LOGINAfter Ryan Spencer cheated on me again with his secretary, I completely lost it. When my mind started to spiral, I grabbed the fruit knife off the table. I just wanted it to end. “Why are you hurting yourself again? He doesn’t love you anymore?” I looked up. The sixteen-year-old Ryan was walking toward me, heartbreak written all over his face. His voice was gentle. “Tell me who he is. I’ll make him pay.” I stared into the bright, earnest eyes of the boy standing in front of me. I didn’t say a word. I simply lifted my hand and pointed at his face. Later, Ryan was the one who had me admitted to a psychiatric hospital. When the sedative began to wear off, the teenage boy appeared again, sitting by my bed. He stared at the man outside who looked just like him. The light in his eyes faded little by little. Then he spoke, his voice strained. “I don’t care who he is. I’ll kill him.” The sixteen-year-old Ryan never lied to me. When he said something, he meant it.
View MoreWinter in Ireland lingers in the rain.There’s no sight of the glittering high society I left behind here. No suffocating rumors. No whispers waiting to swallow you whole.I wear a thick cream cashmere coat and carry a small bouquet of chamomile I just bought at the market. The tiny white flowers are dotted with rain, fragile and clean.It matches how I feel.Quiet. Steady.I push open the door to an old pub at the end of the lane.A fireplace crackles inside. Oak wood pops and snaps. Somewhere in the background, bagpipes play softly. The warmth wraps around me the moment I step in.I breathe it in.And for a second, the old cold buried deep in my bones eases.There was a time when my hands shook so badly I couldn’t even hold silverware. Now I greet the round-faced landlady with ease.“The usual,” I say. “Hot milk. No sugar.”She smiles and hands it over.“Oh, by the way. That guy came again today.”My hand pauses for barely a second.The surface of the milk doesn’t even
Overnight, the balance of power in the capital shifted.Ryan Spencer, the powerful chairman of the Spencer Group, vanished from his heavily guarded villa.No ransom call. No threat. No trace.Just one chilling rumor made its way through the company: someone powerful had stepped in.As if an invisible hand had quietly erased every trace of Ryan Spencer’s existence.…When Ryan woke up again, he was staring at the ceiling of an abandoned building.The walls were peeling. Cold wind swept through the hollow space, carrying the first bite of autumn.“You’re awake.”A firm voice echoed through the empty room.Ryan realized he was tied to a chair, hands bound behind his back. He struggled to lift his head and saw a man standing in the shadows.The man wore a black suit.And the moment Ryan saw his face, his pupils shrank.The eyes. The features.He looked almost exactly like Jane.But where Jane’s face had once been soft, this man’s held no warmth at all. Only cold authority. T
The huge villa fell into a dead silence again.This time, no one came to disturb him.Ryan stood in the center of the empty living room and looked around.Nothing had changed. The furniture was exactly the same.And yet the place felt unbearably hollow.The lights were all on, bright as ever, but they couldn’t touch the darkness inside him.“Jane?”He called out cautiously.No answer.Only his own voice bouncing off the cold walls.He staggered toward the liquor cabinet, his hands shaking so badly he could barely hold the bottle.The neck of the bottle knocked against the marble counter and shattered.He didn’t care that his palm was cut by the glass. He lifted the jagged bottle and took a hard gulp straight from it.The liquor burned all the way down.It scorched his throat, his chest, his stomach.Tears sprang to his eyes from the sting.He slid down along the cabinet and collapsed onto the floor, clutching the broken bottle.Through blurred vision, he thought he saw
On the third day after Jane disappeared, Ryan had nearly turned the entire city upside down.He used every connection the Spencer family had. He even called in massive favors to gain access to aviation records.Airports. High-speed rail stations. Highway toll checkpoints. Every camera near the psychiatric hospital that night.Nothing.No footage. No records.Jane, carried away by those men in black, had vanished like a drop of water swallowed by the ocean.That was when real fear finally hit him.It felt like someone had torn a piece out of his heart, leaving behind a bleeding hole that wouldn’t close.In his office, cigarette butts piled up in the ashtray like a small mountain.His stubble had grown dark and rough. His eyes were bloodshot.He paced like a trapped animal, restless and on edge.“Mr. Spencer… we still can’t find anything.”His assistant kept his head down, voice shaking.“Ms. Nelson’s files, her medical records… even her household registration information. I
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