“Let’s raise a glass to Amoura’s successful IPO,” he announced, lifting the mic with that same smarmy smile. “And now, let’s take a walk down memory lane with a video honoring our ten-year journey.”
The room dimmed and the giant LED screens lit up.
Then came my scream.
The speakers echoed with my raw, guttural cry—the kind only pain could rip out of a person. My image filled the screen next. A man broken, covered in bruises and dark marks, barely recognizable.
The woman’s face in the video had been blurred, but my naked body—and the blood pouring from between my legs—was all too clear. Anyone watching it would instantly think I was some kind of sick pervert.
And just like that, the memories I had buried deep down came crashing back like a violent storm.
My whole body started to tremble and before I could even get up, a swarm of reporters rushed at me with cameras and microphones. The flashes were relentless, blinding me as they lit up my face.
“Mr. Frazier, is it true that five years ago you were hospitalized following... deviant sexual behavior? That it led to the removal of your kidneys—and your genitals? Would you say this is karma finally catching up to you?”