Chapter 3: Red-Stained Hands
It had been three days since Hilary moved into Kai's mansion. She hadn't seen much of him. He was always "in a meeting," or "handling business." The only time they'd spoken was when he gave her strict rules, or warnings disguised as care.
She had tried exploring the house, but most doors were locked. Guards watched her every move. She was a guest in name, a prisoner in reality.
One night, as thunder roared outside and lightning split the sky, she heard the front door slam open.
Footsteps. Wet, heavy.
She peeked from the hallway, only to see Kai dragging something—no, someone—across the marble floor.
It was a man.
Hilary gasped, hand flying to her mouth. The man was beaten, bloodied, barely conscious.
"Kai!" she screamed, rushing forward. "What are you doing?!"
Kai turned his head slowly, his white shirt soaked in crimson. His eyes—those piercing crimson eyes—were darker than ever. Not angry.
Dead.
"Go back upstairs, Hilary."
"No! Who is he?! Why—"
Kai didn't raise his voice. He didn't shout.
But the look he gave her chilled her to the core. "He touched what's mine."
Hilary stepped back, her voice trembling. "You killed him…?"
Kai stared down at the lifeless body. "Not yet. But I will."
He dragged the man away, disappearing into a locked room. Minutes later, the only sound left was the rain outside.
And the soft hum of classical music.
Hilary curled up in the corner of her room that night, unable to sleep.
The man she had married was a monster.
And now, there was no escape.