Scarlett stood in front of her bathroom mirror, putting the final touches on her makeup. Just light foundation, a touch of mascara, lip tint—the simple routine she'd followed every morning before her life had been turned upside down.
Normal. She was trying to be normal again.
She reached up to tie her hair into a ponytail, tilting her head to get the angle right, when she saw it.
A mark.
Faint, barely visible against her skin, but definitely there. Just below her ear, on the curve where her neck met her jaw. Two small indentations, like...
Like fang marks.
Scarlett leaned closer to the mirror, fingers tracing the marks with confusion. They didn't hurt. Weren't raised or inflamed. Just two tiny scars that looked almost deliberate in their placement. Symmetrical. Precise.had she gotten these? She didn't remember being bitten. Didn't remember—
Wait.
That night. When Sylus had kissed her neck, marking her with hickeys that had faded within days. Had he... had he actually bitten her? But why couldn't she remember? And what kind of creature left marks like fangs?.
Dragons, probably. If they even existed outside of crime lord nicknames and metaphors.
Scarlett shook her head, pushing the thought away. It didn't matter. She was free now.
Whatever marks he'd left on her—physical or otherwise—would fade eventually.
They had to.
She finished tying her hair and grabbed her bag. First day back at university. Time to reclaim her life.
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The walk to campus was familiar and strange at the same time. Same streets, same shops, same route she'd taken a thousand times before. But now she noticed Sylus's men following at a careful distance.
Noticed how other pedestrians gave her a wide berth once they recognized her.
The wife of the dragon lord. The woman no one dared approach.
Scarlett stopped at her usual stall for breakfast. The vendor's hands shook slightly as he prepared her bubble tea—jasmine milk tea, thirty percent sugar, light ice—and steaming bun. He wouldn't meet her eyes. Barely spoke except to tell her the total.
She paid and thanked him, trying to sound normal and friendly. He just nodded quickly and turned to the next customer with visible relief.
It was the same everywhere on campus.Friends she'd known for years suddenly found reasons to walk the other direction when they saw her. In class, no one sat near her—the desks on either side remained conspicuously empty, like she had an invisible force field. Even her professor seemed nervous, his voice catching slightly when he called on her to answer a question.
They were all afraid.
Not of her. Of what she represented. Of the dragon who'd claimed her, who everyone knew had killed to keep her, who ruled the N109 zone with brutal efficiency.
One wrong word, one accidental slight, and they might end up as a cautionary tale.
Scarlett sat alone at lunch, just like before. Her bubble tea and textbook her only companions. Watching other students laugh and chat in groups, living their normal lives while she existed in this strange limbo.
Free but still isolated. Still marked by her association with him.
Her smile was bittersweet. She'd wanted her normal life back so desperately. Had tried to die for it. And now she had it—sort of. She could go to classes, live in her own house, make her own choices.
But she'd never really be free of him, would she? Not as long as everyone associated her with the dragon lord. Not as long as his men followed her everywhere. Not as long as she carried his marks on her skin.
Then another thought struck her, sudden and urgent.
Her parents.
In all the chaos of the past months—the forced marriage, the escape attempts, the suicide attempt, the recovery—she'd barely thought about them.
The people who'd raised her, who'd sold her to pay their debts. She'd been so angry, so focused on escaping Sylus, that she hadn't checked on them.
Were they okay? Had Sylus hurt them as punishment for her escape attempts? He'd threatened to, over and over. Had he followed through?
Scarlett needed to know.
She gathered her things and left campus early, ignoring the stares. Caught a bus to her old neighborhood—the bodyguards followed in their car, but she'd gotten used to that by now. Stared out the window at familiar streets, feeling her heart beat faster with each block.
Please be okay. Please just be okay.
The bus let her off two blocks from her old apartment building. Scarlett walked quickly, bag clutched against her chest, anxiety building with every step.
She turned the corner onto her old street and froze.
Police tape.
Yellow and black, stretched across the entrance to her building. Police cars parked haphazardly. Officers milling about, taking notes, photographing something.
No.
Scarlett's feet moved without conscious thought, carrying her closer. Past the police tape—no one stopped her, too busy with their work. Up the stairs she'd climbed a thousand times.
To the apartment that had been her home for sixteen years.
The door was broken. Hanging off its hinges. And beyond it...
Blood.
So much blood.
It splashed across the walls like grotesque watercolor. Pooled on the floor in dark, congealed puddles. Spattered on the ceiling in arterial spray patterns that spoke of violence, of struggle, of death.
The furniture was overturned. Bullet holes pocked the walls. Shell casings littered the floor like brass confetti.
This wasn't just a murder scene.
This was a massacre.
"Miss, you can't be here—" A police officer appeared beside her, hand outstretched to guide her away.
"This is my home," Scarlett whispered. Her voice sounded distant to her own ears. Disconnected. "My parents. Where are my parents?"
The officer's expression shifted to pity. "Are you family? I'm sorry, but there was an incident. Your parents—they attacked officers during a raid. We didn't have a choice. It was self-defense—"
The rest of his words faded to white noise.
Dead. Her parents were dead.Killed by police. Or killed by Sylus and made to look like police work. What did it matter? They were gone either way.
Because of her. Because she'd tried to run. Because Sylus had warned her, again and again, what would happen if she disobeyed.
Every time you attempt to leave, your parents will pay the price.
She'd tried anyway. And now they were dead.
Scarlett felt something break inside her. Something that had been barely holding together finally shattered completely.
"No," she whispered. Then louder: "No, no, no—"
Her legs gave out. She would have collapsed if strong hands hadn't caught her. One of Sylus's men—Lin, she realized distantly. He must have followed her inside when he saw where she was going.
Mrs.Qin," he said quietly. "We should leave. This isn't—you shouldn't see this."
"He killed them." The words came out flat. Dead. "Sylus killed them. Because I tried to run. Because I wouldn't stop fighting. He killed them."
Lin's grip on her arms tightened slightly. She saw something flicker across his face. Not quite guilt. Not quite...
"Mrs. Qin, your parents—they weren't—" He stopped, seeming to struggle with something. "You should talk to the boss. Let him explain."
"Explain?" Scarlett let out a laugh that sounded more like a sob. "What's there to explain? He threatened to hurt them if I disobeyed. I disobeyed. And now they're dead." Tears streamed down her face. "He's a monster. I knew he was a monster, but I didn't think—I didn't think he'd actually—"
She couldn't finish. Couldn't breathe past the crushing weight on her chest.
Her parents. Despite everything—despite them selling her, despite their gambling and their debts and their failures—they'd raised her. Fed her. Given her a roof over her head.
They were the only family she'd ever known.
And now they were gone.
Because of him.
Because of her.
Because of this twisted situation she'd been forced into.
"Please," Lin said gently. "Let me take you home. You're in shock. You need to rest."
Home. What home? The small house Sylus had bought her? That was just another cage. Another pretty prison with his fingerprints all over it.
But she let Lin guide her away anyway. Let him help her into the car. Sat numbly as they drove through the city, back to the house she'd been so happy to have just this morning.
It feels like years ago. Like happiness was something that had happened to a different person in a different lifetime.
The other bodyguards exchanged worried looks. Should they tell her the truth? That her parents had been arrested for human trafficking. That they'd tried to attack the officers during the raid. That the shooting had been legitimate self-defense, nothing to do with their boss.
Should they tell her that the people she was crying for had been planning to sell her again—had been contacted by one of Sylus's enemies offering money for information about her location, her schedule, her weaknesses.
Should they tell her that Sylus had only been trying to protect her when he'd had them investigated? That he'd turned the evidence over to the police instead of handling it himself, trying to do things the right way for once.
They looked at each other silently. Then at Scarlett, crying in the back seat like her world had ended.
She wouldn't believe them. Not now. Not when she was convinced their boss was a monster who'd killed her parents out of spite.
And maybe... maybe it was better if she believed that. Maybe hating him cleanly was easier than learning the complicated truth.
Lin drove in silence and said nothing.
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Scarlett stumbled into her house and went straight to her bedroom. Locked the door. Collapsed on the bed and let herself break completely.
She'd been so happy this morning. So hopeful. Free at last, starting her life over, believing maybe things could be okay.
And now this.
Her parents were dead. Murdered in their own home, in the apartment where she'd grown up, surrounded by blood and violence and the consequences of her actions.
If she'd just accepted her fate. If she'd just stayed with Sylus without fighting. If she'd been the obedient wife he wanted instead of running and rebelling and trying to die...
They'd still be alive.
It was her fault. All of it was her fault.
Scarlett cried until she had no tears left. Until her throat was raw and her eyes burned and her head pounded. Cried until exhaustion dragged her under into a fitful sleep filled with nightmares of blood and police tape and her mother's screams.
When she woke hours later, it was dark outside. Her phone showed dozens of missed calls from numbers she didn't recognize. Probably Lin or the other bodyguards, checking on her.
And one text. From a number she recognized even though she'd never saved it.
I'm sorry for your loss. If you need anything—anything at all—you know how to reach me.
Scarlett stared at the message for a long moment.
Then she typed back with shaking fingers:
Did you kill them?
The response came almost immediately:
No.
Just that. No explanation. No justification. Just a simple denial.
She didn't believe him.
Couldn't believe him.
Because believing him meant this was somehow worse—that her parents had died for reasons that had nothing to do with her, that their deaths were meaningless instead of her fault, that she'd been crying for people who maybe didn't deserve her tears.
Scarlett turned off her phone and threw it across the room.
She was free. She was alive. She had her own house and her freedom and the life she'd fought so desperately for.
And it all tasted like ash and blood and bitter, bitter regret.
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To be continued.