The chase was relentless.
He ran. His breath came in ragged gasps, his heart slamming against his ribs. His legs burned as he climbed the stairs, each step an echo of his desperation. Fifth floor. He didn't stop. He couldn't.
But she wouldn't stop either.
She was behind him—silent, composed, watching him with those unreadable eyes. Her presence was suffocating, her footsteps too light, too calculated.
Bursting into an empty classroom, he slammed the door shut, locking it. He pressed his back against the wall, his chest heaving. Silence.
Was she gone?
His fingers trembled as he wiped the sweat from his forehead. He took a step forward, peeking from behind the teacher's desk. Nothing. The door was still locked, untouched. The air was still.
His muscles loosened. He let out a shaky breath.
And then—
"Looking for me?"
His body froze.
Slowly, he turned his head.
She was sitting next to him.
Casual. Relaxed. As if she had always been there.
His breath hitched. His mind screamed at him to move, but his body refused to listen.
Then, the smirk.
That haunting, knowing smirk spread across her lips.
Run.
He didn't think. He just bolted.
He rushed to the door, his fingers fumbling for the lock—but it wouldn't budge. His pulse spiked. He turned back, and there she was—standing in the middle of the room, dangling a set of keys between her fingers.
"Looking for these?"
His blood turned to ice.
And then—the knife.
She unsheathed it effortlessly, the blade glinting under the dim light. Slowly, she stepped forward.
He stumbled backward, breath shallow, vision spinning. His back hit the door, his fingers clawing at the handle. No way out.
The blade hovered near his throat.
Sirens.
Her head snapped toward the window.
A pause. A flicker of hesitation.
She turned to him one last time, her dark eyes holding a silent promise. And then—
She jumped.
His breath caught in his throat as he lunged toward the window. Five stories down. No one could survive that.
The door burst open behind him. Officers stormed in, guns raised.
And then—darkness.
Water. Cold and unforgiving.
Droplets kissed his face, dragging him back to consciousness. His eyelids fluttered open. A dim light flickered above. The scent of iron lingered in the air.
Custody.
He was in a police station.
A gruff voice cut through the haze. "What happened there?"
His head throbbed. He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again. The officer's gaze was sharp, waiting.
He parted his lips, but only one sentence escaped—
"I don't remember."
A smirk played on his lips as he walked out of the station. Behind him, officers whispered in hushed voices. He ignored them.
His mind was elsewhere.
On her.
Somewhere, far away…
A storm raged through a lonely forest, lightning slicing through the night.
The heavy doors of a secluded villa creaked open. A masked girl stepped inside. The wind howled, slamming the doors shut behind her.
The knife clattered from her fingers.
The rain had washed away most of the blood, but fresh droplets still oozed from her soaked clothes. Slowly, she approached an old wooden table, her gaze landing on a photo frame.
A family. Four faces. Frozen in time.
A man. A woman. A boy. A girl.
Her fingers traced the glass, lingering over the faces. A deep exhale. Then, she placed it back.
She didn't hesitate as she walked into the bathroom, twisting the tap of the bathtub. The sound of running water filled the space. She poured herself a glass of red wine, stepped in with her boots still on, and submerged herself completely.
The warm water mixed with the remnants of blood, turning it into a pool of crimson.
And then—memories.
A grand ballroom. Firearms shot into the air. A celebration.
"Please welcome the King of Kings, Mr. Ralph Lorenzo Marchese—our new Mafia King!"
Applause. Cheers. Clinking glasses.
Then—rain.
A funeral.
A little girl and a boy, standing in black, their eyes void of light. The world around them mourning the loss of—
1. The Mafia King, Ralph Lorenzo Marchese.
2. The Mafia Queen, Evelina Rosette Marchese.
Gone.
Murdered.
Years Later.
Two orphaned siblings, wandering the streets.
A convenience store. Hunger clawing at their bellies.
The boy stepped inside. The girl waited outside.
Then came the monsters.
Three boys. Smirks plastered across their faces.
"Helpless orphans," one sneered.
The girl stayed silent. Her fists clenched.
Then—her brother's voice.
"Emilio, don't you dare touch my sister."
Emilio scoffed. "And what will you do about it?"
Her brother's jaw tightened. "At least we're not betrayers' children."
Silence. Then—rage.
Fists flew. Blood spilled.
And then—a gunshot.
The girl's eyes widened. Her heart stopped.
Her lips trembled as she let out a soul-crushing scream.
"Romeoooooooo!!!!"
Present.
A sharp inhale.
The girl's eyes snapped open. The memories faded, leaving only a burning void in their wake.
Her wine glass shattered against the tiled wall, crimson liquid dripping down like fresh blood.
She exhaled, stepping out of the tub, letting the warm water cascade over her body. The heat did nothing to ease the coldness buried deep in her bones.
Wrapping herself in a maroon silk bathrobe, she strode into her room, her every movement deliberate, graceful—dangerous.
She sank into a large, royal chair, her fingers wrapping around a fresh bottle of wine. Without hesitation, she uncorked it, dropped in a few sleeping pills, and took a slow, measured sip.
Leaning back, she wiped the wine from her lips with her thumb. A small, amused smile played on her lips.
She was thinking about him.
Elsewhere…
A studio apartment.
A young man, lounging on a sofa, a mysterious smirk curling at the corner of his lips.
He was thinking about her.
Two souls. Chasing. Hiding. Waiting.
And at the same time, whispering the same word—
"Interesting."