พิศวาสรักมาเฟียร้าย (ดวงใจมาเฟีย)

The stinging pain on my face had not yet faded when Gavin Whitaker suddenly stiffened like a puppet whose strings had been cut and collapsed straight backward.

That face of his, which was always etched with arrogance and disdain, twisted with pure terror.

"Gavin!"

"Sir!"

The Whitakers' living room erupted instantly.

Screams, sobs, the crash of overturned furniture—everything collided into a chaotic, deafening mess.

I stood where I was, watching them scramble in panic as they lifted Gavin onto a stretcher and rushed him toward the ambulance.

As for the instigator of it all, his mother, Mrs. Whitaker, froze for only a heartbeat before pointing straight at my nose and exploding into curses.

"You jinx! You filthy curse!" she shrieked. "It’s all because of you! You bring disaster wherever you go! My son collapses in his own home because of you!"

I said nothing.

I only lifted my hand and lightly touched my left cheek. It was already swelling and burning hot, almost the same temperature as my heart.

The hospital’s diagnosis came quickly: acute concussion, accompanied by facial soft-tissue contusions. Cause unknown.

When Gavin finally woke up, I was the only one in the hospital room.

His gaze landed on the clear red imprint of five fingers on my face. It was the exact same impact his own cheek had felt in his memory. The confusion in his eyes vanished, replaced instantly by something dark and vicious.

"Sienna Moore," he demanded hoarsely, his voice heavy with judgment, "what did you do to me?"

I looked at him calmly. "I didn’t do anything. Your mother slapped me. Then you collapsed."

"Ridiculous." He let out a short, mocking laugh. "My mother hit you, and I’m the one who coughs up blood and passes out? Sienna, you’re now making up this kind of nonsense just to get my sympathy?"

"This isn’t nonsense," I spoke slowly, clearly. "Just now, we were bound by an Empathy Sync System. From now on, every bit of harm I suffer—physical or emotional—you will feel it all, exactly the same."

Gavin stared at me, his eyes filled with undisguised disgust and contempt.

"A new trick, hmm?" he sneered. "Sienna, I really underestimated you. Just to make me look at you once more, you’ll stoop to anything."

"You don’t believe me?" I asked.

"I believe you’re insane," he replied coldly.

I laughed.

Tears fell again, betraying me despite myself. I wiped them away and looked at the man I had loved for ten years, a man whose heart I had never managed to warm, and spoke in a tone so icy it startled even me.

"Gavin, let’s make a bet."

"A bet on what?" He raised a brow, as if watching a clown perform.

"We’ll bet on this," I said. "I’ll make you experience firsthand just how painful the suffering I’ve endured all these years really is."

He did not answer. He simply turned his head away and called for the nurse, making it clear through his actions alone that even one more word from me disgusted him.

I looked out at the pitch-black night beyond the window and whispered softly, "You will believe me."