Just like my wretched life.
The red welts on my skin began to fade. I struggled to my feet and made my way to the kitchen.
Once the congee was ready, I carried it up to the second floor. I was about to enter when I heard voices drifting through the door—low, intimate.
"Mason, why do you keep that woman around? The one who killed your whole family?" Rebecca's voice dripped with false concern. "Don't tell me you still have feelings for her."
I heard the soft pop of a button being undone.
"I keep her close for a reason." Mason's voice was flat, unreadable. "To torment her. Day and night. So she can never live, never die—only remember the debt her family owes me. Forever."
A sharp pain lanced through my chest.
My grip on the door handle tightened until my knuckles went white.
I know.
This hatred will only end when I'm dead.
Good thing I'll be gone soon.
That night, I was heading back to my room when a sound split the sky.
Fireworks.
Brilliant cascades of light bloomed across the darkness. I stood there, transfixed by the fleeting glow.
Then a voice slithered up behind me—familiar and razor-edged.
"Beautiful, aren't they? The fireworks made from your family's ashes?"
I spun around.