Kill Others

It was already nightfall when dinner was served in her room. Hailey sat curled in the corner of the bed, legs folded tight, head buried between them—her world reduced to the silence between sobs she refused to release.

Her heart had shattered at the events unfolding before her.

Everything seemed to linger in her mind like a microchip—too vivid, too surreal. Like a broken reel of memories playing in a loop she didn’t ask for.

Suddenly, a knock broke the silence, like a crack of thunder in a dead sky.

"May I come in?"

"Y-Y-Yes… you may," she answered quietly, her voice a whisper coated in tremble. She was trying, painfully, to keep herself from crumbling completely.

An old woman entered, closing the door behind her with gentle care. Hailey’s eyes, heavy and red, briefly met hers, only to drop again.

"Did you have your dinner, Miss?" the woman asked softly. Hailey offered a simple nod, unable to speak.

"That’s good. You’ll adjust here soon. If you'd like something else, I’ll ask the chef."

"N-No need… for such hospitality. I—I’m fine," Hailey said, though her voice cracked midway. Her eyes stayed locked on the rumpled sheets—like she could hide inside them.

Mary observed the despair clinging to the girl like a second skin. “I’m Mary. I serve the boss and look after the guests here.” Still, Hailey didn’t respond.

But Mary continued, voice calm and unshaken, “You don’t need to worry. You’ll be taken care of.”

“Do you live here alone?” Hailey finally murmured. Her voice was so fragile, like a leaf shaking in the wind.

Mary nodded. “This is the boss’s house. He lives here, and I take care of it.”

“W-What are the bodyguards doing outside my room?” Hailey asked, anxiety creeping into her throat like a vine wrapping tight.

She had noticed them earlier—from the balcony mirror. Guards with guns, posted like statues. Too many for comfort.

“They’re there to protect you from your gang. We wouldn’t want you harmed.”

How kind. Hailey almost laughed. Almost.

But her face didn’t move. She was too numb, too tired for sarcasm to reach her lips.

She held back the urge to roll her eyes. It wasn’t about protecting her—it was about containing her.

“How beautifully you’ve twisted the situation, Mary,” she said, her voice dipped in bitterness. Mary remained unfazed. “It’s my duty to keep you safe and healthy.”

Hailey turned her face away, eyes retreating to the lifeless curtains.

Mary, sensing her detachment, quietly picked up the remote and turned on the television. The news buzzed in the room. One sentence cut through the still air like a blade:

‘Aiken Lynn’s group to hold funeral for their Boss.’

‘The Lynn syndicate is hunting for the one behind his death.’

The words made her chest tighten. Her pulse stuttered.

She froze.

That name—it echoed through her like a scream in a tunnel.

“Why are you showing me this?” she asked, voice barely audible, laced with panic.

“Your father wasn’t a good man. I’m showing you this to help you understand the seriousness of it all. A war’s coming—for your crown.”

“B-But… how can he be my father?!” Her voice trembled now, matching the storm swelling inside her chest.

She felt like the ground under her was cracking—everything she’d known was falling into the dark.

Why hadn’t he come for her? Not once in all those years?

Questions built up like thunderclouds, no lightning in sight.

Mary didn’t answer. The silence felt heavy. Secretive.

She gently touched Hailey’s shoulder. “He wasn’t a great man. Don’t mourn him.”

“I don’t care about him!” she snapped, her voice rising for the first time. “I—I just don’t know how to accept this! That the man I believed to be my dad... wasn’t even my real father?”

“That tale belongs to your mother. I’m not the one to tell it.”

“B-But where is she? Why did she vanish? Am I even her daughter?” Her voice cracked mid-sentence, eyes wide with a terror deeper than fear—the terror of not knowing who you are.

“Shh... don’t be so harsh on yourself,” Mary said, placing a comforting hand on her back. “Everything happens for a reason. So did this.”

But comfort didn’t reach Hailey. Her mind was racing, her soul unrested. She wanted answers. Not riddles.

And she refused to cry—not here, not now. Not in this place full of strangers with guns and secrets.

So instead, she asked something else—something she hated even more.

“W-When is… the wedding happening?”

“I don’t have that answer. You should ask the boss,” Mary said calmly.

Hailey clenched her fists. She was about to argue, but the door creaked open again—this time louder, heavier.

“I’ll answer that for you,” came a deep, steady voice.

Zayn walked in, hands in his pockets, shoulders firm, eyes direct.

He looked at her like she was an equation he already solved. But something in her face—red, tear-soaked, lips trembling—gave him pause.

“We’re getting married the day after tomorrow,” he announced, tone flat.

“S-So early?” Hailey stuttered. She hadn’t meant to speak, but it slipped out like a reflex.

Zayn chuckled, dark amusement in his eyes.

“Too early for you?”

“Trust me, darling. Your gang will be hunting for you like hungry wolves. I’m doing you a favor by not marrying you first thing tomorrow morning—since it's your father’s funeral, after all.”

“Tsk. As if you actually care,” she snapped.

“Care?” He tilted his head, a smirk forming. “I would’ve killed him myself, but someone else stole the chance. Still, for your little feelings, I can delay.”

Hailey rolled her eyes. People like you even have feelings?

And just as if reading her mind, he added, “We’re not emotionless, you know. It’s just… rare in our business.”

“Business?” Her voice sharpened. “You call murder a business?”

His smirk widened. Her words amused him.

“You’ll be part of it soon. Then maybe you’ll understand.”

“I’d rather not. Keep me out of it.”

“But… what if I told you,” he leaned slightly closer, eyes darkening, “that to survive, you’ll need to kill others?”