(Please note that everything Ethan shows Venecia are lies)
Venecia
The first thing she registered was the smell—faint traces of cedarwood, ink, and something metallic. The air was heavy, thick with the kind of silence that made her skin crawl. Her wrists ached. She tried to move, but cold metal bit into her skin. Handcuffs? Panic surged through her, heart hammering as her senses sharpened. Her vision was blurry at first, but as it cleared, she found herself in a dimly lit room.
The walls were old stone, damp with condensation. A single lamp flickered on a wooden table across from her, casting eerie shadows. And then—she saw him. Ethan. He was sitting in a chair beside the table, legs crossed, watching her with an expression that sent a chill down her spine. His dark eyes were unreadable, but the amusement curling at his lips was unmistakable.
"You're awake." Venecia's pulse spiked. She yanked at the restraints, her breathing shallow. No, no, no. This isn't happening. "What the fuck is this, Ethan?!" she spat, her voice hoarse. Ethan sighed dramatically, shaking his head. "Language, Ven. I expected a warmer welcome after all this effort."
"Let me go."
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes gleaming. "I can't do that. Not yet." Venecia's stomach twisted. She forced herself to stay calm, even as icy terror curled around her throat. "Romeo—" Ethan's expression darkened instantly. He stood, moving toward her with slow, deliberate steps. "Romeo?" His voice was eerily soft. "You still think about him? After everything he's done to you?" Venecia clenched her jaw. "He hasn't done anything to me."
Ethan tilted his head, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Hasn't he?" He let out a low chuckle. "Oh, Venecia... You poor thing. Always so blind to the truth." Venecia's skin prickled. "What truth?" Ethan exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face as if dealing with a stubborn child.
Then he turned toward the table and picked up a stack of photographs. She stiffened as he held one up for her to see. Her breath caught in her throat. It was a picture of her. Not just her—her, in past lives. Some images were in black and white, others distorted with age, but all of them shared one thing in common: Romeo was always there.
Sometimes he was holding her. Sometimes he was looking at her with a deep, almost desperate intensity. Sometimes—she was dead in his arms. Venecia's blood ran cold. "Do you see it now?" Ethan whispered, crouching beside her chair, his breath ghosting against her skin. "Every single time, he leads you to ruin. You always die for him, Ven. And he? He always fails to protect you." Her hands trembled against the restraints. "This—this doesn't prove anything." Ethan hummed. "I thought you'd say that."
He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small silver locket. He flicked it open, revealing a delicate painting inside—her face, intricately detailed, from centuries ago. "You wore this in 1742," he murmured. "Do you remember? No, of course you don't. But I do." Venecia's vision blurred. This isn't real. This isn't real. Ethan pressed his forehead against hers, his voice almost tender. "I've been there for you, in ways he never has. And I will never let you die for him again. This time, you're mine." She jerked away from him, her stomach twisting in revulsion. "You're insane."
Ethan smiled. "I prefer the term devoted."
Ethan
She was resisting—of course she was. But that was alright. He had time. One week. That's all he needed to remind her, to break the illusion that Romeo was her savior. Ethan moved to the other side of the room, where a mirror stood against the wall. He trailed his fingers over its surface, and the reflection shimmered before settling into an image—Venecia, standing in the ruins of an old chapel, blood staining her dress. Romeo lay at her feet, lifeless. Ethan's stomach twisted at the memory. That life had been one of the worst. "You loved me once," he murmured, turning back to her. "You just don't remember." Venecia glared at him, defiant despite her trembling. "I will never love you." Ethan only smiled. "We'll see."
With that, he snapped his fingers, and the room plunged into darkness.
Tomorrow, he'd start again.
The Next Day
Venecia woke to the sound of dripping water. A slow, rhythmic "plink, plink, plink" echoed through the dimly lit room. She was still in the chair, her wrists raw from the metal cuffs. Her body ached, exhaustion sinking into her bones. Her mind was a haze of fragmented memories—Romeo's touch, his warmth, the way he whispered her name like a prayer. But then there was Ethan, his voice weaving poison into her thoughts, his illusions forcing her to see things she did not want to believe.
A tray clattered onto the table. "Breakfast," Ethan said, his tone light, almost cheerful. Venecia barely glanced at the plate of toast and fruit. Instead, she fixed her glare on him. "Go to hell." Ethan chuckled, dragging a chair in front of her and sitting down. "Already been there, sweetheart. It was boring." She turned her face away. "Still stubborn, I see," he mused, tilting his head. "I was hoping a night alone would clear your thoughts." Venecia's throat was dry, but she forced the words out. "You drugged me." Ethan smiled. "Only a little. You needed rest." Her stomach twisted. "You're sick."
He sighed, picking up a strawberry and biting into it. "I think you misunderstand me, Ven. I don't want to hurt you. I just want you to see the truth."
Venecia glared at him. "Your truth is a lie." Ethan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Is it?" The room darkened slightly, shadows curling around the edges of the walls. The air grew thick, charged with magic. Ethan flicked his fingers, and suddenly, the mirror in the corner shimmered. Venecia's breath caught. The image was of Romeo—but not the way she knew him.
This version of him stood drenched in blood, his eyes pitch-black, his hands gripping a lifeless body—her body. Her heart pounded painfully. Ethan's voice was a whisper in her ear. "Every life, Ven. Every single one. You always end up like this." Venecia shut her eyes. It's not real. It's not real. Ethan touched her chin, forcing her to look. "Tell me, sweetheart. Do you really think Romeo loves you? Or is he just playing his part in this endless, cursed cycle?" She swallowed hard. "You're twisting things." Ethan sighed and stood. "I figured you'd need more convincing. So... let's play a game."
Venecia frowned. "What?" Ethan grinned. "Seven days. You'll stay here, and I'll show you the truth. If, by the end of the week, you still think Romeo is your salvation, I'll let you go." Venecia narrowed her eyes. "And if I don't?" Ethan's smile was slow, wicked. "Then you stay. With me." A chill ran down her spine. Ethan reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face. She recoiled. "I'll make you remember, Ven." His voice was a promise, dark and unyielding. "And when you do... you'll see. You were never meant to be his." The shadows in the room flickered, and for the first time—Venecia felt truly afraid.
Day One – The Game Begins
Venecia sat in silence, her wrists still bound, her pulse drumming in her ears. Ethan paced before her, radiating a smug confidence that made her stomach churn. "You think Romeo is your salvation, don't you?" he murmured, his voice silk-wrapped steel. "But tell me, Ven—has he ever saved you? Or has he only doomed you?" Venecia clenched her jaw. "You're wasting your time." Ethan hummed as if considering her words.
Then, with a flick of his wrist, the air rippled, and the room around them shifted. The stone walls melted into a warm, sunlit meadow. The scent of fresh earth and blooming flowers filled the air. A familiar laughter echoed through the space. Venecia stiffened. She turned—and there she was. A younger version of herself, sitting beneath a willow tree, her hands tangled in Romeo's dark hair as they lay in the grass, laughing, touching.
Their love was raw and new, untouched by curses or bloodshed. A memory. Venecia sucked in a sharp breath. No. No, this is a trick. "You were so happy then," Ethan murmured, standing beside her. His tone was almost... gentle. "So sure he was the one."
The scene flickered.
The bright meadow darkened, the sky bleeding into an ominous shade of gray. Venecia's younger self still sat beneath the tree—but now she was alone. Her hands were bloodstained, trembling. Her eyes, wild with grief, were locked onto the lifeless body sprawled before her. Romeo's body. Venecia sucked in a breath.
"No," she whispered. Ethan leaned in, his breath ghosting over her ear. "Do you remember what happened next?" The memory continued to play—Venecia screaming, sobbing, as hands wrenched her away. Guards dragging her from Romeo's corpse as she fought, begged— And then— Fire. Magic, dark and uncontrolled, exploding from her hands. The scene burned away like paper in flames. Venecia gasped, stumbling back. The cold, hard walls of her prison reappeared around her. Her hands shook.
"It wasn't real. It wasn't real", she murmured. Except... it was. She remembered. Not everything, but enough. Ethan tilted his head, watching her unravel. "That was your first death, Ven." His voice was almost pitying. "And not the last." Venecia swallowed hard, her heartbeat hammering against her ribs. "Why are you doing this?"
Ethan sighed, crouching in front of her. "Because you need to see, love." He reached out, cupping her cheek. She flinched, but he didn't let go. "Romeo is your downfall. Every time. You keep choosing him. And every time, it ends in ruin." Venecia forced herself to meet his gaze. "You're wrong."
Ethan smiled, slow and knowing. "We have six more days to find out."
The air thickened with a dangerous promise.
And Venecia knew—this was only the beginning.
Day Two – The Chains of the Past
Venecia barely slept. Her mind spun with fragments of Ethan's illusions, twisted memories laced with painful truths. She knew his game—break her, rewrite her past, make her believe that Romeo was the villain of her story. It won't work. But as the hours passed, her resolve wavered. The second day began with silence. No illusions. No taunts. Just the steady, suffocating weight of her captivity.
Then, Ethan entered. This time, he held something in his hands—a book. He tossed it onto the table before her. "Read." Venecia hesitated. "What is this?" Ethan leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "Your past. The parts you refuse to remember." Venecia's fingers trembled as she opened the worn cover. The first page sent ice down her spine.
"The Night of Betrayal". Her breath hitched. Scrawled across the pages were accounts—some written in her handwriting—describing how Romeo had betrayed her. It told a story of lies, of Romeo leading her to slaughter. How he had whispered words of love while secretly handing her over to their enemies. How he had chosen power over her life. "No," she whispered, flipping through the pages. "This isn't true." Ethan's voice was maddeningly calm. "Isn't it?" Venecia clenched her jaw. "Romeo died for me. He always—"
Ethan's laughter was sharp, cutting through her words. "And yet, here you are. Again." He gestured around her prison. "If he truly loved you, why does he always fail to save you?" Venecia refused to answer. Because deep down, a seed of doubt had been planted. Ethan smirked, sensing her hesitation. "You'll see soon enough, love. And when you do—" He stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "You'll realize I'm the only one who's ever truly understood you." Venecia slapped his hand away. "You're a liar." Ethan only chuckled. "We have five more days to prove that."
And with that, he left her alone—with her past as her only company.
Day Three
Venecia woke up to the scent of Romeo's cologne. For a brief, fragile moment, she thought she had been rescued. But when she opened her eyes—he was there. Romeo. His dark eyes held the same tenderness, the same warmth she had always known. He knelt beside her, brushing his fingers over her cheek. "Venecia," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm so sorry." Tears welled in her eyes.
"Romeo?" Her hands reached for him—only for him to vanish the moment she touched his skin. An illusion. A cruel, devastating illusion. Ethan's laughter echoed in the dimly lit room. "You still love him, don't you?" he mused, stepping out from the shadows. "Even after everything." Venecia clenched her fists. "Go to hell." Ethan sighed, circling her like a predator. "I just wanted to remind you... that the Romeo you love?"
His smirk deepened. "He never existed." The room shifted. Shadows bled from the walls, reforming into a different memory. A bloodstained battlefield. Venecia stood frozen as she watched herself from the past—bruised, battered, crawling towards Romeo.
"Please... don't leave me," her past self-begged. Romeo stood over her, face unreadable. "You were never meant to survive." Venecia's breath caught. "No". "You were just a piece of the game," the illusion-Romeo said, turning his back on her as the enemy closed in. "I had to choose power. And I'd do it again." Venecia's knees hit the floor.
This wasn't real. This wasn't real.
But it felt real.
And that's what Ethan wanted.
Day Four
Ethan no longer needed words. He let the illusions do the work. Each time Venecia closed her eyes, she relived different betrayals—some real, some twisted beyond recognition. She saw Romeo kissing another woman, whispering that she was nothing but a distraction.
She saw herself bleeding out on a battlefield, abandoned. She saw her past self-begging for his love, only to be met with cold indifference. And each time, Ethan would be there when she awoke—his hands warm, his voice soft. "I could take the pain away," he murmured, brushing his fingers over her wrists. "You just have to let him go." Venecia bit her lip until it bled. "Never." Ethan sighed, disappointed but patient. "We still have time."
Day Five
Venecia didn't know how long she had been locked away anymore. Her mind was fracturing.
She wanted to believe Romeo was coming for her. But with every passing hour, doubt festered inside her like a disease. Ethan sat beside her, handing her a glass of wine. She hadn't eaten in days. "You always saw him as a hero," he murmured. "But he was only ever a boy playing at love." Venecia's fingers tightened around the glass. "You don't belong to him." Ethan's voice was softer now, almost gentle. "You belong to yourself. And I can set you free from this curse—"if you let me." Venecia looked at him then. Really looked at him. He wasn't lying about that. If she chose Ethan—if she abandoned Romeo—the curse would break.
For the first time, she let the thought linger.
Day Six
Ethan didn't push. He simply waited. Venecia had stopped fighting. She wasn't speaking. She wasn't resisting when he sat beside her, when he touched her cheek, when he whispered old memories in her ear. "You used to love me," he reminded her. Once, that had been true. "Before Romeo," Ethan continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "We had a future."
Venecia closed her eyes. She didn't fight it when Ethan leaned closer, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to her throat. She didn't flinch when his lips traced her jaw. Maybe if she let him do this, if she gave him just a little—he would stop. Maybe he would let her go.
But when his hands reached her waist, she snapped.
Venecia shoved him back, eyes blazing. "You are not him!" Ethan stumbled, blinking in surprise. Then, he smiled.
"There she is."
Day Seven
Venecia was breaking. And Ethan knew it. "You'll see the truth soon," he murmured as he brushed a lock of hair from her face. Venecia met his gaze, exhausted but defiant. "Maybe," she whispered. "But it won't be the truth you want." Ethan smirked. "We'll see." Because tonight, he would make sure she broke.
Tonight, he would make her choose.
That Night...
The candlelight flickered, casting long shadows across the cold stone walls. Venecia sat in the center of the dimly lit room, wrists bound in delicate silver chains—not tight enough to hurt, but just enough to remind her of her captivity. Ethan sat across from her, watching.
Waiting.
He had played his game well. Seven days of slow, meticulous manipulation. Seven days of twisting memories, feeding her doubts, showing her what could be if she let Romeo go. Tonight, he would deliver the final blow. Venecia felt hollow. Exhausted. But deep inside, a spark of resistance still burned. Ethan reached forward, brushing a finger along her jawline. His touch was light, coaxing, a silent invitation. "You're so tired, aren't you?" he murmured. "Tired of fighting. Tired of hurting." Venecia didn't answer. "Let me take it away." His voice was honeyed poison, weaving through her weakened mind. "Let me be the one to heal you."
He leaned in, lips barely inches from hers. For a fleeting second, Venecia thought about giving in. "Wouldn't it be easier to surrender?" "To stop resisting?" Her body ached for rest, for warmth, for something that wasn't pain. And Ethan knew it. He tilted her chin up, his breath ghosting over her lips. "Say it," he whispered. "Say you're done with him. Say you want me instead." His lips touched hers—soft, coaxing, almost reverent. Venecia's body went still.
And then—something inside her shattered. Not from defeat. But from fury. She yanked against the chains, her wrists burning, her heart pounding like a war drum. "You think you can rewrite my memories?" Her voice was hoarse, but sharp as a blade. "You think you can make me forget him?" Ethan's smirk wavered. "Venecia—" "I will never belong to you."
The air around them cracked. A sudden force surged through the room, violent and untamed. The shadows twisted, recoiling from her as if burned. The silver chains snapped, clattering to the ground. Venecia stood, eyes blazing, power thrumming beneath her skin. And for the first time—Ethan looked afraid. "Big mistake," she whispered.
Then, the walls exploded.