The murmurs of adoration rose from the crowd like heavy, choking fog.

"Happy birthday to you, Queen Elara."

"You look so beautiful!"

"I love you so much!"

"Many more years, Elara!"

"You're my role model."

The words spilled from their mouths, thick with worship, like they could fill her with something she didn't feel—a need for love that ran way too shallow. Elara's eyes glazed over them, the hollow echoes of their praise bouncing off her, never quite hitting her soul. The fans, the flashing cameras, the worship—they meant nothing. Just voices in the wind, here one second, gone the next.

She walked through the crowd with that same easy grace that defined every step—floating above it all, like she always did. Don't look down, she thought. Don't acknowledge their desperation. The guards circled her like wolves, cutting through the crowd with ease. Their presence was a choking reminder that even the most loved had walls built around them.

Her security did their job well, every move protected, every space respected. But it was clear—their protection wasn't for her safety. It was for her image, her status.

Elara's gaze swept over the sea of people, no emotion in her eyes. She barely looked at them before turning sharp, stepping away from the chaos and into the hall.

Her co-models stood waiting at the entrance, but she didn't stop. Her eyes didn't even flicker their way as she brushed past them, leaving her manager to deal with them. Beneath me, all of them are beneath me, she thought with a bitter smile. Why waste her time when she could be somewhere else, far away from the mess of the ordinary?

As Elara walked, the familiar hum of her own thoughts drowned out the noise around her. She had no time for the irrelevant. She entered the shooting room and immediately, the atmosphere shifted. The air seemed to tighten, the weight of expectations pressing down on her like a thick velvet cloak. The director's voice cut through the silence, sharp, almost desperate relief at seeing her.

"Bravo, she's finally here," he said, his tone syrupy with fake cheer.

She barely acknowledged him, her gaze never wavering as she dropped into a nearby chair, smooth and unbothered. "I was busy with some things," she replied casually, her voice icy, no apology. She didn't owe them anything.

"Happy birthday, Lara," the director continued, handing her a carefully wrapped package, his voice faltering under the weight of her indifference.

A smile, the one she saved for public consumption, spread across her face. The mask was perfect. But there, standing across from her, was K. D. His eyes met hers. The briefest glance, yet it burned. A flicker of something beneath the surface, something she couldn't place.

And then, the moment shattered—he scoffed, turning away. How dare you? she thought, but her lips pressed tighter together, forcing her smile to stay.

He wasn't going to break her. Not today. Not ever.

"I only have an hour to spare here," K. D's voice interrupted her thoughts, sharp, dismissive, like his presence didn't demand hers. "Twenty minutes is already gone," he added coldly, turning toward the director. His words landed like ice in her chest. She watched him with narrowed eyes, her fingers curling into fists at her sides.

"Apologies, Kelvin," the director stammered, his face strained with politeness.

"Everyone, to the dressing room," Elara's manager called out, pushing everyone into motion, but Elara remained still, her mind already somewhere else.

---

As Elara left the shooting set, the weight of the earlier tension clung to her like a dark cloud, but she masked it well. The hollow cheer of the fans, the distance from K. D's icy rejection—I won't let it get to me. She was Elara. She had been on top for so long that nothing could touch her. Nothing but him.

Her manager, Julia, stepped beside her, a bottle of water in her hand. "How was today's shooting?" she asked, passing her the bottle.

"Not bad," Elara replied absently, her lips barely parting as she took the bottle. She unscrewed the cap and took a sip, the water cool against her throat but not soothing the burn in her chest. I'll show him, she thought, tightening her grip on the bottle. He won't ever forget me.

"You got so many gifts," Julia added, voice teasing but light.

Elara smirked, the ego-driven pride flaring in her chest like wildfire. "That's expected for an international model like me," she boasted, her tone dripping with superiority. Of course, they worshipped her. She was the peak of beauty and grace—the top of their dreams. She wasn't just a model. She was a goddess in their eyes.

A small shift in her peripheral vision caught her attention. K. D, walking away with his usual arrogant air. Don't you dare run from me, she thought, feeling the familiar fire stroke inside her. Her lips curled upward in a predatory smile.

"I'll be right back, Julia," she muttered, handing the bottle back to her manager before walking toward the door. The sound of her footsteps was the only thing that filled the silence.

She didn't look back, but Julia's muttered "Gosh, she's incredible" followed her, just faint enough to be drowned out by the rising drumbeat of Elara's pulse.

She reached the door to K. D's dressing room. Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached for the handle, her breath quickening with anticipation. What would she do once she was inside? He'll have no choice. Her thoughts were sharp, cutting through any lingering hesitation. He'll see what he's missing.

The door creaked open, and there he was. K. D stood before the mirror, shirtless, the lean muscles of his back flexing with each movement, his phone pressed to his ear, but his other hand... scrolled through something, a quiet defiance in the way he moved.

Her heartbeat quickened.

K. D's voice cut through her thoughts as he spoke to his manager, "Cancel everything on my list today," he muttered dismissively.

It was like he hadn't even noticed her, but Elara had no intention of being ignored. She crossed the room quickly, her hands reaching for him like she owned him.

Before she could get close, he hung up the phone and turned around abruptly. His eyes were cold—there was no warmth, no recognition. Just rage and disgust.

"What's this madness you're displaying?" he snapped, his voice thick with disdain. The sharpness of his tone sliced through her, but she refused to be cut.

She chuckled, stepping closer. "What do you mean madness?" she asked, her voice smooth, almost seductive. She couldn't help the boldness in her tone. You're mine, she told herself. You just don't know it yet.

She reached for him, but he grabbed her hand before it could touch him. The disgust in his eyes deepened, his grip tightening. "You're shameless," he said coldly, pushing her away with an easy violence that left her breathless, heart pounding.

"Killian, what's your problem?" she snapped, her voice trembling now with something far darker. "Are mine not beautiful enough? Why are you pretending like you don't know what I want?"

He sneered, shaking his head, the words flowing out of him like venom. "I've seen you've finally gone nuts," he said, his voice a low growl, disgust lacing his every word. "You've lost your mind, Elara. For the sake of the Lord, snap out of your stupidity, because I can never stoop so low as to have anything to do with you."

She reeled back, the sting of his words a brutal slap to her ego. He'll break. She refused to believe it. She had to make him see it her way.

"Why? Are you behaving like a saint, Kelvin?" Her voice was soft now, almost a whisper, as she back-hugged him again, her hands slipping under his arms. She could feel the tightness of his muscles, the way his body stiffened, how he refused to bend. Not this time, she thought, but a small, bitter part of her knew. This time, it might be different. But that didn't matter. She could make him see.

She could make him hers.

The moment K. D felt Elara's cold hand grasp his arm, a spark of frustration ignited inside him. His breath hitched, his jaw clenched, but he remained still, just barely managing to keep his emotions from overtaking him. His eyes, sharp and icy, cut through her like a blade. He looked at her with something colder than hatred—pity.

"Get out," he growled, his voice low and dangerous, pushing her away. His hands trembled slightly, a mix of fury and disbelief surging through him.

He couldn't stop the words from spilling out, raw and venomous. "I pity Jimin," he spat, the bitterness in his voice sharp as glass. "I pity him for stooping so low for a bitch like you." He wanted to reach out, grab her by the throat, and make her feel the weight of the pain she was causing, but he restrained himself, the tension in the room thick. He couldn't let her see him lose control.

"Despite everything he does for you," he continued, his voice tightening, "you still cheat on him. You still play him for a fool." His eyes bore into her, searching for any sign of remorse, but all he saw was that insufferable smirk. "Despite all your wrongdoings, he still cares for you. And you're doing this—treating him like trash—because you know he won't leave. You think you can get away with it, don't you?"

K. D could barely stop the disgust from seeping into his words. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the edge of the table. He imagined what Jimin must feel. The loyalty, the love. How could someone betray that?

Elara's laugh cut through the air, like nails on a chalkboard. Her voice, sugary sweet, dripped with disdain. "I agree with you," she purred, leaning in closer, her eyes sparkling with malice. "But Jimin? He's a draft." Her words stung, each one like a blade carving deeper into K. D's gut. "He calls it love. I call it stupidity."

A surge of rage flooded K. D's chest, hot and thick, the air around them becoming suffocating. His breathing quickened, heart pounding in his ears. How could she be so callous, so indifferent? He wanted to scream, to shatter her smug expression. But no, he wouldn't let her see him break. He wouldn't let her win.

"You and I both know," she continued, a malicious glint in her eye, "he won't find out. So, don't worry. You're just wasting your time, K. D." Her words dripped with the venom of someone who believed she was untouchable. She was playing with fire, and K. D could feel the heat crawling up his skin.

He wanted to rip her apart. To scream in her face that she was wrong, that Jimin deserved better than this. But instead, he stayed calm, his voice barely a whisper. "Get lost, Elara." His tone was like ice, biting and cruel, but she didn't listen.

Her fingers slid onto his arm, a touch that made his skin crawl. "K. D," she breathed, her lips barely an inch from his ear. "You're what I want. You've got everything. Not him. He's just some shabby excuse of a man, but you? You've got power. You've got control. It's you I want."

Her words dripped with desire, the rawness of her lust creeping under his skin. He recoiled inwardly, but his body betrayed him as his grip on her wrist tightened instinctively, cutting through the tension like a knife.

Her eyes flashed with surprise, but K. D didn't care. He squeezed harder, his fingers digging into her skin. "You don't know what you have until you lose it," he muttered through clenched teeth. His pulse throbbed in his temples as he watched her wince. "The only reason I'm not hurting you right now is because I care about Jimin." The words came out strangled, thick with unspoken anger, and every ounce of restraint he had left was on the verge of snapping.

He leaned closer, his voice like a whisper in the night, cold and threatening. "But next time, Elara?" His grip tightened, making her gasp. "Next time you try this nonsense again, I promise you, I'll snap your neck. I'll break your bones into pieces. And I'll enjoy every second of it. Mark my words."

He released her roughly, and she staggered backward, clutching her hand. The redness of her skin where he had held her was already blooming into angry, bruised marks. She glared at him, hatred burning in her eyes.

"I won't back down from you, Kelvin Diamond," she snapped, fury lacing through her voice.

K. D didn't even spare her another glance as she turned to leave. He heard the door click shut behind her, but it didn't bring the peace he so desperately sought. Instead, it left him feeling hollow, like a storm was still raging inside him.

His hand ran through his hair, his fingers trembling with the aftershock of his anger. "Shit," he muttered, sinking back against the wall. His chest felt tight, his breath shallow. Elara's words still echoed in his mind, and he hated the way they made him feel—helpless, trapped.

He closed his eyes, trying to calm himself, trying to put the pieces of his fractured mind back together. But the rage still simmered beneath the surface, barely contained.

"I thought I told you to get lost," Killian growled, his voice rough and dangerous. The door creaked open again. Someone was in his space. Again.

But then he heard that voice—familiar, cocky, way too calm.

"Whoa, chill K.D, it's me."

Holland.

Killian's jaw tightened but his body relaxed just enough to keep him from breaking something. Holland walked in like he owned the place, totally unbothered, his red eyes glowing—at least he wasn't another fake like Elara.

Killian dragged his hand down his face, fingers pressing into his jaw. The anger under his skin was old, wild. It clawed at his chest. Just thinking about Elara made him want to puke.

She didn't give a damn. Never fucking did. That stupid smirk. That goddamn smirk.

She had Jimin wrapped around her finger while he watched everything go to hell.

Holland put a coke in front of him like some kind of peace offering. "You're pissed off. Here, drink this."

K.D didn't think. He just grabbed it, unscrewed the cap and chugged it like it might put out the fire inside. But it didn't. Never did. The cold stuff went down his throat but the fire in his chest got worse.

His voice came out rough. "I don't get what Jimin sees in that bitch." Every word tasted like shit. "I really don't get it."

He threw the can before he knew what he was doing, the sound of it hitting the wall like a scream finally getting out.

Holland just laughed. "I'm guessing Elara's what set you off today."

Killian shot him a look that could kill. "You think this is funny?"

Holland shrugged like nothing mattered. "It's just your face, man. It's cracking me up."

Killian got even madder. "She needs someone to put her in her place. She'd never try that shit with you."

His hands curled into fists. "Jimin should've seen what she really is a long time ago. She doesn't deserve him. Never did."

Holland's voice changed a little. "They say love makes you blind, but Jimin? He's walking into fire with his eyes wide open."

K.D ground his teeth. Idiot. Stupid, loyal idiot.

"That's why I don't do that love crap," Holland said, his eyes looking far away. "Makes you feel like nothing."

Then it got quiet again. Heavy quiet.

But it didn't last.

A phone rang—loud and sharp. Holland looked at his screen.

"Jimin."

Killian's heart skipped. Of course.

Holland answered, putting it on speaker. Jimin's face showed up on the screen, all happy and clueless.

"Where are you?" Holland asked, sounding suspicious.

"Going to Elara's place," Jimin said, sounding excited.

Killian made a noise like he was choking.

"You're back already?" Holland asked. "Weren't you supposed to come tomorrow?"

Jimin smiled. "I couldn't miss her birthday. And... I'm gonna propose to her today."

Those words hit like a truck.

Killian didn't realize he'd moved until he grabbed the phone from Holland, breathing hard.

"Tell me you're kidding. Tell me you're not this stupid."

"K.D, why are you acting like this?"

"Jimin, are you deaf? Blind? Or just stupid?" Killian's voice was shaking now. "That girl is poisonous. She's manipulative, dangerous—and she doesn't deserve any part of you."

Jimin blinked, looking confused. "Killian, you look like hell. What's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong?" His voice cracked. "You are! You're the problem! You're about to give your heart to a girl who ripped it apart once—and you're thanking her for it!"

"People change, K.D," Jimin said quietly. "Elara's changed."

No. She hasn't.

You just want to believe she has so you don't have to face reality.

"That was all a mistake, everything that happened before—she's sorry. You should give her a chance."

Silence.

Because Killian had already thrown the phone across the room.

Again.

"You broke my phone," Holland said flatly.

Killian turned on him, furious. "Your phone doesn't matter when he's about to marry that snake."

Holland sighed, looking tired. "What do you want me to do, K.D? You know Jimin doesn't listen. He's in love, and love blinds people. Makes them see angels in demons."

Killian ran both hands through his hair, pulling hard. "This is making me crazy."

---

Vala's Mansion

Queenie walked into the room, her heart pounding. The cold air of the mansion wrapped around her, choking but familiar. She'd finished her chores—barely—with Allison's help, but she was still late.

Goerigna sat in her usual spot, barely looking up from her phone. Her voice cut through the quiet, harsh and cold.

"You're late again," Goerigna said as she poured water over the leftover food, making it look even more gross. "Go ahead and starve. Maybe that'll teach you."

Queenie bit her lip, tasting shame.

"Auntie, you called for me," she whispered.

Goerigna didn't look up, scrolling on her phone. "Where's your monthly pay?" she asked, her voice flat but sharp.

Queenie swallowed, looking at the floor. She couldn't look at her aunt—not now, not ever.

"I... I don't have any money," she said, her words feeling empty.

Goerigna's eyes finally looked up, disbelief flickering. She narrowed her eyes, lips curling. "What's that supposed to mean? Are you trying to scam me?"

"Auntie, I really mean it," Queenie begged, her voice barely there. "After you stopped me from working, I haven't made any money."

Goerigna snapped. She stood up fast, her chair scraping loud against the floor. She stepped closer to Queenie, towering over her like a storm about to hit.

"Enough." Her voice was cold, final. "You've got till tomorrow. Bring me the money, or I'll kick you out. Got it?"

Queenie's breath caught. She dropped to her knees, hands shaking as she clutched the floor, crying.

"Auntie, please, I swear, I don't have it. Just... just give me more time," she sobbed.

Goerigna slapped her across the face hard. The sting went through her whole body, but it wasn't the pain that broke her. It was cold , nothing in Goerigna's eyes.

"Do you understand me, Queenie? I want that money tomorrow."

Queenie nodded fast, heart racing. She didn't dare look up, but Goerigna's cold fingers on her chin made her feel trapped.

Goerigna let go with a sharp push, turning away like the conversation never mattered.

"Here." She picked up some crumpled bills from the bed, throwing them at Queenie. "Go buy groceries and clean the house. I don't want to come back to an empty house. Got it?"

"Alright," Queenie whispered.

"Get lost," Goerigna snapped.

Queenie scrambled up, her aunt's words cutting deeper. She rushed out, tears falling as she went downstairs, the unfairness crushing her chest.

"Hey, you."

Queenie froze at Catalina's voice. She wiped her face fast, trying to hide the tears, but it was pointless. Catalina's cold eyes met hers.

"I want you to wash my clothes," Catalina ordered, voice icy. "I left them in my room. It needs to be done today."

"Okay, I'll use the washing machine," Queenie replied, voice still shaking.

But Catalina wasn't having it. She grabbed Queenie by the hair and yanked her back, making her wince.

"I want you to wash them by hand, and it better be done today. No excuses."

Queenie's heart sank. "But Auntie—"

"I don't care about your excuses, you useless thing." Catalina's grip tightened as she shoved Queenie back, making her stumble and fall. "Get to work."

The words stung, and Queenie lay there for a moment, too broken to get up. More tears came as she stared at the floor, emptiness spreading through her chest.

Why is my life so pathetic? she thought, her heart breaking. Why does it always have to be me?

---

Outside

Queenie walked without really seeing, her thoughts drowning out everything. The world seemed far away, like she was walking through fog. Her body moved on its own, her mind lost in despair.

Without realizing it, she stepped onto the road, her mind consumed with hopelessness.

A car screeched to a stop just inches from her. The world blurred as her heart jumped into her throat, the fear of death overwhelming her. She barely registered the near hit before she fell to the ground, her bags scattered on the pavement.

A man got out of the car, rushing toward her looking worried.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry," he said, voice full of panic.

"It's fine," Queenie said shakily, pushing herself up. "I wasn't paying attention. It's my fault."

"No, it's mine," the man insisted, reaching down to get her bags. "I should have been more careful."

Queenie looked up at him, surprised by how handsome he was. His eyes were kind, filled with something real that made her heart skip.

"Are you hurt anywhere?" he asked, voice soft and concerned.

"No, I'm fine. Thanks for checking," she replied, voice distant but grateful.

"Come on," he said gently. "Let me drop you off. It's the least I can do."

Queenie hesitated, everything in her screaming to refuse. But something in his eyes softened her walls, and she gave in.

"Alright," she said, following him to the car.

---

Jimin stood frozen in the doorway, the scene in front of him suffocating him. Elara, with a guy—another betrayal.

They were making out in the bedroom.

His heart broke as he saw her scrambling to cover herself with a duvet. The room felt smaller, the air thicker.

"Babe," Elara's voice broke the silence, fragile and frantic. She rushed toward him, desperate. "Babe, this isn't what you think. Please, I can explain…"

Jimin stepped back, his whole body shaking with anger and heartbreak. He wanted to scream at her, accuse her of everything, but the words wouldn't come. He just stood there, staring at her, 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 toy?"

Elara's eyes widened, panic flickering. She reached for him, her hand shaking like it might fix everything. But Jimin pulled back, his hands balling into fists.

"It's not like that," she whispered, voice cracking. "I didn't—"

"No!" Jimin snapped, voice sharp. "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 an idiot, standing there, hoping for something that would never come. The pain was choking him, and the bitterness was a taste he couldn't spit out.

"It's over," Jimin said, 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, 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, shaking, like his words had hit 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, 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 shaking fingers reached for it, the screen lighting up with an unknown number.

A message.

"You don't know the truth… but you will soon."

Her breath caught. The words sent a chill down her spine. What did that mean? Who was this? Her thoughts scrambled, heart pounding.

JIMIN'S MANSION – NIGHT

The house was dead quiet.

Too fucking perfect.

Every marble surface gleamed like it was mocking him. Every piece of furniture sat exactly where it should, screaming that nobody actually lived here. You'd never know a relationship just exploded in this place—no broken glass, no tissues, nothing.

But the air felt wrong. Heavy. Like when you know someone's watching you but can't see them. It wasn't peaceful and quiet. It was the kind that makes your skin itch.

Holland kicked the front door open—BANG. His boots echoed through the hallway like gunshots. K.D was right behind him, breathing hard, but not from running. From dreading whatever mess they were about to walk into.

They expected destruction. Crying. Something that made sense.

Instead they found Jimin.

He was sprawled on his velvet couch like he didn't have a care in the world. Just scrolling through his phone, calm as you please. Like the woman he supposedly loved hadn't just walked out forever.

That damn smirk was still there. The one that made Holland want to deck him.

"You good?" Holland's voice came out rougher than he meant.

Jimin didn't even look up. "Peachy."

"Peachy?" K.D couldn't believe it. "You're not even gonna pretend to be upset?"

Jimin finally lifted his eyes. They were cold—the kind of cold that hits you in the gut.

"Why waste time crying over something I chose?"

Holland stepped closer, heart pounding. "You broke up with her?"

"I was going to. She just got there first."

The words hit like ice water. K.D felt sick.

"You planned it?" K.D was still trying to wrap his head around it. "So everything—the past months—that was all fake?"

Jimin's face didn't change. "Distraction. Strategy. I was bored."

Holland wanted to grab him and shake him. "That's fucked up."

"Better than being stupid," Jimin shot back.

K.D studied him for a long moment. Something wasn't right. There was something underneath all that cold—maybe pain, maybe something worse. "But you loved her once, didn't you?"

The question hung there. For the first time, Jimin hesitated. Just for a second—a tiny crack in the armor.

"Loving her was the stupidest thing I ever did," Jimin said quietly.

There it was. The mask slipped just enough. Holland saw it—the hurt, the raw edges of something that got shattered.

"She made me feel small," Jimin continued, voice getting softer. "Like nothing I did was ever enough. Like I had to beg for scraps. I swore I'd never be that guy again."

K.D felt that punch to the gut. For a split second, he saw Jimin differently—not as the ice-cold bastard, but as someone who got crushed and went numb afterward.

Jimin's hands clenched into fists, knuckles white.

"I looked in the mirror and didn't know who I was anymore. That's when I knew it was over."

Nobody said anything. What could they say?

Jimin breathed out slowly, that cold mask sliding back into place.

"And now?" K.D asked.

Jimin's smile turned cruel. "Now I have become the villain. The one she always worried I'd turn into."

Holland blinked, trying to process that.

"I'm entering the Saga beauty awards. Not just entering—I'm gonna destroy the competition. Make sure she sees what she threw away every damn day."

Something about the way he said it made K.D's stomach twist.

"You're dangerous when you get like this," K.D muttered.

Jimin's eyes went ice-cold. "No. I'm dangerous when I care. Now? I feel nothing. And that makes me unstoppable."

---

EARLIER THAT MORNING — VALE MANSION, TEA ROOM

Sunlight came through the stained glass like it was mocking everything wrong with this place. The Vale mansion was too quiet. Wrong kind of quiet.

Catalina sat at the fancy table, sipping tea like she was some kind of queen. Silk robe, smug smile—the whole act. In her head she was thinking, I'll make sure Queenie leaves. I'll make her life hell.

Goerigna sat next to her, half-reading the society pages. The maids moved around like ghosts.

Catalina took another sip—

Then froze.

Her eyes went wide. Her hand started shaking.

"Catalina?" Goerigna looked up.

The cup fell. Porcelain exploded across the floor. Catalina grabbed her throat, gasping.

"Something's—wrong..."

Then she started puking blood. Dark, ugly red splattered everywhere. The sound was awful—like an animal dying.

Everyone started screaming. A maid dropped her tray. Goerigna caught Catalina as she collapsed, convulsing.

"Someone call 911. Georgina shouted

TWO HOURS LATER — HOSPITAL WAITING ROOM

The antiseptic smell couldn't hide the fear. The lights are too bright, everything is too cold. Goerigna paced like a caged animal, her robe stained with panic and her daughter's blood. Allison stood there looking lost.

A doctor finally came out. "We stabilized her. She ingested something toxic—definitely poison. If you'd brought her in a minute later, she might not have made it."

Goerigna's breath caught. Her face twisted into something ugly.

"Who would do this to my daughter?"

Then, quietly:

"I saw something."

It was Sage, the youngest maid. Pale and shaking, wringing her hands.

"Last night... I saw Queenie in the pantry. She had this little bottle and said she was making a 'special brew.' I thought it was just some herbal thing..."

Goerigna turned toward her, eyes blazing.

"Bring her to me."

LATER — QUEENIE'S ROOM

Queenie sat cross-legged on her bed, barefoot, putting her hair up in a messy bun. Had no idea hell was about to break loose.

She didn't hear the storm until it was already in the room.

The door exploded open.

"You tried to murder my daughter."

Goerigna's voice wasn't loud—it was a weapon.

Queenie froze.

Blinked. Once. Twice. "What?"

Her brain felt like molasses. She couldn't breathe.

Murder? What the hell? She looked up at Georgina, trying to piece it together like a broken puzzle.

"What did you put in the tea?"

"I swear—I have no idea what you're talking about, Auntie."

"We have a witness. And we have a victim. Where is it? The poison?"

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

She couldn't breathe. Heart pounding. Ears ringing.

This isn't real. This can't be happening.

"You wanted her gone."

"That's a lie!" Queenie's voice cracked.

"Search everything," Goerigna ordered.

The maids moved in like vultures. Drawers yanked open. Clothes thrown around. Pages ripped from books.

Then—

"Here it is!"

A maid pulled a small amber bottle from under Queenie's pillow.

"No... no, that's not mine!" Queenie's voice broke completely. "Someone put that there! This is crazy!"

But their faces had already changed. Judging. Disgusted. Scared.

SLAP.

Queenie's face snapped sideways, stinging from Goerigna's hand.

"You'll be lucky if I don't have you arrested right now. You filthy little snake."

"I didn't do it! I swear! I barely even talk to Catalina—"

"You hated her. Admit it."

"I'm being set up!"

Everything was falling apart. Her vision blurred. Hands shaking.

Then—

"All of you, STOP!"

Allison shoved between them like a shield. "You're acting like a damn mob!"

"She tried to kill your sister!"

"You don't know that! You just want someone to blame!"

Goerigna pointed. "That's proof enough."

"No, it's a setup."

"She's leaving. She walks out and never comes back."

"Auntie, please..." Queenie dropped to her knees, sobbing. "Please don't do this. I have nowhere to go."

"Don't touch me. Your apology means nothing."

"Mother, maybe we should look into this more?" Allison tried.

"The evidence is right there! This witch tried to kill your sister!"

"Auntie... Catalina is my sister too. Why would I hurt her?"

"Why should I believe you? I always knew you were trouble—but I never thought you'd be this heartless."

"I'm calling the cops."

"No!" Queenie's voice tore through the room. "Please, Auntie, please—"

"Mother, don't call the police. Please," Allison begged.

"Fine. Then she brings me the hospital bill by tomorrow. Or I will have her arrested."

"Auntie... I don't have any money."

"I don't care. Get out. And you leave without taking a single thing from here. Not a shirt. Not a pin."

"And Allison—you help her, and I'll have you arrested for helping a criminal."

She stormed off.

Queenie collapsed. Her lungs burned. Her mind screamed.

She looked at Allison. Her only thread left.

"I believe you," Allison whispered. Her voice shook with everything she couldn't do. "I'm sorry. I just... I can't help you right now."

"It's fine," Queenie whispered, even though it wasn't. Even though it never would be.

She stood up. One foot in front of the other. Broken.

"I'll see you later."

Allison wiped away a tear. "Take care of yourself."

Queenie nodded.

She stepped into the cold morning light.

The door slammed behind her.

She didn't look back.

Because looking back meant breaking.

And she had no pieces left to lose.

But something new flickered in her chest.

Not fear.

Not sadness.

Revenge.