Hours later, the ambulance and investigators arrived at the crime scene. Mina's parents broke apart in grief, unable to bear the sight of their daughter's lifeless body. The manner of her death was unimaginable, grotesque in its silence.
A week passed. I was tired—exhausted—and I didn't even know why. Maybe because every finger pointed at me. I was present in every death… except for the Rutherford girl. The real criminal, I knew, must be savoring this. Enjoying my misery.
July 10, 2024. The hallways of the SHS building felt like a stage of whispers. Their voices crawled at my back, mocking me like I was a child again. I walked toward the Student Council office and sank into my chair. My reputation, my family name—soiled. The hotel temporarily shut down, pending investigation. My uncle shouldering the weight of both the business and my tarnished image.
In class, I sat at the very back. Easy to see the fear in others. Easy to catch the quick, stolen glances before their eyes darted away. Not one dared meet my gaze. They were terrified that I would do to them what had been done to those three women.
Except one. That infuriating smile. Valentine Devian.
"Good afternoon, my advisory class…" His voice rang with cheer. I didn't listen. I didn't need to. I could catch up, but my mind was elsewhere. I stared without moving my pupils, scanning the room. Everyone's backs turned on me. Somehow, it was lonelier than their whispers, lonelier than their pointed fingers.
And then— "Makes me feel a little… special."
He was back. That voice. That shadow of myself.
"You're boring, Felix. A dull, lifeless version of me."
I ignored him.
"Your trigger will come."
Time slipped away. Two hours gone, and class was over. I hadn't noticed. From across the room, Mr. Devian lingered, his golden eyes meeting mine. Mine were dull; his were alive, burning, but tainted—stained with sins, with blood. His eyes weren't dead. They were something worse. They were hell itself.
I rose, my feet heavy as stone. "Take your time… Felix." His words chased me as I walked away.
..
Later, I visited the Grand Hotel to see my uncle. "I'm doing well, son. My hands are simply fuller than usual, but don't worry—I know what I'm doing."
The heaviness in his voice weighed on me. He carried too much—mine, his, all of it.
"I'm sorry, Uncle. I've forced you to bear my burdens because I couldn't." Shame pressed me down.
He met my eyes with a steady voice. "Felix, you are the only son of Maria and Ezekiel Ambram, heir to the Ambram treasures…"
But pride was impossible. His words suffocated me. All I could do was wait—wait until the day his burdens would be mine.
The memory of my parents was fading. Their faces, their laughter, the fragments of childhood—slipping further into shadow.
...
As I walked the lonely hallways of the hotel, I felt it. A presence.
"Felix."
I froze. My body shivered. Mr. Devian.
"Why do you look like you've just seen a ghost?" His grin widened.
"What are you doing here?" My voice faltered.
He chuckled, shaking his head. "I booked a room. Been here for months, actually. My home's too far from MU, but close to RU." His tone was smug, taunting.
"Why don't we chat in my room?"
My gaze darkened. "I don't trust you."
He smirked. "I don't just shove people into the dirt, Mr. Ambram."
My jaw clenched. His words were hinting at me.
"So you did—You—"
"Yes."
The truth, naked and poisonous, hung in the air. But it was useless. No proof, no witnesses. Only us.
...
His room was sharp, clean, empty, dim. It mirrored him. I sat motionless, concealing every trace of vulnerability. He drifted casually, almost elegantly, around the room before settling onto the L-shaped couch in the corner.
"What do you want?" I asked, my tone low, steady.
He raised his brows and smiled. "Nice necklace."
I bit down my anger. "Get to the point." My voice deepened, harsher.
"You remind me of your mother. So much."
The mention of her softened me against my will. He saw it and scoffed.
"How do you know her?"
"She was a slut."
Blood rushed to my head. I shot up. "What are you talking about!?"
He only laughed. "A slut who gave birth to a golden child."
I grabbed his collar, trembling with rage. "Don't speak of her as if you knew her!"
His grin widened. He tilted his head, scanning me. "But you have my eyes."
My heart skipped. "What are you saying?!" I shook him violently.
"Let go. I can't tell you if I'm dead."
I shoved him back into the couch. He lounged there, relaxed, smug—arms sprawled, legs apart.
"That necklace was mine. I gave it to you when your mother bore you, alone, in the hospital. I visited while she slept. She named you Felix—my suggested name. I thought she cursed me with a child. I gave you that necklace so I would know… my son was near."
My eyes burned. Tears threatened. A storm of emotions boiled within me.
"Don't fuck with me. You are not my father!"
He chuckled, sighing. "I figured you'd say that."
I screamed. Pain lanced through my skull. Stronger, sharper than ever before. The agony forced me to bang my head, again and again, using one pain to bury another.
"Felix," the voice in my head cut through my torment, cruelly amused. "He's insane. He raped mother!"