Anya had this uncanny thing—she could see in almost total darkness. Three seconds. Blink, and the world appeared, blurry but sharp enough. Normal people? They'd be fumbling, crashing into walls, terrified.
Luna was one of those. After Anya dodged her swing, she froze. Like a puppet whose strings got cut. She had thought she spotted Anya behind her earlier—but now? No clue. Zero.
"Bitch! If you've got the guts, stop hiding!" Luna hissed, swinging the metal rod wildly, stepping back, heart racing, eyes fixed on the dark that felt alive.
She had planned this—wanted to teach Anya a lesson. The villa's soundproofing was insane. She could scream, stomp, whatever—nobody outside would hear. And Anya was already hurt… so if she got a few more scratches? Not her problem.
Anya laughed softly. "If you've got the guts… find me."
Funny thing—Anya was in her blind spot, wrapped in shadows. Luna could fumble all night and never notice her. And seeing in the dark? There's a huge difference.
Anya teased, silky voice, eyes glinting. "Bitch—"
Before she could finish, a sudden burn shot across Luna's cheek. Slammed to the floor, scream ripping out.
"Ahhh!" Luna shrieked, trying to rise.
Another scream. Her hand pinned under a heavy foot.
Anya leaned down, gaze cutting through shadows, hand clamping Luna's jaw like a vice. "No one ever taught you manners?"
Now, Luna could really see her. Not just shape—presence. Terrifying. Eyes glowing sharp, predatory, like a hawk locking onto prey. Cold, chilling.
"Let go! Dad would kill you if he saw!" Luna yelled, fury sparking.
"And if he knew you hired someone to hurt me… guess what? Would he still just spank you?" Anya asked calmly.
Confidence faltered. "I didn't!"
"Didn't? Ugh, liars. Hate liars." Eyes cold.
"Smack!"
A crisp slap echoed. Room tight, sound sharp.
Luna whimpered, "Ugh…"
"You can't hit me! Who… you—bitch!"
"Smack!" Anya. Again.
Luna gasped, side-eyeing the metal rod. Grasped it, tried to stand… gone. Suddenly at her forehead.
Freeze. How? Anya?
"You know what someone like you is called?"
Calm, faint smile. Chill creeping.
"Green tea bitch," Anya said.
Luna's teeth clenched. Foot, hand, pain. She wanted to… bite Anya.
Anya smirked, lifted foot. Hand relief—but twisted. Tears, pain, hatred—a cocktail.
"Behave… or I might not spare your life next time," icy precision. Goosebumps. Spine chill. Words stuck.
Rod dropped. "Oh, and… don't sneak from behind. Otherwise… might hit too hard…" Smile unfinished, spine-chilling.
Luna got it. Trembling, deformed hand, whimpering. Damn Anya. How? Suddenly like this?
School, home—always pampered. Now? Puppet. Clown. Joke.
Why didn't she die?! Should've stabbed her! Then she wouldn't be back! Luna rage-filled, wanting Anya dead.
Anya stared. Eyes full of fire, destruction, hate. This person—cannot live.
Blue flame in eyes. Not metaphor. Okay, metaphor, maybe, but still.
Luna felt ice. Throat tight. Paralyzed. Breathing cut.
Nearby steady breathing reached Anya. She glanced. Stepped away.
Luna finally gulped air, world snapping back.
Anya left corridor, glanced sideways. Leaning against wall, hands in pockets, smirk. Flynn.
Anya frowned, returned to room.
Flynn straightened. Watched her enter, then left.
Storm gone. Night swallowed.
Three younger Ye family members, minds ticking, plotting.
Anya did recovery exercises, thoughts looping.
Flynn, fifteen. Full brother, same mother. Closest person. But strangers.
Childhood? Close. Growing up, Anya withdrew. Luna interfered. School: Luna top, Anya bottom, bullied.
Flynn excelled, avoided sister. Never helped.
The road looked like… hell, I dunno, like someone tried to pave a war.