

And Cornelius, crushed beneath the weight of regret, found himself thinking that maybe—just maybe—Alexander and Serena should never have been together.

When he lay in the ICU, weak and barely breathing, that thought escaped him at last.

“They must be separated.”