"I thought I told you to get lost," Killian snarled, his voice low and lethal as broken glass dragged across the steel. The door had creaked open—again. His sanctuary invaded. Again.
But then the voice came—familiar, cocky, maddeningly calm.
"Woo, chill, K.D., it's me."
Holland.
Killian's jaw clenched as the tension in his body ebbed just enough to keep him from shattering something. Holland stepped into the room with the smug nonchalance of a man who'd seen too much to ever be fazed again, his eyes glowing red—a comforting reminder that not all monsters wore lipstick and smiled like Elara.
Killian ran a hand down his face, dragging his fingers across the tight line of his jaw. The rage bubbling under his skin was something old, something primal. It clawed at his chest like a beast. The taste of Elara's name alone was acid in his throat.
She didn't care. She never fucking did. That smirk. That Goddamn smirk.
She had Jimin wrapped around her little finger while he stood there, watching everything fall apart.
Holland placed a can of blood in front of him like it was some kind of peace offering. "You're really angry now. Here, drink this."
K.D. didn't think. He just acted. He unscrewed the cap and swallowed it down like it might drown the inferno inside. But it didn't. It never did. The cold metallic liquid slid down his throat, but the fire in his chest roared louder.
His voice cracked like thunder. "I wonder what Jimin sees in that bitch." Each word tasted like betrayal. "I really fucking wonder."
The can flew from his hand before he realized what he was doing, the sound of it smashing against the wall like a scream that had finally escaped his chest.
Holland, ever the unaffected spectator in this burning theatre, just chuckled. "I take it Elara's the trigger today."
Killian glared daggers, his eyes aglow with fury and something darker—something fractured. "Are you supposed to be laughing right now?"
Holland shrugged like the world didn't weigh anything on his shoulders. "It's just your face, man. It's killing me."
Killian's rage twisted tighter. "She needs to be taught a lesson. She'd never pull that kind of crap with you."
His fists curled at his sides, knuckles bone-white. "Jimin should've seen her for what she is ages ago. She doesn't deserve him. Never did."
Holland's tone changed, just enough for Killian to notice. "They say love is blind, but Jimin? He's walking into the fire with his eyes wide open."
K.D. ground his teeth. Fool. Stupid, loyal fool.
"That's why I don't do that love shit," Holland muttered, his eyes haunted, distant. "Makes you feel useless. Worthless."
And with that, the silence fell again. Heavy. Suffocating. Loud.
But the peace didn't last.
A ringtone shattered it—sharp and sudden. Holland glanced at his screen.
"Jimin."
Killian's heart stuttered. Of course, it is.
Holland answered, putting the phone on speaker. Jimin's face appeared on the screen, bright-eyed and oblivious to the storm that brewed just inches from his name.
"Where are you?" Holland asked, his tone suspicious.
"On my way to Elara's place," Jimin said, his voice tinged with excitement.
Killian scoffed so loud it could've cut glass.
"You're back already?" Holland asked. "Weren't you supposed to come tomorrow?"
Jimin smiled. "I couldn't miss her birthday. Besides... I'm planning on proposing to her today."
The words hit like a freight train.
Killian didn't even realize he'd moved until the phone was snatched from Holland's hand, his breath a roar in his own ears.
"Tell me you're joking. Tell me you're not this goddamn stupid."
"K.D., why are you acting like this?"
"Jimin, are you deaf? Blind? Or just willfully ignorant?" Killian's voice was a snarl now, trembling with fury. "That girl is poison. She's manipulative, dangerous—and she doesn't deserve an ounce of you."
Jimin blinked, confusion clouding his features. "Killian, you look like hell. What's going on with you?"
"What's going on?" His voice cracked. "You are! You're the damn problem! You're about to hand your heart to a girl who shredded it once—and you're thanking her for it!"
"People change, K.D.," Jimin said softly. "Elara's changed."
No. She hasn't.
You just want to believe she has so you don't have to face the truth.
"That was all a mistake, everything that happened before—she regrets it. You should give her a chance."
And then came silence.
Because Killian had already hurled the phone across the room.
Again.
"You broke my phone," Holland deadpanned.
Killian turned on him, rage lashing. "Your phone is not more important than the fact that he's about to marry that viper."
Holland sighed, looking tired for once. "What do you want me to do, K.D.? You know Jimin doesn't listen. He's in love, and love blinds people. It makes them see angels in demons."
Killian raked both hands through his hair, the strands tugging painfully as he muttered, "This is driving me insane."
Vala's Mansion
Queenie stepped into the room, her heart pounding against her chest. The familiar cold, sterile air of the mansion wrapped around her, suffocating yet oddly comforting. She had finished her chores—barely—helped by Allison, but she was still late.
Georgina, sitting in her usual spot, barely glanced up from her phone, letting the silence hang in the air like a heavyweight. Her voice broke through the quiet, harsh, and cold.
"You're late again," Goerigna muttered as she poured water over the leftover food, making sure it looked even more inedible than before. "Go ahead and starve. Maybe that'll teach you discipline."
Queenie bit her lip, the taste of bitter humiliation flooding her mouth.
"Auntie, you called for me," she whispered, her voice barely above a tremor.
Georgina didn't look up, her fingers scrolling mindlessly on her phone. "Where's your monthly pay?" she asked, her voice flat but cutting.
Queenie swallowed, her gaze dropping to the floor. She couldn't meet her aunt's eyes—not now, not ever.
"I... I don't have any money with me," she murmured, her words feeling hollow, even to her.
Goerigna's eyes finally flickered up, the faintest hint of disbelief in her gaze. She narrowed her eyes, her lips curling into a sneer. "What's that supposed to mean? Are you trying to pull a fast one on me?"
"Auntie, I really mean it," Queenie pleaded, her voice barely audible, thick with the weight of her shame. "After you stopped me from working, I haven't made any money."
Goerigna's patience snapped. She stood abruptly, her chair scraping violently against the floor. With a sharp, deliberate step, she moved closer to Queenie, towering over her like a storm cloud ready to strike.
"Enough." Her voice was cold, final. "You've got till tomorrow. Bring me the money, or I'll kick you out of here. Got it?"
Queenie's breath caught in her throat. She dropped to her knees before her aunt, her hands shaking as she clutched at the floor, her voice pleading through the tears she could no longer hold back.
"Auntie, please, I swear, I don't have it. Just... just give me more time," she sobbed, her chest tight with the agony of hopelessness.
Georgina slapped her across the cheek with the force of a lightning strike. The sting reverberated through Queenie's entire body, but it wasn't the pain that broke her. It was the cold indifference in Goerigna's eyes.
"Do you understand me, Queenie? I want that money tomorrow."
Queenie nodded quickly, her heart racing. She didn't dare look up, but the pressure of Goerigna's cold fingers on her chin made her feel like a prisoner in her own skin.
Georgina released her chin with a sharp shove, turning away like the conversation had never mattered to her in the first place.
"Here." She picked up some crumpled bills from the bed, tossing them carelessly in Queenie's direction. "Go buy some groceries and clean the house. I don't want to come back to an empty house. Understood?"
"Alright," Queenie muttered, her voice barely a whisper.
"Get lost," Goerigna snapped, her tone dripping with contempt.
Queenie scrambled to her feet, the sharp edges of her aunt's words digging deeper into her soul. She rushed out of the room, her tears falling freely as she descended the stairs, the weight of the injustice pressing down on her chest.
"Hey, you."
Queenie froze at the sound of Catalina's voice. She wiped her face quickly, hoping to hide the tears, but it was pointless. Catalina's cold eyes met hers, and she knew there was no escape from this torment.
"I want you to wash my clothes," Catalina ordered, her voice icy and unyielding. "I left them in my room. It needs to be done today."
"Okay, I'll use the washing machine," Queenie replied, her voice still shaking as she tried to compose herself.
But Catalina wasn't having it. Without warning, she grabbed Queenie by the hair and yanked her back, forcing her to wince in pain.
"I want you to wash them by hand, and it better be done today. No excuses."
Queenie's heart sank as she looked up at Catalina, her voice faltering. "But Auntie—"
"I don't care about your excuses, you useless thing." Catalina's grip tightened as she shoved Queenie back, causing her to stumble and fall to the floor. "Get to work."
The words stung like acid, and Queenie lay there for a moment, too broken to rise. More tears flooded her eyes as she stared at the floor, a deep, aching emptiness spreading through her chest.
Why is my life so pathetic? she thought, her heart shattering with each unanswered question. Why does it always have to be me?
---
Outside
Queenie walked blindly, her thoughts drowning out everything around her. The world seemed distant like she was walking through a fog. Her body moved on autopilot, her mind lost in the suffocating weight of her reality.
Without realizing it, she stepped onto the road, her mind consumed with despair.
A car screeched to a halt just inches from her. The world around her blurred as her heart jumped into her throat, the fear of death overwhelming her senses. She had barely registered the near impact before she crumpled to the ground, her bags scattering across the pavement.
A man emerged from the car, rushing toward her with a look of concern on his face.
"Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry," he said, his voice filled with genuine panic.
"It's fine," Queenie muttered, shakily pushing herself up. "I wasn't paying attention. It's my fault."
"No, it's mine," the man insisted, reaching down to gather her bags. "I should have been more careful."
Queenie looked up at him, caught off guard by how handsome he was. His eyes were kind, filled with a quiet sincerity that made her heart skip a beat.
"Are you hurt anywhere?" he asked, his voice soft and concerned.
"No, I'm fine. Thanks for checking," she replied, her voice distant but grateful.
"Come on," he said gently. "Let me drop you off. It's the least I can do."
Queenie hesitated, the walls she had built around herself screaming at her to refuse. But something in his gaze softened her resolve, and with a sigh, she gave in.
"Alright," she muttered, following him to the car.
… … … ..
Jimin stood frozen in the doorway, the weight of the scene in front of him suffocating him. Elara, with a girl—no, another betrayal. His heart splintered as he took in the image of her scrambling to cover herself with a rope. The room felt smaller, the air thicker.
"Babe," Elara's voice broke through the silence, fragile and frantic. She rushed toward him, her steps desperate. "Babe, this isn't what you think. Please, I can explain…"
Jimin stepped back, his entire body shaking with a mixture of anger and heartbreak. He wanted to scream at her, to accuse her of everything, but the words wouldn't come. He just stood there, staring at her, the weight of every lie she'd told pressing against his chest.
"What do you want to explain, Elara? The fact that I caught you cheating on me again?" His voice cracked, bitter, and raw. "What am I to you, huh? A fool? A plaything?"
Elara's eyes widened, panic flickering across her face. She reached for him, her hand trembling as if she thought it might fix everything. But Jimin recoiled, his hands balling into fists at his sides.
"It's not like that," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I didn't—"
"No!" Jimin snapped, his voice sharp as a knife. "Don't feed me that crap. I've been blind, thinking you might change. But I gave you chance after chance. And every time, you've done this. Cheating. Lying. And you still expect me to believe in you?"
He was done. He felt like a fool, standing there, hoping for something that would never come. The pain was suffocating and overwhelming, and the bitterness was a taste in his mouth that he couldn't spit out.
"It's over," Jimin said, his voice low but final. "And this time, I'm not going back on my word. You've lost your chance, Elara."
Her face twisted in disbelief, her eyes widening as she scrambled toward him. "Jimin, please! I'm sorry! One last chance—"
Jimin's eyes hardened. "Try it, Elara. If that hand touches me, I swear, I'll break it. Don't ever touch me again." His words were ice-cold, cruel. "You disgust me."
Elara stood there, trembling, as if his words had physically struck her. Then, in an explosion of fury, she pushed the center table down with a violent crash.
"Jimin! You belong to me! You can't leave me!" she screamed, her voice shrill, full of rage and desperation. "I know you'll come back! You'll beg for me, just like always!"
Jimin didn't look back. He turned and walked away, his steps echoing in the empty room. But even as he left, his mind was clouded. He had to leave. He had to get away from her.
---
Elara's phone buzzed.
She froze, her rage turning to confusion. Her trembling fingers reached for it, the screen lighting up with an unfamiliar number.
A message.
"You don't know the truth… but you will soon."
Her breath caught in her throat. The words sent a chill down her spine. What did that mean? Who was this? Her thoughts scrambled, heart pounding in her chest.