JENNIE
Kim Manor rose upon the hill like the disapproving relative most people complained about. The one bastion of my life that I could never seem to escape.
My only comfort was that Lisa didn't seem particularly fond of it, either. Stone-faced, she guided her car onto the property, following what little commands I gave. Follow the main path. Then go beyond the house, beyond the gardens, farther…
"Here," I croaked once we'd reached the very end of the property.
Looming before us stood what my mother had lovingly referred to as the Crowning Jewel of both heritage and home. Our family crypt. Even now, the structure held the same morbid fascination for me that it had during my childhood.
Made entirely of stone and almost simple in appearance, the structure contained Kim bodies spanning at least three centuries, back from the time of my great-grandfather many times over, James. Given what a diverse and interesting bunch we were, I almost pitied it.
"You hid it here?" Lisa wondered. She had leaned toward my side without me realizing and I flinched as her chill raised goosebumps over the back of my neck. A part of me wanted to hate her still—hate the fact that she could sit so close to me as though nothing had changed.
I snuck a glance at her face, alarmed by how neutral her expression seemed.
Apparently, we were both in denial of recent events.
"Rosé and I used to play here as children," I found myself muttering. Compelled by some need to explain the safety of my hiding place perhaps? Or maybe her skeptical frown amused me. "We used to sneak notes back and forth by stuffing them into this empty urn kept on a shelf for decoration." An ironic fixture, given my mother's general loathing of any frivolous displays. "Sometimes, I used to come here to think."
"You…played in a crypt?"
As her expression shifted, I wasn't sure what might appear. A wry twist of her mouth wasn't my first suspicion. God, it couldn't be a smile.
"Why am I not surprised?"
I turned away. I would take that as an insult rather than a harmless quip. Only she could make the cold boundaries I'd grown up obeying seem more trite than tradition.
In fact, she made everything about my past life seem trivial.
Like the days when I could sit beside someone and not recall what their touch felt like, rough with possession. I tried to suppress the thought, but my breath quickened anyway, signaling my unease like blood in shark-infested waters.
Thankfully, she parked the next second, choosing a spot near the shade of a weeping willow, and I used the task of unfurling myself from my seat belt to fill the awkward silence. When I finally pushed the door to my side open, Lisa was already there.
She warily extended her hand, as if expecting me to bite it rather than accept it. When I did the latter, she helped me to my feet. Together, we faced my childhood playground and I pretended like I wasn't affected by her scrutiny.
Neglect reduced the landscape to a wilderness of overrun grasses and weeds. Without its typical manicured appearance, the area resembled something right out of a horror film. The crypt itself was by far the most unsettling fixture. Square-shaped and framed by Romanesque pillars supporting a sharply pitched roof, it was an anomaly compared to the Gothic style of the main manor.
"You used to play here as a child," Lisa reiterated. "For enjoyment?"
I could sense the typical mixture of scorn and pity she usually showed whenever I mentioned personal anecdotes. This day, however, I decided to inhale the damp, humid air of the overcast day and give in to nostalgia.
She wasn't forgiven—but I could pause my ire for history's sake.
"Shall I give you the grand tour?"
The door wasn't locked. Ironic considering that most of the people buried here had spent their entire lives keeping their secrets under lock and key. Inside was a small entryway formed of gray marble floors and dark walls. A lone statue lorded over a spiral staircase built into the earth, leading deeper into the crypt.
"Is something wrong?" I looked back and found Lisa lingering beyond the doorway, her frown more pronounced than usual. "Don't tell me you have an aversion to death?"
"It's not that," she said gruffly. I waited, but she didn't elaborate further.
Sighing, I started forward without her. "I can bring it to you—"
"I would have thought you Kims had some elaborate protocol regarding your sacred structures."
I faltered and braced my hand against the wall for stability. Was that another joke?
"Do come in," I snapped rather than decide. "Welcome to the glorious Kim family tomb."
Without so much as a retort, she finally entered the entryway, and memories stirred as I led the way with her on my heels.
"My parents brought us here often," I admitted, brushing my fingers along the stone walls as my voice echoed. Dust coated my fingertips, depressingly thick. "It was the one thing I ever saw my father take pride in, apart from the fortune. He called it our 'enduring legacy.'"
At the foot of the stairs was a light that, once flipped, revealed the cavernous interior containing five chambers that branched from the central room. In the center stood another statue, one of a crying angel, her eyes downcast in sorrow.
"That's been here for generations," I remarked.
Slipping past her, I wandered the circular space and tried to see it as someone on the outside might. Like a vampire perhaps. In death, we Kims were every bit as interesting as we were in life. Our tastes in minimal design had changed little over the centuries.
I crept into the alcove designated for the most recent generation, aware of Lisa's gaze on the back of my neck.
"Is this the urn you and your sister used?" she wondered.
I peered over my shoulder and found her staring up at the old marble container on the shelf across from the somber angel. "Yes. It was one of the most reliable ways to reach Rosé back in the old days, if you can imagine that. I should look inside it." I started toward her, hope bubbling in my throat.
Maybe after weeks of silence, she would decide to reach out by recalling an obscure tradition from our childhood?
I changed course only when I noticed Lisa watching me. How pathetic would that seem?
Somewhere around very and depressing, I decided.
I turned instead and approached the wall where my parents were interred. Joined in eternal rest, they dominated the top two places. The layout resembled that of a vertical grid with each tomb marked by a stone placard engraved with the occupant's name. Per chamber, each wall could hold up to eight corpses in rows of two.
And, like any doting parents, mine had ensured that Rosé and I already had plots picked out beneath them. While we'd barely spent quality time together in life, we would spend the rest of our miserable eternity in close proximity.
How charming.
I trailed my fingers over my mother's engraved name, and I swore I could hear her scolding from beyond the grave. My God, Jennie, what have you done now? You were always such a dutiful child.
"Sorry," I told her out loud, as contritely as one could while talking to herself.
Sinking into a crouch, I felt along the edge of the placeholder for my tomb. A sharp tug pried it loose enough to slip my hand into the space beyond. Tucked just within reach was a leather-bound book—and something else. I'd almost forgotten hiding it as well—a small plastic ring with a chipped blue bead in the center.
"Don't tell me you're too enthralled by nostalgia to remember why we're here?" Lisa remarked behind me.
Clutching the book to my chest, I stood. "I've got it." I turned and found her mere steps away. Extending the contract book with one hand, I quietly concealed the ring in my other. "My end of our bargain."
Her face unreadable, Lisa took the contract from me and tucked it into the breast pocket of her suit.
Even though she'd mentioned as much earlier, I still felt tempted to ask, "So what does this mean?"
"The book is merely a symbolic token," she explained. "Your name is on it. Regardless, I find that it's best to keep these things close."
"Ah." I nodded along as if I knew the first thing about soul collecting. "Well, now you have it."
An uncomfortable silence stretched on for endless seconds. The longer we lingered, the colder the atmosphere felt. My teeth chattered as the monotonous scenery made me picture…well, decay.
"Yours?" Lisa nodded toward my earmarked tomb. "I suspect this isn't a new purchase."
"Oh, no." I followed her gaze and brushed my thumb over the etched letters of my name. "It was a Christmas gift. My parents presented them to Rosé and me when I was eight."
"A gift?"
"Of course." I chafed at her tone. As if such a thing weren't normal. "At least they had enough sense to realize that I didn't need any space beneath mine. I should have it engraved now: Jennie Kim, forever alone."
Oh, the poetic justice of it all. One of the last Kims doomed to die a spinster.
"You believe that?" Lisa questioned in a tone that made me bite my lip. It was too stern. Too soft.
"Why shouldn't I?"
"You never envisioned yourself marrying someone? Anyone? You've never wanted children—"
"I'm tired." Sighing, I turned to her, swiping my dust-covered fingers on my skirt. "Now that you have your precious…"
She was looking at me so strangely that I lost my train of thought. It was different from her usual scowl—eyes narrowed, mouth in a firm, odd line. Something flickered across her gaze, too elusive to name. Before I could, she marched toward the central chamber, beckoning with a wave of her hand. "Let's go."
Perhaps talk of tombs was too morbid, even for the undead? I tucked my ring into my purse and then followed her, uneasy. As she mounted the stairs, I couldn't resist slipping my hand into the urn on my way past. Unsurprisingly, I found nothing but dust.
Rosé was probably galivanting on a beach somewhere with a new lover, her pathetic sister forgotten.
"I'd rather not spend the rest of the day among your deceased family members, if you don't mind," Lisa called from above.
When I finally rejoined her, she was waiting for me outside the building and I steeled myself for a plot-twist-style reveal. Ha! She had been lying all along. This was the part when she'd entrap my soul for eternity. I could only hope she didn't drug me first before spiriting me away.
"Get in," was all she said, wrenching the car door open for me.
Confined again, I had no escape from the thoughts that months alone had kept at bay. Things like memories of her I wished to smother. Her touch. Her taste.
The night she returned…
My lips burned and I brushed my fingers along them, tracing the remnants of her. Had that kiss been another twisted game?
A way for her to lower my guard.
Again…
Stop, Jennie.
Rolling my window down and inhaling fresh air helped somewhat. Or at least the biting chill put everything back into perspective. Once again, I'd signed a portion of my life away, though I wasn't quite sure what I'd bargained for in return. In all honesty, I didn't need her protection. A squadron of security guards on my family's payroll would have sufficed—though, admittedly, not as effective as a vampire.
But sufficient.
I didn't need her.
"Where are we?" I asked as the car finally slowed before a building in the heart of the city. A secluded high-rise accessible only through a security gate and a garage activated by a keypad.
"Somewhere safe," Lisa replied before exiting the vehicle. She circled to my end and offered her hand to help me stand.
Wary, I followed her into the building, observing everything as objectively as I could. "You certainly haven't changed," I blurted. "My house would have been just fine, you do realize?"
It was a lie.
"Your house looks like it should be condemned," Lisa replied, tugging me along.
I tried to regain my anger, but I was too busy gaping at our surroundings to remember to be insulted. Lisa had always had a flair for elegance, but this…
Black walls and marble flooring created a hushed world of darkness. Elevators lined in gold led to the upper floors. There was no lobby. No grinning receptionist. Just a silent trip up to the tenth floor, where we exited into a darkened hallway. At the end awaited a black door that opened the moment Lisa approached.
A woman stood behind it, her smile warm. "Good evening, Ma'am," she greeted while stepping aside, allowing Lisa and me to enter what appeared to be a private suite.
I glanced at her from the corner of my eye, hating how my stomach tightened with every detail observed. Blond hair formed a neat bun at the nape of her neck, displaying beautiful features subtly enhanced with makeup. Her modest black dress did little to disguise her curves. A strange sense of déjà vu warned that I knew her.
From where?
It was only when she gestured for my coat that I remembered. Katherine. That was her name. The woman whose contract she managed. She'd saved her from Somi and her henchman if I remembered correctly.
And now she was apparently at her personal beck and call.
"Thank you. That will be all, Kate," Lisa told her, sending her scurrying off across the spacious entryway.
Kate. The nickname echoed inside my skull. The same person refused to call me Jen, professing a hatred of "unprofessional" monikers. And yet, this woman was Kate.
"Nice to see you've had company." The statement slipped out, but I didn't know how I intended it to land. As an insult? A jab? Something innocent, I decided when Lisa trained her gaze on me. Merely a harmless question. "Last I remembered, you lived alone."
Whether out of an unwillingness to fight or simple disinterest, she gritted her teeth against a reply and stalked forward to throw open two double doors directly across from us.
Beyond them was a sight so unexpected that my mouth dropped open, all else forgotten.
A room formed the center of the suite, one almost entirely encased in glass, each massive window displaying a harrowing scene of the city. Multicolored swaths of skyscrapers bathed in nightfall created a fantastical landscape of neon and navy.
"Does this meet your expectations?" Lisa wondered, her tone as smug as ever.
Perhaps for good reason, considering I had to physically nudge my mouth closed with the tip of my finger.
"It's fine." As I spoke, I crossed the room, wandering as close to the glass as I dared. Awe turned out to be no match for pride, however. "It's beautiful…"
"There is no family crypt," she added. "But hopefully it will suffice."
Was that yet another joke?
"Luckily, my pre-chosen tombstone isn't going anywhere," I said. "Who knows, by the end of the month, I may be enjoying it the way my parents always intended." A smile shaped my mouth. "I should pick out my coffin tomorrow, I suppose. A nice, sensible, boring one fit for a spinster."
I was breaking my resolve to stay angry again. Perhaps hating her took too much effort? Still grinning, I looked over—but Lisa wasn't laughing. Instead, her eyes cut to mine, imparting a chill that made me shiver.
"We need to talk."
"Oh?" I returned my attention to the view and braced my fingers over the glass. "About what?"
Her scoff warned that she wasn't playing along this time—but anger I could stomach. Her low tone alarmed me far more. "I think you know what."
Did I? No, I decided, shaking my head. "I'm tired." I turned toward a random direction. "Is the bedroom this way?"
"Jennie."
Before I could take a step, her hand fell over my shoulder pinning me in place.
"I've played along until now," she admitted. "But I lack the energy to pretend anymore."
"Pretend?" I asked innocently.
"Yes, pretend—as though you don't know what really ails you. It isn't cancer."
A part of me felt relieved that I couldn't see her face from this angle—and that she couldn't see mine.
"My contract was one aspect requiring clarity, but now we need to discuss—"
"I don't want to talk about this now," I said. "Frankly, I'm not in the mood for more personal attacks on my character, either—"
"Can you blame me?" her strained tone turned cutting. "Put your pride aside for a second. This isn't a little game, or a fantasy, or a contract that you can confront by stripping naked and turning the tables. This is your life. For whatever reason, I'd rather not see you squander it in denial."
"As if you care." Because she didn't obviously. At least, not beyond some ulterior motives she had yet to reveal. Sighing, I tossed out potential answers, saving her the trouble. "Allow me to guess why. Raphael has put a bounty on my head? Or maybe your aim is more selfish than that? You get your precious years back as long as you—"
"I'm trying to talk to you reasonably. You decide to provoke." Her grip tightened, straining the fabric of my dress. I could feel the ridge of every finger and memories triggered. Sensations I didn't want to recall. Emotions I didn't need. All of them descended at once, constricting my chest in a vice. "Look at me." She spun me to face her. "You demanded an apology. Fine. You have one."
God, I trembled at what I saw in her gaze, lurking beneath the gray irises, so faint that it could have been a figment of my imagination. Hate?
Or something far worse. Guilt.
"But I won't humor you anymore. I refuse to let you mock me as well." Her tone deepened and I understood the true source of her irritation. I had the nerve to taunt the great and terrible contractor with two concepts that seemed to affect her more than any other. Life and death. "According to Dr. Martin, your condition is not fatal. And yet you still choose to refer to your mortality as casually as the weather? Fine. But first, face the fact that you may have a tumor. Or—"
"Stop." I had to clench my hands into fists to keep from slapping them over my ears as she snarled her next words.
"Or something far different. If I can acknowledge as much, why can't you? Say it."
"Fine. Something unnatural." I blinked, surprised as moisture slid down my cheeks. "So unnatural that you accused me of having loose morals rather than believe it. Is that what you want me to say? I would rather have a tumor—"
"I had every reason in the world to deny it," she pointed out. "Or at least deny that I had any part in it. Can you admit that?"
Maybe I could… If life and death weren't the very tools of her trade.
"So, why believe it now?"
She laughed, spitting out each chuckle through clenched teeth. "Perhaps because I've ceased being surprised by anything where you are concerned? And I don't want to fight with you, but I won't watch you lie to yourself, either."
More tears spilled from my eyes though I wasn't sure why. "Why not? Tormenting me is what you do best, after all."
"Stop trying to bait me into a fight." She reached out, tucking a stray curl behind my ear.
I went rigid—there was no gentleness in the act. She lingered as if daring me to recoil, so I dug my heels in just to ensure I didn't.
But then she remained, taunting me with seconds of contact. So, I gave in and tried to swat her fingers away. "I'm not the one who attacked your character—"
"You are now," she said.
"Oh really?" I laughed. "How?"
"By pretending like you don't see it." She stepped in closer, and I had to crane my neck to hold her gaze. "Forget the rest. You ask why I care? Don't you dare act as though you don't know—"
"What?" I demanded.
"Why I returned despite intending to spend at least a full damn decade abroad." She lowered her mouth to my ear. "What Jisoo knows. Somi. Raphael. They all see it. Mocked me for it. I even told you once, my intentions toward you, didn't I?"
That she had.
"I want you, Jennie Kim..."
Lies. I swallowed hard, resisting the memory. "Told me what? That you have a fetish for innocence? That I'm the one who toys with you? Who kisses you out of nowhere and leaves on a whim—"
"No." She withdrew, her eyes flashing. "That I have an irritating impulse to not watch you die. Even if you aggravate me every damn step of the way. Even if it's a goddamn struggle just to keep my sanity around you. It's like you want me to—" she broke off and let me go. "Fine. Run. Play the only role you seem willing to play."
"Wonderful." I turned on my heel, gritting my teeth. "But don't pretend like this is my fault. I didn't leave you. I didn't accuse you of—"
"Damn you." Her grip clamped down like a vise on my forearm, dragging me back. The second I winced, she released me only to shift her weight to physically block my path. "You enjoy this, don't you? Pushing me to the goddamn brink. The harder I try to keep my composure, the more you chip away at it. Is this what you want?" she fingered the neckline of my dress, seizing the fabric. "Fine. Perhaps I had every right to question your integrity? I'll offer you another ultimatum—drop the naïve act or we will both discover just how innocent you really are. You named a whole list of others you've supposedly been with—but how many were lies?"
My hand lashed out, colliding with her cheek. Thwack! She didn't even flinch—but I did as her thumb toyed with a delicate strip of lace.
"Let go," I whispered. My hand stung as if to warn me away from slapping her again. "Get off!"
"No." She wound the material more tightly around her finger, forcing me on tiptoe to keep it from ripping. "Admit it out loud, your true condition—"
"Or?" I rasped, hating how my voice broke.
She twisted the lace again. "Or I'll lose my patience."
"Stop!"
"Fair enough." Her expression blank, she tugged.
Fabric unraveled like wisps of smoke as my dress slipped from my shoulders. Before my eyes, Jisoo's creation fluttered in pieces to my feet. Even in shock, I knew she was the cause of the malfunction.
"What are you doing?" I rushed to cover my breasts with my hands, but Lisa didn't even give the appearance of shame.
Her gaze raked over me, lingering on the flesh my fingers struggled to shield. Disgust, I could stomach, even if it stung.
While a part of me may have cringed from it, my pride would remain intact.
But her lips parted instead, and my breathing hitched. Alarm bells sounded within my skull, warning me away as she angled her body toward me. Pinprick pupils made her eyes seem even brighter. Burning. Impossible to meet head-on.
It was a dangerous expression. One that triggered a million terrifying sensations I shied from acknowledging. Heat. Heaviness in my limbs that made it harder to stand.
And an ache in my chest that grew more painful by the second.
"Finally, you have the sense to be afraid. Or not." Her nostrils flared, and she scoffed. "I should have known. As always, this excites you more than anything else. You enjoy what you do to me."
Enjoyment? Was that the name for how my heart lurched in time with her callous laugh?
She took another step. I jolted back until my spine went rigid against the unyielding wall of glass behind me.
"Get away from me," I croaked.
She laughed again. Then she lunged, slamming her hands against the glass on either side of my head. In the same motion, her knee nudged my thighs, forcing them apart. Slowly. The fabric of her pants teased snatches of my skin, making me jump with every deliberate nudge.
"You put on a good enough act." She brushed her thumb along the trembling corner of my mouth, tracing my frown. "But your heart betrays you always. It rarely hammers in fear. Instead, your pulse dances with excitement."
My head spun as I desperately tried to regain clarity. Sanity. Anything. "Stop—"
"Then face what you really fear. Do you enjoy mocking me? Parading me through a crypt and spewing poetic notions of death? This truly is a game to you."
She swiped her hand over my belly and I cringed, resisting her touch. But then her fingers drifted lower. Lower, plunging between my legs.
And I forgot how to move. How to breathe. Paralyzed, I was a slave to her reaction.
A hiss caught between her teeth. "Damn you." Eyes glowing, she looked down at her fingers. "Of course you're wet already. Of course you crave this."
A deeper groan resonated in her chest as she flexed her wrist, caressing the part of me only she had ever claimed. I closed my eyes, my lips bitten and raw. Noises escaped my throat regardless.
She was ruthless, utilizing sinful, featherlight passes of her thumb. My head reared back against the frigid glass, a groan ripped from my lips.
"Look at me." Her forehead nudged mine until I met her gaze. Both eyes were wide. Unfocused. Less devil now, merely an angel fallen from her perch, hell-bent on dragging me down with her. "I'll destroy you before you destroy me. I will. So stop daring me to. Death is a fucking game to you, but life? That makes you run scared. So say it." Her mouth found my earlobe, grazing the tip in a silent plea. "Put a name to your tumor or forfeit your body if you're so determined to die anyway. Say it or you're mine."
"Why are you doing this?" My eyes were overflowing. All I could see were shadows—dark and light, swirling around us. "Stop."
"Then say it."
My lips parted. I croaked, "C-Cancer."
"Fair enough."
A zipper hummed, sounding miles away, and real panic descended.
"Let me go," I said breathlessly.
She didn't, placing her hands on my hips with a gentleness that contradicted the hate radiating off her in waves.
I should have been screaming. Clenching my legs together.
But when she flicked her thumb along my inner thigh, they spread for her with no resistance. It was as if my body rebelled against my brain, welcoming the pressure inching inside me with no restraint. Her hips slammed against mine and my spine arched, driving her deeper.
She stiffened as if waiting for me to shove her off. Scream. Fight. My mouth found the crook of her shoulder instead, stealing her scent in ragged gulps. She raged inside me, so rigid, forcing my numbed flesh to conform. Burn.
And it was an agony some sick part of me relished. Raw friction. Communication she couldn't fake or deceive through.
Her body stripped her bare and only like this were we ever matched.
Two desperate, pathetic souls.
Groaning, she rocked her hips and my breathing faltered. She was too deep. Too consuming. My nails dug into her shoulders, my face hidden against her skin—but she wrenched on my skull, forcing me to face her.
"Two months," she declared against my parted lips, her eyes heavy-lidded. "Weeks of torment. Being haunted by this." She growled in time with another slow, searing thrust. "Your skin. The feel of you. The sound of you…"
Lies. I fought the wave of pleasure, my eyelids fluttering—but then she jerked, slamming into me. Mind-numbing fire ripped down my spine, feeding on my blood like gasoline, and I went limp.
"I should have killed you the first time," she said. "It's what you wanted, wasn't it?"
The words she said didn't matter. Each gritted note in her voice set off a chain reaction. Nerves crackled. Short-circuited. I whimpered, grasping her tighter. My hips shifted, urging her deeper. Harder. More.
She hissed, rearing back. Then she lurched into me. "Restraint. You take it from me. Always. And you think you can hide from me? From this." Harder. Sharper thrusts made every fear and doubt dissolve into nothing. "But I own you, always. Body and soul."
Her thumb invaded between my legs, and I saw white with each stroke she delivered. Every muscle contracted, contorting me like a puppet on violent strings.
All the while, her thrusts quickened. Faster. Too fast.
My head fell back against my shoulders, my eyes on the ceiling as pleasure built.
"I've had centuries to prepare for you," she growled as I convulsed, mindless. "Years beyond your understanding. Do you think this means anything? No." She stiffened, grunting against the base of my throat. "You mean nothing."
Her arms caught me as my thoughts drifted. As if from far away, I could hear her talking still. To me? Or herself?
"I won't let you be the end of me. I won't…even if it means I have to ruin you first."