Vicious opened the door with his usual sharpness, but something felt off. He called Thalia's name once, then again, each, no answer he remembered he locked her in the storeroom, he goes to unlock the storeroom
Strange, he thought. After all that noise, she should be awake. That's unlike her.
Suspicion crept in, and with an impatient grunt, he grabbed a cup of water from the table and poured it directly on her.
Thalia jolted, shivering as the cold soaked her skin. Her eyes shot open and locked on him in fury.
"Why would you do that to me?" she hissed, her voice shaking.
"I wanted to wake you up," Vicious replied flatly, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
She rose to her feet, her grief boiling into rage. "Why don't you just kill me already, so I can be with my husband? You're wicked, you're vicious, you're heartless! I hate you.
Her words sliced through the air like knives, but Vicious remained composed, his expression unreadable. Then he stepped closer, his voice dropping low, his tone disturbingly calm.
"You think I've been cruel? If I were to be honest, I've been nicer than you even realize. If it were some other person, I would have done something far more vicious to them. But you…" His gaze darkened, lingering on her face. "I don't know why it seems I have a soft spot for you. Maybe it's because you look so pitiful so needy, so helpless."
Thalia trembled, her chest rising and falling with the weight of unspoken words. His calmness only furled her anger. She lashed back, throwing insult after insult, desperation coating every word.
Finally, Vicious shoved her aside, his patience frayed. He stormed out, leaving her slumped on the floor. She didn't cry. She couldn't. The sadness that sank into her bones felt heavier than tears.
Hours later, after he left for work, Thalia retreated to her room. She pulled out a worn bag and opened it carefully, revealing a small picture frame of her and her late husband. She held it close, her fingers brushing over his face. His smile mocked her grief—so close, yet impossibly far.
The door creaked. Matt entered the house quietly, he met Thalia looking lost, his eyes soft with concern.
"How are you holding up?" he asked gently.
"I'm fine," she whispered, though her voice betrayed her.
Matt studied her, unconvinced. "Come on. Let's step outside. Maybe a walk around the compound will help. This house…" He glanced around, lowering his voice. "It feels like it's choking you."
She hesitated but finally nodded. Outside, they walked slowly, letting the cool air wash over them. For the first time in days, she felt the faintest sense of relief.
As they strolled, she opened up about the morning's encounter. Matt frowned deeply.
"Vicious isn't usually… nice," he admitted. "But something tells me he might change with time. I don't know why."
Thalia shook her head bitterly. "Vicious looks at me with coldness. All of his friends look at me with lust. But you…" She paused, her voice softening. "You're different. You're the only one who treats me like a person."
Matt's heart pounded. They talked about many things—grief, lost love, small fragments of happiness that felt like distant memories. For a while, she forgot the heaviness of her pain, and he forgot the shadows of his own.
By the time they returned inside, a fragile comfort had settled between them. They sat in the living room, silence lingering until Matt finally broke it. His eyes searched hers, steady but vulnerable.
"Thalia," he said slowly, "I want to tell you something. It feels too early, but I can't deny it anymore." He took a breath, his voice deepening. "I think I'm attracted to you."
Thalia's breath caught. Her eyes softened, not with shock but with a painful kind of gratitude. "You're the only one here who has treated me kindly," she said, her voice trembling. "When Vicious looks at me, all I see is coldness. And his friends…" she swallowed hard, "…they look at me with nothing but hatred. But you, Matt… you're the only one who treats me kindly. Like I matter."
Her words hung between them, fragile and dangerous. They leaned closer, drawn by an invisible pull neither of them wanted to resist. Their lips were inches apart, hearts beating in sync—
When the door slammed open.
They jerked apart instantly.
Vicious stood in the doorway, his face twisted in fury, his eyes burning like fire. His voice tore through the silence, raw and vicious.
"What the fuck is going on here?!"
Matt froze, his throat dry. Thalia stumbled over her words.
"It's not what you think—"
"Not what I think?" Vicious roared, his voice echoing through the room. "Matt, you're having an affair with my maid?"
"No, no!" Thalia pleaded, panic flooding her face. "Please, let me explain! It's not what it looks like.
Vicious exploded in anger, yelling at Matt before striking him hard. Thalia cried out, rushing to stop him, placing herself between them—but Vicious shoved her roughly, and she fell hard to the ground.
Matt immediately turned to help her, concern in his eyes, but Vicious charged again, fists clenched, ready to attack. Matt fought back, defending himself as the tension boiled over.
The noise grew loud—grunts, thuds, and cries—until the guards stormed in. They grabbed Matt, restraining him, but Vicious didn't stop. He kept hitting, again and again, as Thalia screamed and begged for him to stop.
"Please, Vicious, that's enough!" she begged through tears, trying to pull him away.
But it was too late.
Matt collapsed, his body limp, blood staining his clothes and the floor.
Thalia froze.
She rushed to him, dropping to her knees. "You… you've killed him," she whispered, her voice shaking.
She gathered him into her arms, holding him close, tears falling freely. "Matt... please wake up... I'm sorry, it's all my fault," she said, as her heart was breaking.