They had completely forgotten I was in the back seat.

After blowing into her eye with exaggerated tenderness, Jessie glanced back at me, a smug gleam flickering in her eyes.

I kept my gaze lowered, sitting quietly, motionless—like I hadn't noticed.

The car sped along the winding mountain road, climbing higher, closer to the temple nestled deep in the mountains.

With every turn, something primal stirred inside me.

They were the ones who killed my sister.

On the radio, a burst of static crackled, followed by a sharp voice:

“Emergency alert—an extremely dangerous patient has escaped from St. Elora's Mental Health Facility. Citizens are urged to remain vigilant…”

Neither of them seemed to hear it.

But I smiled faintly in the shadows, my lips curling at the edges.

After dropping me off at the temple, Preston left without a glance back.

He didn’t notice the flicker of panic in the host’s eyes.

Didn’t care.

The iron doors slammed shut behind me with a heavy clang.

A haze of smoke filled the courtyard. Several men with cigarettes hanging from their lips surrounded me, their smiles full of rot.

“Well, well,” one of them sneered. “Look who’s back. Missed us, sweetheart?”

Another one licked his teeth, pulling at his belt. “Didn’t get enough last time, huh? We’ll make it real good for you now.”

A third stepped forward, hands already tugging at my collar. “Don’t play shy. Take it off yourself, or we’ll help.”

I stood still, head bowed, listening to the weight of their breath draw closer. My muscles coiled tight beneath my skin.

When I didn’t move, the leader grinned and uncoiled a long leather whip from his waist.

“Stubborn little whore. Looks like you need another beating before you learn.”

He cracked the whip toward me—

—but I caught it midair.

His eyes went wide. “You bitch—!”

Before he could finish, I yanked him forward.

He stumbled, and I struck—one blow, two, a dozen.

Smack. Smack. Smack.

The air filled with the sound of flesh meeting flesh.

The others jeered at first. “Third guy, can’t handle one woman?”

Then third guy turned, face swollen grotesquely, blood and shattered teeth pouring from his mouth.

The laughter died.

Silence swallowed the courtyard whole.

Then the warden shrieked, his voice breaking:

“Caitlin? She—she’s supposed to be dead! I saw the death certificate!”

Everyone froze and turned to stare at the ground near my feet.

In the sunlight, my shadow stretched out behind me—solid. Real.

“Shit,” someone whispered. “She’s alive.”

The leader spat. His expression hardened. “So what? She’s still just one woman.”

They closed in again, fists clenched, ready to strike.

I lowered my head slightly, but my lips pulled into a smile I couldn’t hide.

Of course they didn’t know.

I was born with strength that wasn’t human.

How else could I have wiped out the school director’s entire family all those years ago?

Violence runs in my blood like wildfire.

I endured it all only for my sister.

But now, I don’t have to endure anything.

The screams rang out for three days straight.

That’s the best thing about this old, crumbling temple buried in the mountains—no matter how loud you scream, your voice vanishes like a stone sinking into a bottomless pool.

When Preston returned, the temple was little more than smoldering ruins.

I sat by a broken wall, naked, soot-streaked, blood caked beneath my fingernails.

He looked at me with disgust and tossed a coat in my direction.

“Bad luck,” he muttered.

Jessie passed close and hissed in my ear, “Why didn’t they just burn you alive?”

I said nothing.

In the back seat, I trembled quietly, staring at the dried blood on my cuffs—the blood of the men who would never hurt anyone again.

It was almost funny, watching them kneel and beg.

Especially when I raised the mallet and crushed the soft rot beneath them inch by inch.

We’re all pure creatures at the end of the day.

So let’s stay pure.

Now, every one of their bones is shattered—just as beautifully broken as my sister’s.

Thinking of their howls—writhing in the flames, begging for mercy—I smiled.

Silently. Coldly.

Finally, I was home.

Just as I stepped onto the threshold, the sharp point of Jessie’s high heel pressed against the doorframe, blocking my way.

“Caitlin,” she said sweetly, “you’re filthy. You should wash up in the yard before coming inside.”

Her voice was gentle, almost soft. But her eyes—those eyes—gleamed with venom.

“The backyard faucet still works,” she added, smiling. “I’ll ask someone to help you.”

It was winter. The water outside was bone-deep cold.

If I used that icy pipe, I’d surely fall sick.

I turned to Preston, silently pleading—but he didn’t even glance at me.

“Clean up before you come in,” he said flatly and walked inside.

The door slammed shut behind him. I was locked out.

I crouched in front of the rusted faucet, fingers trembling, soaked in frostbite before a drop even touched me.

Three bodyguards surrounded me—the same men who had slapped my sister at the wedding.

One unscrewed the fire hydrant nozzle and smirked. “Madam, don’t take it personally.”

The leader licked his lips. The pressurized water shot out, icy and merciless, drilling straight down my collar.

“The lady told us to scrub every crevice clean,” he chuckled darkly.

From the second floor window, Jessie’s shadow loomed behind the curtain.

When Preston passed by, she snapped it shut.

I wiped the water from my eyes.

And smiled.

When I stepped into the house, hair dripping and clothes soaked, there were three new "fountain sculptures" frozen in grotesque poses in the yard—bloated, unconscious, and bruised like swollen hogs.

Preston frowned, then surprisingly wrapped a towel gently around my wet hair.

“Why did it take you so long to wash?” he asked, almost kindly.

“I only told you to rinse your feet.”

He slid a bowl of chicken soup across the table. Steam curled upward.

“I had the kitchen make it specially. Go change first—drink it while it’s hot.”

I nodded faintly and went upstairs to change.

When I returned, Jessie greeted me with a saccharine smile and a bowl of soup in her hands.

She leaned forward. “Here, Caitlin, let me serve you—”

But in the next moment, scalding soup poured down my front.

“Ah!” Jessie cried, dropping the bowl theatrically. “Caitlin! I was trying to help, and you splashed me! You burned me on purpose!”

She clutched her perfectly untouched hand to her chest.

“I know you don’t like me, but Preston— I won’t come back again! Clearly, I don’t belong here!”

Preston rushed to her side, seizing her uninjured hand with trembling tenderness.

He didn’t spare a glance at me—or the blistering burn swelling on the back of my own hand.

Instead, he turned and snapped, “Caitlin! Apologize to Jessie!”

Something inside me cracked.

So this is how they repay sincerity?

This is how they treat a sister?

I stormed to the front door.

With a sharp beep, I locked the villa from the inside.

“Caitlin!” Preston bellowed. “Where are you going? Haven’t you learned anything?”

“Apologize to Jessie—now!”

I turned slowly.

My face was pale, eyes burning red. I took one step forward, then another.

Jessie, still nestled in his arms, suddenly froze.

Her eyes widened in horror. She pointed toward the television mounted on the wall.

“You… you’re…”

Her voice was choked, trembling.

I raised a finger to my lips and whispered, “Shh… The real show is just beginning.”