Party

A petite woman with short, cropped hair lounged on her couch, her face masked in a thin layer of cream. A novel rested in her hands, its pages slightly bent from her grip. Her legs dangled over the armrest, swinging in a playful rhythm that matched the soft melody drifting through the room. The music wrapped around her like a comforting embrace, blending seamlessly with the quiet hum of her thoughts.

A sharp knock shattered the tranquility. She froze, her gaze darting toward the door. With a sigh, she placed the novel on the table and peeled off the mask, revealing skin flushed from the warmth of the room. Her lips curved into a sweet smile as she swung the door open, but the visitor’s expression didn’t mirror her joy.

Before she could speak, Ellaya grabbed her hand and dragged her inside, her grip firm and unyielding. The door slammed shut behind them.

Ellaya released her abruptly, her movements sharp and deliberate. She stepped back, her eyes narrowing into slits. “How did you get my number?” Her voice was low, almost a growl, as she crossed her arms tightly over her chest. The tension in the room thickened, pressing down like a storm about to break.

Mia hesitated, her lips twitching into a forced smile. “I have my ways,” she replied, her voice light but shaky.

Ellaya’s gaze hardened, her pupils constricting as her tone grew colder. “If you value your life, don’t contact me again.”

Mia swallowed hard, her throat dry. “I value my life, which is exactly why I contacted you.” She paused, her voice trembling slightly before she steadied herself. “But more than that, I thought you’d want revenge on the people who hurt you.”

She reached into a nearby drawer and pulled out an envelope, tossing it onto the table with a flick of her wrist. Then, with exaggerated ease, she spun around and sank into the couch, her posture relaxed but her hands trembling faintly. Her confidence was a façade, and she knew Ellaya could see through it.

Ellaya’s jaw tightened as she leaned forward, her fingers brushing the edge of the envelope. Her brows furrowed as she opened it, her eyes scanning the contents. The color drained from her face, replaced by a look of bewilderment. Her gaze snapped to Mia, sharp and demanding.

Ellaya’s fingers tightened around the envelope, her mind racing. She didn’t want to trust Mia, but the contents of the envelope felt like a key to something she couldn’t ignore.

“How did you know?” Ellaya’s voice cut through the air like a blade. She slammed her palm against the table, the sound echoing through the room. Mia flinched, her body stiffening as beads of sweat formed on her brow.

Mia forced a grin, though her lips quivered. “Why don’t you sit down and enjoy your favorite coffee before I explain?” She stood abruptly, slipping on her heels and retreating to the kitchen. Her breath came in shallow gasps as she leaned against the counter, her hands gripping the edge tightly. Ellaya’s piercing gaze and commanding tone had shaken her to the core. This wasn’t the Ellaya she remembered—this was someone entirely different, someone she didn’t know at all.

Left alone, Ellaya’s eyes flicked toward the music player. The melody grated against her nerves, its once soothing rhythm now an unwelcome intrusion. She reached out and turned it off with a sharp click.

“Hey!” Mia’s voice rang out as she returned, two steaming mugs of coffee in hand. “Don’t turn it off—it’s my favorite song.” She handed one mug to Ellaya, her fingers brushing against hers briefly. “She’s my favorite singer,” Mia added, her tone softer now.

Ellaya’s gaze lingered on Mia for a moment, her expression unreadable. Tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision as she took a sip of the coffee. She sank into the sofa, her shoulders slumping slightly.

“How did you know?” This time, her voice was quieter, almost hesitant. She knew she had intimidated Mia, her not-so-called best friend.

Mia smirked, pulling a photograph from her pocket and sliding it across the table. “She’s my mother,” Mia said simply, pointing at the image.

Ellaya’s breath hitched, her shock evident as she stared at the photo. Her fingers trembled as she picked it up, her mind racing.

“But why are you helping me?” Ellaya’s confusion was etched into every line of her face. She couldn’t understand why Mia, who had once despised her, was now offering her assistance. Mia had called her fake, had hated her with a passion that burned brightly.

Mia shrugged, her arms crossing over her chest as she leaned against the wall. “First, I don’t want to owe you anything. Second, I want to live freely, unburdened.” Her voice was steady, but she avoided sitting beside Ellaya, keeping her distance.

Ellaya’s eyes flashed as she considered Mia’s words. She pursed her lips, a hint of sadness creeping into her tone. “It’s not time yet,” she said finally, rising to her feet. She grabbed the envelope and left without another word.

---

“Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Stone. You’ve been married for 25 years and have never been involved in rumors. Completely devoted to one another. Can you share your advice with young couples on how to build happy, peaceful relationships?”

As the cameras flashed, Mrs. Stone’s smile faltered for the briefest moment, her eyes darting toward her husband as if searching for reassurance. But the reporters didn’t notice—only the man beside her did.

Mr.Stone smiled warmly, his arm wrapped around his elegant wife’s waist. She leaned into him, her expression mirroring his joy.

“The mantra for a happy marriage is simple,” he began, his voice steady and confident. “Love each other completely. Devotion and acceptance are the keys to locking the door of loyalty. Lock it tightly, and don’t let your demons peek through to be tempted by the flesh.”

He turned to his wife, his gaze softening. “We’ve been loyal to each other up to this point, and we’ll remain so until the end.”

He kissed her gently, the cameras flashing as reporters jotted down his words. With polite excuses, the couple left, their luxurious car waiting to whisk them away.

As the reporters turned their attention elsewhere, they spotted another figure stepping out of a sleek black car. “Mr. Ruan!” one called out, rushing toward him. “Excuse me, sir—just one question!”

“Did you kill Miss Stone in the cell? She’s missing—did you kill her? Are you here to exact revenge on her family?”

The question froze him mid-step, the words slicing through the air like a blade. His bloodshot eyes burned as he turned toward the reporter, his mind calculating the consequences of this accusation.

The question hung in the air, heavy and accusatory. Iden’s gaze darkened, his silver-grey eyes flashing with a dangerous intensity. The reporter’s breath hitched, his face paling as he stumbled backward. His knees buckled, and he collapsed to the ground, clutching his chest.

Iden didn’t need a gun to silence him. His eyes alone were enough to send the man spiraling into terror.

Huh. Mosquitoes like him didn’t deserve his attention. Iden strode forward, his steps unbroken, his mind already moving to the next task. The reporter’s fate was sealed—he’d kissed the death angel’s shadow and fallen.