Iden walked in, hands shoved deep in his pockets, his eyes darting between Ellaya’s face and the man sitting on her bed. His footsteps were slow and deliberate. His expression was cold, void of any emotion, as always. The man’s gaze tracked Iden with narrowed eyes and a stoic demeanor. Iden paused near him, then turned to look at Ellaya, who seemed transfixed on her husband, like a deer caught in headlights. “Will you not introduce me to him, puppet?” the man asked, his voice dripping with condescension, a grin plastered across his face. Iden chewed the word puppet under his breath as his brows knitted. As if jolted from a trance, Ellaya flinched at his words and shifted her gaze from the Iden to man then again, man to Iden . “He… is Iden he... is my h... husband,” she stammered, licked her dry lips, her voice shaking, tears glistening in her eyes. Iden observed her with a mix of curiosity and concern. He had seen every expression on her face, but never fear—now, she looke
It had been weeks since Ellaya woke up. Though her physical injuries were healing, she seemed to be a shadow of her former self. She had shut herself off completely, retreating into a silent world where no one could reach her. Iden never brought up Uncle Richard, and she didn’t seem inclined to talk about him either. Their unspoken agreement to avoid the topic only deepened the growing chasm between them. Iden rarely visited the hospital, but when he did, he lingered outside her door, never stepping in for more than a brief glance. The once vibrant and animated Ellaya sat on the hospital bed one sunny morning, staring out of the window. The sunlight poured in, illuminating her frail figure. She had lost so much weight that her clothes hung loosely on her, and the dark circles under her eyes revealed the sleepless nights she endured. Her hands rested idly in her lap, motionless, and her lips trembled faintly, as though she wanted to speak but had forgotten how. Iden had seen many
Ellaya was ushered into the stark, cold detention room and left alone. The only items in front of her were a water bottle and a crumpled packet of crackers on the table. Hours passed, but no one came to question her. The silence weighed on her like a heavy fog, thick and suffocating. She cradled her head in her trembling hands, her teeth sinking into her lower lip until the metallic tang of blood seeped into her mouth. Her chest heaved with shallow breaths as she sighed repeatedly, her body refusing to give in to tears, though her heart begged for release. She wasn’t just hurt—she was in shock, too numb to fully grasp the cruel reality of the situation. Iden’s words echoed in her mind, each syllable cutting her like shards of glass. Why would he frame her? He was her husband—Iden David—so why had they called him “Mr. Ruan”? Why hadn’t he denied it? Why had he stood there and condemned her with such conviction? Questions swirled violently in her mind, one crashing into the next, li
“I’m here to take you home,” Iden said, his voice warm, but his hand on her cheek was cold—a stark contrast to his words. Ellaya didn’t respond. She didn’t flinch. She just sat there, numb, too numb to react. It felt like a dream, fragile and fleeting. She was terrified to move, scared that if she did, the illusion would shatter, and he would vanish like smoke. “Laaya, say something. Anything,” he urged, his tone soft, almost pleading. It was the same voice she had fallen in love with, the one that once made her feel safe. A single tear slipped down her cheek, warm and lonely. Before it could fall, his thumb brushed it away, just as he used to. The familiarity of the gesture broke something inside her, and she leaned forward, wrapping her arms around him. His embrace was strong, warm, and all-encompassing. For a fleeting moment, she felt secure, as though his arms could shield her from the cruelty of the world. “I haven’t done anything,” she whispered, her voice cracking under the
She smiled faintly, her lips curving upward with a hollow defiance, as if to mock him. But her eyes—those haunted, shattered eyes—glimmered with a strange mix of resignation and rebellion. “Do it,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, yet weighted with sorrow. “I have nothing left to lose.” Iden’s jaw tightened at her words, the muscles twitching as if holding back a storm. His grip on her throat loosened suddenly, and she stumbled back, her hand flying to her neck as she gasped for air. The cold night air felt sharp against her skin, a cruel reminder of her vulnerability. Her knees wavered, but she steadied herself, trembling fingers reaching out to nothing but the empty void around her. Her heart pounded furiously against her ribs, each beat like a reminder of the betrayal standing before her. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, but she refused to let them spill. She lifted her head slightly, her gaze falling on Iden—a man who no longer resembled the one she once loved. Hi
Iden yanked the car door open and slid into the driver’s seat, slamming it shut with enough force to shake the vehicle. His chest heaved with suppressed rage, his jaw locked so tightly it felt like his teeth would crack. His fingers wrapped around the steering wheel, knuckles blanching as he gripped it hard enough to hurt. The engine roared to life, the growl of it mirroring the storm swirling inside him. Without hesitation, he slammed his foot onto the accelerator, sending the car flying down the road like a bullet from a gun. In the wing-mirror mirror, his eyes caught sight of her—Ellaya. She was curled up on the floor, her small frame swallowed by the darkness. Though her face was hidden, he could see it in the way she sat: her shoulders hunched, her arms wrapped around herself, her soul crumbling. Her despair hung in the air like a weight he couldn’t ignore. His chest ached with an intensity that made him want to scream. Instead, he muttered under his breath, voice hoarse, “Fuck,
Ellaya knelt on the cold, damp ground, her fingers trembling as they traced the jagged edges of the gravestone. The biting wind clawed at her skin, its chill settling deep into her bones. Her hair, disheveled by the relentless breeze, clung to her tear-streaked face. The night wrapped around her like a shroud, heavy and unforgiving, as the venomous words of the man she once loved echoed mercilessly in her mind. *“I regret meeting you. I regret marrying you—even if it was only on paper, even if it was for revenge.”* Each word had struck like a dagger, cutting through her soul and leaving it raw and exposed. The love she had cherished so deeply now felt like poison, eating away at her. Once, her heart had found its rhythm in his presence, had felt safe in his arms. Now, it was nothing but a hollow vessel, incapable of anything but pain. He had destroyed her, ensured she could never love again—not him, not anyone. A sob tore from her throat, shattering the stillness of the gravey
Ellaya knelt on the rain-slick ground, her trembling fingers splayed across the jagged edges of the gravestone. The icy night wind lashed at her exposed skin, turning her hands numb as the cold seeped through her drenched clothes. Strands of her hair stuck to her tear-streaked face, the relentless downpour soaking her completely. The weight of despair pressed heavily on her chest, tightening with every ragged breath. Her sobs came in sharp, uneven gasps as the venomous words of the man she had once given her heart to echoed in her mind, relentless as a cruel melody. *“I regret meeting you. I regret marrying you—even if it was only on paper, even if it was for revenge.”* The memory of his voice was a knife, twisting and tearing through her already shattered heart. She had believed in him, in the love she thought they shared. Every touch of his hands had felt like a symphony, every word a promise of a future together. She had abandoned everything for him—her career, her family, ev
Ellaya lunged, her kick slicing through the air toward her grandfather’s chest. But he was faster. His weathered hands snapped forward, catching her ankle mid-strike. In a single motion, he twisted and flipped her—her back hitting the mat with a bone-rattling thud. Before she could react, a brutal fist drove into her stomach. Pain detonated in her core. Her lungs collapsed inward. Breath scattered like broken glass. She doubled over. But he didn’t wait. He pinned her to the ground, calloused fingers digging into her wrists. Her body thrashed, muscles screaming, wrists raw beneath his unyielding grip. Ellaya cried out—sharp, guttural, alive. “That’s enough for today.” His voice cut cold through the haze. “You’re still weak. Like a toddler grasping at strength that isn’t yours. Push yourself harder.” She scrambled upright, shame searing hotter than any bruise. Her ribs ached. Her knuckles bled. But her mind? Steel. Survival wasn’t a choice. It was her god now.
A gust of wind tore through the room, sweeping papers off the desk like shreds of the past being ripped into the present. Kai stood in the doorway, chest heaving, drenched in sweat. One hand dragged a man by the collar—a mangled heap of flesh and bone. The man's face was grotesque, beaten to a pulp, barely conscious. Blood dripped steadily from his nose, painting a red trail behind them like a signature of vengeance. Arthur followed, silent as thunder before the strike. His fists were clenched so tightly the knuckles bled white. His eyes—cold, ruthless—locked on Iden like a scope lining up its mark. Without a word, Kai kicked the man’s legs out. He collapsed at Iden’s feet in a graceless heap. Silence held its breath. Then a weak, hoarse cry spilled from the man’s throat. He trembled, unable to meet Iden’s eyes. “Having fun, Danny?” Angelo’s voice sliced through the stillness, low and mocking as he crouched beside the man. A cruel smile twisted his lips. “Didn’t expect t
“This is the video we pulled,” Angelo said, turning the laptop toward Iden. He hit play. Young Ellaya hurled a glass of wine at Leo. Her voice sliced through the air like a blade. “You sewer rat! You don’t belong here! You should’ve died in the gutter you crawled out of!” Her finger jabbed toward his face, trembling. “You’re dirt-poor—and that’s exactly what you deserve! You should die like the scum you are!” Then, louder—each syllable laced with venom: “You’re poor—and that’s all you’ll ever be. Die in it.” Iden’s jaw locked. He didn’t blink. Couldn’t. His stomach twisted into a slow, suffocating knot. He’d seen this video so many times, it was seared into his memory. Burned in rage. It was the reason he hated her—or tried to. Failed to. But this clip, this moment... it was the beginning of everything. He had sworn over his friend’s grave to destroy her. And he did—masterfully. “She’s yelling at Leo,” Angelo said. “That’s what the clip shows. And we all believ
She smirked as she shoved a stray book off her lap. “You know… you don’t have to be the Don. You can just be who you are.” Iden tilted his head slightly, lips twitching into a faint smile—small, but real. “You’re the only one who gets to say that.” And in that moment—grief shadowing his eyes, the scent of blood still faint on his shirt—he smiled. He rubbed her hair playfully, gently mussing the strands like he used to when they were kids. “Really?” she grinned, sitting cross-legged on her bed. “Okay… if you say so. But I can tell you mine.” She beamed, reaching for a thick leather diary. “I used to keep memos, you know? I’d write down everything I enjoyed. The places I loved, food I liked, people I met. Kinda old school.” Iden sat down beside her, intrigued despite himself. Her glittering eyes—so full of life—reminded him of someone else. Someone who once laughed shyly and smiled like an idiot. Ellaya. His gaze drifted from his sister to the window, where night pressed it
Days passed like smoke—slipping through fingers, vanishing before they could be held. Time didn’t move forward; it bled. Minutes dragged like hours, and weeks collapsed in on themselves. Iden didn’t sleep. He didn’t eat. He sat in silence, trapped in his own mind, spiraling deeper into a storm of memories and questions. The moon became his only witness. Some nights, he watched the stars, others, the rain. Most nights, he simply stared into the void, heart thundering beneath skin that no longer felt like his own. A storm churned in his chest—loud, endless, and hungry. He saw her face in every shadow. Heard her voice in every silence. Her scent still clung to his lungs like smoke from a fire he could never put out. It had been a week since the blast. A week of searching. A week without answers. She wasn’t listed among the dead. But she wasn’t among the living either. She was missing. And Iden knew—deep in the part of his soul that still burned for her—she was alive. Hidi
The room was breathtaking—paneled in dark mahogany, steeped in the scent of old paper and aged wood. Floor-to-ceiling shelves held leather-bound books, their spines gilded and cracked with time. But it was the massive oil painting that stole Ellaya’s breath. A woman with wild purple hair and luminous skin smiled down at them. Her eyes—familiar, haunting—seemed to follow Ellaya across the room. She froze. The resemblance was undeniable. Same striking bone structure. Same purple irises. But the woman in the painting looked lighter—freer. Her smile held none of the weight Ellaya carried. None of the pain. Photos cluttered every surface. In one, the woman stood beside a tall, devastatingly handsome man—mid-laugh, hand wrapped around her waist. Their wedding photo. They looked hopelessly in love. Another showed them cradling a baby. The man's eyes brimmed with pride. The woman’s arms curled around the infant like a shield. The baby… was her. There was no mistaking it. Ellaya stagge
Ellaya didn’t remember when they moved her. One moment, she was in her cell—cracked walls, the stench of sweat and rusted iron, a tray of untouched food rotting in the corner. The next, she woke in hell. Not the metaphorical kind. The real one. The kind where screaming and silence existed in the same breath. Where punishment wasn’t given for madness—it was fed to it. You weren’t treated. You were drowned. The asylum was never quiet. Men laughed at the ceiling. Women whispered to the walls. Eyes followed her—hungry, hollow. Human only in name. She didn’t scream. Didn’t fight. She just watched. Watched them drag limp bodies behind rusted doors marked “TREATMENT.” Watched them come back quieter. Emptier. Sometimes not at all. They said she was dangerous. Deranged. A monster in a pretty shell. She didn’t correct them. Let them think she was mad. Let them forget she existed. At least then, no one expected her to survive. She’d already buried herself inside. What was left to
The room hummed with tension. Blue light from dozens of monitors painted ghostly shapes across Angelo’s office. Cables tangled like veins across the floor, machines blinked like they were breathing. The sharp scent of hot metal, sweat, and cigarette smoke hung thick in the air. “Everything’s set,” Kai reported, voice clipped. “Cameras, medics, chopper in the air. Our men are spread across the asylum. She's walking into the lion’s mouth.” Iden stepped into the room, slow and silent. This was the war room. It looked like one. A place where lives were traded, decisions signed in blood. He moved to the center of the chaos, eyes drawn to the wall of screens. Every angle of the massive asylum flickered in shaky grain. Corridors lined with flickering lights. Rooms filled with twitching shadows—patients, doctors, ghosts. The asylum was a tomb disguised as a hospital. Built on illegal records and rotting experiments. A hellhole. A cover for human trafficking, organ harvesting, un
It had been a week. And their plan—cold, calculated, inhumane—was working.The medication laced into her system had done more than sedate her. It blurred the edges of time, pulling her into hallucinations stitched from trauma and shadows. She saw things that never happened. Heard voices that whispered lies in familiar tones. Faces from the past flickered before her eyes, only to vanish like smoke. And when she spoke, it was to people long gone.Kai gave the daily reports, short and clinical. “She’s deteriorating. Fast. The hallucinations are getting worse.”But Iden, arms folded and gaze fixed on the monitor, wasn’t convinced the drugs were fully to blame. “Or maybe it’s not the meds,” he said quietly. “Maybe it’s just her past… clawing its way out.”“Does it matter?” Kai muttered. “She’s breaking. That’s the goal.”It didn’t sit right with Iden. Nothing about this did. But the truth was, it was working.His eyes locked on the screen in front of him. There she was—sitting on the cold