Chapter 61

Chapter 61
Joy pulled the gown over her shoulders, the fabric brushing against her skin as she smoothed it down. She caught her reflection in the small mirror propped against the wall, tilting her head slightly, as if the dress could somehow change the way she felt inside. Elsa lay sprawled across the bed, chin resting on her palms, watching in silence. Her eyes followed Joy's every movement, a quiet curiosity flickering in them, though she said nothing.

For a moment, the room felt still, the kind of calm that presses against the chest. Then, the sound shattered it—

a loud crash echoed through the house, sharp like plates smashing against the tiles. The sound carried up the staircase, vibrating through the wooden floor beneath Joy's feet.

Her breath caught.

Elsa sat upright instantly, her gaze snapping toward the door. Joy didn't think; she rushed out, her heartbeat quickening with every step as she flew down the staircase. The silence that followed was worse than the noise. The kind of silence that made the air feel thick, heavy, like it was waiting for her to discover what came next.

"Grandma!" I called out, my voice breaking as my feet pounded against the wooden steps. The narrow corridor seemed to stretch endlessly, walls pressing in as though the house itself wanted to trap me in its ribs. My breath came ragged, shallow, but I forced myself forward.

As I reached the bottom, the sight slammed into me—Grandma lay sprawled on the cold floor, her shawl twisted around her frail arms. Her eyes flickered, open but dazed, as though she'd been caught in a dream she couldn't escape.

I rushed toward her, panic clawing up my throat. But then it came—

a voice.

"Not too fast."

It wasn't loud. It didn't need to be. The words slithered through the air, low and sharp, carrying a weight that froze my body where it stood.

Fear spread through me like wildfire, igniting every nerve until my skin felt like it was burning. My knees weakened, and for a moment I thought they might give way beneath me. I didn't need to look behind me. I didn't need confirmation. The voice was carved into my bones, stitched into my nightmares.

Him.

The house felt suddenly smaller, suffocating, the shadows in the corners crawling closer, heavy with his presence. My breath hitched as silence pressed in after the words, thick and oppressive, the kind of silence that makes you feel like prey.

I wanted to move—toward Grandma, toward anything—but my legs refused, trembling under the weight of that familiar dread. His voice lingered in the air like smoke, promising pain, promising that escape was nothing more than an illusion.

I finally forced myself to turn, every muscle stiff as if I was moving through water. My heart pounded so hard I could hear it in my ears, a drumbeat of terror that matched each shallow breath. And there he was.

Adrik.

He stood in the dim light, tall and still, like a shadow given flesh. His face was calm, too calm, and his eyes—those eyes—were empty. They held no warmth, no pity, They were void, like black glass that reflected nothing back. Staring into them was like staring into an abyss.

And yet... he was beautiful. Too beautiful. The kind of beauty that was sharp, dangerous, the kind that lured you in just to destroy you. His dark hair framed his face perfectly, his skin pale against the darkness of the room. He looked untouchable, carved from stone and shadow, as though the world itself bent to his presence.

He wore a suit, pressed and flawless, one I knew too well. My stomach twisted when I recognized it—the suit I had once picked out for him on a day that now felt like a lifetime ago.

And still, as I looked at him, one question ripped through me like a knife. Out of all the women he could have chosen—women who would have run to him willingly, who would have gladly lived under the spell of his charm—why me?

I felt small beneath his gaze, a moth caught in the hands of someone who liked to pull off wings just to watch them twitch. A single tear slipped down my cheek, hot and slow. It wasn't relief. It wasn't grief. It was the bitter knowledge that doom stood only a breath away, dressed in the very suit I had chosen for him.

I couldn't look away.

The room was quiet except for the faint sound of my own trembling breath, and still, he didn't move. He didn't need to. His presence was enough, heavy as chains around my body.

I knew then that there would be no escape. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.

I couldn't look away, even though every part of me begged to. My body wanted to run, to scream, to throw myself out of the house if I had to, but I was rooted. It was as if his stare had nailed me in place. My lungs burned from the shallow way I was breathing, but still I didn't dare make a sound.

He said nothing.

That was worse.

The silence wrapped around me like barbed wire. My grandmother was still lying motionless on the floor, her fragile body sprawled in a way that tore at my chest, but even that grief couldn't move me forward. Not with him standing there. Not with those empty eyes fixed on me.

He didn't move. Not a single step. Just stood there—dark, perfect, and patient. Waiting.

The stillness made him monstrous. If he had shouted, if he had lashed out, at least it would have been human. But this... this was something else. His stillness was deliberate, as though he enjoyed watching me squirm, enjoyed how the air around us thickened with my fear.

I swallowed hard, the sound loud in my own ears. My tear still clung to my cheek, drying sticky against my skin, and I knew he saw it. Of course he saw it. He saw everything.

I tried to convince myself not to cry again, not to give him more than he already had, but my throat tightened, traitorous, and another tear slipped free. I hated that he was the one to see me break. I hated that he was the reason.

Why me?

The thought screamed through me again, louder this time, clawing at my chest. Out of all the women who would have given themselves to him without a second thought, he had chosen me. Not because he loved me. Not because he needed me. But because he wanted to own me. Possess me in a way no one else dared.

And so he stood there, silent, while I drowned in terror.

The longer he stayed quiet, the more unbearable it became. The air felt thin. The walls of the house seemed to lean closer. Every second stretched until it burned. It was like waiting for a blade to fall, knowing it would, but not knowing when.

I realized then that silence could kill.

Because if he spoke, at least I would know where I stood. But as long as he didn't... my mind filled the void with horrors.

And maybe—maybe that was what he wanted.

I looked away, if only for a second, desperate to tear my gaze from him, to breathe without that crushing weight of his eyes. But then I heard it—

that sharp, metallic click.

The sound of a gun safety being switched off.

My chest tightened instantly, a rush of cold fear shooting through me so fast it stole the air from my lungs. Before I could even process what was happening, before I could plead or move, the world split open with the deafening crack of a gunshot.

The sound tore through the narrow corridor, echoing against the walls, so loud it felt like it ripped through my skull.

I froze.

For one horrifying moment, I was sure it was me. My heart stopped. My knees buckled. I squeezed my eyes shut and braced myself for the burning pain, the darkness that would swallow me whole.

But nothing came.

No pain. No impact. No warmth flooding through my chest.

Instead, there was only silence.

Shaking, I forced my eyes open—and that's when I saw it.

Grandma.

Still on the floor.

But not the same as before.

Her body, fragile and small, lay twisted unnaturally. And there—God, there—dark red was already spreading fast, soaking into her silver hair, into the thin carpet beneath her head. A clean, terrible hole marked her skull, leaking the last of her life.

For a second, my mind refused to believe it. It refused to accept what my eyes saw.

No.

No.

It couldn't be real.

I wanted to believe she'd move. That she'd groan, lift her head, anything. But she didn't. Her body was still. Empty.

My knees gave out, and I collapsed hard onto the floor, the sound of my bones hitting wood lost beneath the scream that ripped out of me. It wasn't even a sound I recognized—it didn't sound human, more like some raw, broken thing being torn apart.

My hands clutched at the floorboards as if I could dig through them, as if I could bury myself away from what I had just seen. My whole body trembled violently, my scream breaking into ragged sobs until my throat burned.

Terror coursed through me, hotter and sharper than anything I'd ever felt, eating away at my insides until there was nothing left but horror.

He had done it.

Right in front of me.

And I knew, with bone-deep certainty, that he had wanted me to watch. That this wasn't just about silencing her—it was about breaking me.

And he had.

Completely.