The Lyle House was unusually quiet that morning. Sunlight streamed gently through the windows, casting warm golden hues across the wooden floors. Julia, dressed in her cleaning apron, hummed a low tune as she dusted the family portraits. Her steps were light, and her heart calm until the silence was shattered.
CRASH!
A sharp, sudden sound of breaking glass echoed through the hallway.
Julia froze in place, her heart skipping a beat. She rushed into the living room to find Ana's photo frame lying shattered on the floor, the glass glinting like jagged ice around it. Her breath caught in her throat.
Oh God…
Julia hurried forward and knelt beside the broken frame. Ana's smiling face stared up at her through the shards. "No… no, no," she whispered, feeling dread pool in her stomach. Her hands trembled as she reached for the picture, trying not to cut herself. But a sharp pain flared in her finger she'd been pricked.
"Ow," she hissed, sticking the bleeding finger into her mouth.
"Julia, what was that noise?" came Mrs Lyle voice from the hallway.
"It's nothing, Mama!" Annie called back quickly, not wanting to alarm the older woman. But her eyes were wide with fear.
Blood from her finger had dripped onto Reina's picture.
Annie's lips began to tremble. She clasped the frame tightly and closed her eyes.
"Dear God," she whispered, her voice shaky, "please protect my sister. Keep her safe. Keep her away from harm."
The scene of the crash was like something out of a nightmare.
Metal groaned, glass littered the ground, and blood was smeared along the twisted wreckage of the car. Ana lay unconscious in the back seat, a thin trail of blood trickling from her forehead. Next to her, Soraya was slumped over, unmoving.
Only Sasha managed to pull herself from the wreckage. Blood streaked her forehead, but she staggered out like a woman possessed
Eyes glassy, steps deliberate.
A black van screeched to a halt beside the wreck. Three armed men leapt out, surrounding the crash site.
"Madam, are you okay? You're bleeding," the leader of the hitmen said, eyeing Sasha cautiously.
Sasha turned to him with a cold, dead stare. "Where's the gun?" she asked, voice eerily calm.
The man hesitated, but handed it to her.
Sasha took the weapon and moved towards the car. Her blood-smeared hand gripped the door handle. She opened it and looked down at Ana's unconscious body. Her breath grew shallow.
"You should've just died," she muttered. "Why aren't you dead?"
Then her voice rose hysterical, manic.
"Die… Die… DIE!"
She raised the gun, finger tightening on the trigger.
But before she could fire, another sleek black car pulled up, tires screeching. Mr. Smith and his men stormed out. He froze the moment he saw Ana covered in blood and Sasha standing over her with a gun.
"What the hell are you doing?!" he bellowed, rushing forward. He yanked the gun from her hand and shoved her aside. "You crazy bitch! This wasn't the deal! You tried to kill her?!"
Sasha blinked, her expression unbothered. "So what if I kill her? That slut deserves to die for stealing my husband's love."
Mr. Smith's eyes blazed with fury. "You're insane."
All around them, guns were raised. The tension crackled in the air like lightning about to strike.
"This was supposed to be a kidnapping, Sasha! Not a goddamn assassination!"
"You think I care?!" she screamed back. "She should never have existed in his world! Never!"
Mr. Smith didn't waste another word. He barked orders to his men. "Get her. We're taking my little kitty. Now."
Two men carefully pulled Ana from the car, carrying her limp body into Mr. Smith's vehicle. Without another glance at Sasha, they sped off, disappearing down the road.
Sasha turned slowly and looked at Soraya, who remained unconscious.
A cold, cruel smile twisted her lips.
She raised the gun again but this time, redirected it at the driver who was now stirring up.
BANG!
BANG!
BANG!
The man slumped over the wheel, blood spraying across the dashboard.
"Madam… why?" one of the hitmen asked, horrified.
She turned to him, wiping the blood from her lips. "Hit me."
"…Madam?"
"I said hit me!" she screamed.
Still confused but obedient, the man delivered a brutal slap that sent her sprawling.
And then he beat her.
Fists and boots rained down upon her until her face was swollen and her body broken. But she didn't cry. She didn't scream. She laughed.
Blood leaked from her lips as she whispered, "Shoot me."
The hitmen hesitated.
"Shoot me in the chest. Right here," she said, pointing to her shoulder.
"…You're mad."
"DO IT!" she shrieked.
And so he did.
The shot rang out like thunder. Blood exploded from her shoulder, and Sasha collapsed, gasping, coughing up blood.
The hitmen ran. No one wanted part in whatever madness this was.
Sasha lay there, staring up at the brilliant blue sky, her thoughts drifting back years ago when she first saw him.
Harry, in the garden.
The light had danced on his hair, and he looked like something from a dream. From that moment, she belonged to him. She followed him, loved him, obsessed over him even when he never once looked her way.
Now, her face broken and her chest bleeding, she smiled faintly.
She'd do it all again.
In the Fairchild mansion, the atmosphere was the opposite peaceful and serene.
Old Madame was seated in her favorite armchair, sipping tea while a servant massaged her shoulders.
"Hm… I think I'll order silk from Italy this week," she mused aloud. "That girl Ana better give me a grandson. Mina, don't you think he'll be beautiful?"
But Lady Mina came rushing in, her face ashen.
"Old Madame!" she gasped.
The old woman turned, her brow raised. "Mina? What is it?"
Lady Mina's voice shook. "There's… been a car accident."
Old Madame's cup slipped from her hand and shattered on the floor. "What?! What did you just say?"
"Ana… Soraya… Sasha… there was an accident. It was bad."
Old Madame staggered to her feet, grabbing Mina's arms. "Where are they? Are they alive? Speak, woman!"
Lady Mina's eyes filled with tears. "We don't know yet. We just received the news…"
The old matriarch's heart began to pound.
Everything was spiraling.
And somewhere far away, blood had already been spilled.