Chapter 1Fate’s Cruel Script

It was the seventh year since I’d framed my girlfriend and sent her to prison.

On a freezing winter day, I was found in the streets, my legs mangled, my body naked, begging in the pouring rain.

The onlookers cheered.

“It’s karma! He knocked up Amelia Hayes and refused to take responsibility. Then he ran her over with his car to force a miscarriage.”

“Even worse, after tossing her a check for a hundred and fifty grand at the hospital, he turned around and sued her for extortion, getting her locked up.”

“About time, though. Amelia should be getting out soon. I heard some big shot from the city’s elite circles is picking her up from prison himself. Probably going to get justice for her.”

That night, I was dragged to the outskirts of town. I was forced to watch as my parents’ throats were slit, their blood draining onto the cold ground before my eyes.

The next morning, I cradled their lifeless bodies, tears of blood streaming down my face.

There were some things I had planned to take to my grave.

Now, I regretted that decision.

* * *

A well-known social justice blogger paid for my parents’ funeral. In return, I finally agreed to let him film me.

In front of the camera, my twisted fingers held up my ID.

“Hello, everyone. I’m the monster, Laurent Cross. The truth is, there’s more to what happened all those years ago. Today, I’m here to formally report the powerful socialite, Jacob Croft…”

As soon as I sent the recorded video and all the evidence to the blogger, I got a message back from him.

“Give me three days. I swear I’ll get this video trending. I’ll get you justice.”

I clutched my battered old phone, a bitter, helpless smile on my face.

Justice didn’t matter anymore. But there was one last thing I needed to tell Amelia.

BANG!

The iron door of my hovel was kicked open by the local gang leader.

Before I could even turn, he grabbed me by the hair and started slapping me, left and right.

“Where’s today’s take?”

He held out his hand, his face a grotesque mask of menace. A wave of terror washed over me. I curled into a ball on the floor, my head in my hands, trembling and begging for mercy.

“Spike, I’m sorry, please don’t hit me. This is all I made today.”

My blood ran cold. My numb fingers fumbled in my pockets, finally pulling out all the money I had. A few dimes, some quarters, a couple of dollar bills. All told, it was barely twenty bucks.

Ever since I fell into Spike’s hands, my daily quota was five hundred dollars. Anything less earned me a beating. After all these years, I was terrified of him.

As expected, Spike was not pleased. The veins on his forehead bulged. He beat me with a wooden stick, then slammed my head to the ground, his knee pressing into my stomach, pinning me down. Then he unzipped his pants and urinated all over my face. The stench was so foul it made me gag.

Before he left, he glanced dismissively at my mangled legs.

“Never thought the great Laurent Cross, the heir to the Cross fortune, would end up like this. Sacrificing your own legs just to keep Amelia’s parents in that fancy nursing home, becoming my personal beggar.”

“Too bad,” he sneered. “You lost your legs for nothing.”

I froze, a seed of doubt planting itself in my mind.

Before I could process his words, the old man who tended the local cemetery came running in, his face panicked.

“That plot of land on the outskirts, the one with the graveyard… it’s been bought out for development! They’re starting construction now! They’ve already dug up your parents’ graves!”

My eyes instantly turned red with fury. I ignored the filth and pain, clawing my way out of the shack as fast as I could.

My parents were buried in a small, private plot owned by the villagers, where old burial traditions were still honored. By the time I got there, their bodies had been unearthed, dismembered, and tossed carelessly aside. The other graves remained untouched.

“Stop! Who are you? Who told you to do this?”

My face was ashen with rage. I picked up a rock and hurled it at the still-operating excavator, then pounded my fists against the hard, unforgiving ground. I hated my own powerlessness. I hated the injustice of the world.

My parents had been good people their whole lives. They’d never hurt a soul. Why couldn’t they even rest in peace?

“I did.”

A clear, female voice sounded from behind me.

Amelia stood there, looking down at me, her eyes filled with an endless, burning hatred.

I stared at her, stunned, my fingernails digging into my palms. The bitter, suffocating feeling in my chest was becoming unbearable. She used to be beautiful like a spring blossom, vibrant yet gentle. Now, her beauty was sharp and cold, like a shard of ice.

I knew she was here for revenge.

She shot me a venomous glare, then lifted her foot, bringing the four-inch heel of her designer shoe down hard on my twisted, mangled fingers.

“Argh!”

A searing pain shot through me, turning my face white. My body trembled uncontrollably. I could almost hear the bones in my hand snapping.

“Laurent Cross,” she hissed, “you never thought I’d get out, did you? You ran me over, killed my baby, framed me, and threw me in prison, all for your own sick pleasure.”

“Today, in front of your parents’ corpses, you’re going to get a taste of what it feels like to be humiliated!”

She gave a meaningful look to Jacob Croft, who was standing behind her.

Jacob clapped his hands lightly, a wicked smile playing on his lips. Immediately, the construction crew gagged me with a dirty rag and dragged me over to my parents’ bodies. They tore off my clothes and began to whip me, filming the entire thing…

“Mmph! Mmph!”

Despair and rage consumed me. My eyes, wide with fury, were locked on her as I fought for the last shreds of my dignity.

When it was over, I was tossed aside like a piece of trash, left to die. And all I could see were the faces of my parents, their eyes wide open in an eternal, silent scream.

“Is that all you can take, Laurent? Do you have any idea what I went through in prison?”

“No, you don’t. How could a heartless monster like you, who could even kill his own flesh and blood, possibly understand?” Amelia shrieked, her voice raw with a year’s worth of pent-up hatred. She grabbed a bag of salt and poured it over my open wounds, a cruel, triumphant smile spreading across her face.

I was in so much pain my face was completely white. Silent tears streamed from the corners of my eyes. My gaze was empty, dead.

“I didn’t… back then… I had no choice…”