(PROLOGUE AND CHAPTER 1 & 2)
Hi! I'm El-jay — I write stories that linger, scenes that burn, and emotions that stay with you long after the last chapter. If my words move you, support me by reading, voting, and sharing. Your support means the world. 🖤
📖 Follow each chapter until you reach the twist you never saw coming — the ending you never expected would happen. Let’s journey together — one story at a time.
—PROLOGUE—
"Wait, Ellerie… please, just let me live," he pleaded, barely able to meet my eyes.
"What if I don’t want to?" I replied with a smirk, my voice laced with mockery.
"I’ll do anything you want, Ellerie. I swear I won’t hurt you again. Never," his voice trembled.
I stared at him—one long, soul-piercing glare, while I stood there, chest heaving from exhaustion and rage.
And then, a question knocked at the door of my mind—
What if I forgave him?
But before doubt could fully take root, a whisper slid into my ear.
“Do it.”
I turned to my left. Then right. No one. Only flames and the agonized screams of burning bodies. Their leader lay sprawled on the ground, weeping, begging.
“Do it, Elle!”
He made you suffer. And now you’ll just forgive him?!
That voice... that tone... It was Elleo. My twin. I was sure of it.
But he wasn’t there. No shadow. No silhouette. Just a voice—either in my head or a demon that had clawed into my heart.
“I said... do it!” he roared, echoing like thunder in my ears.
I grabbed the shovel.
There was no hesitation.
I struck him—hard. Clean. My body moved like it was on autopilot.
He coughed up blood.
I froze. My hands trembled. I swallowed again and again, not thirsty for water, but for justice. For vengeance.
“Ellerie…” he whispered again, pleading.
But all I could hear was Elleo’s scream inside my mind.
I stepped closer. Shackled his hands and feet—tight.
Even as he cried and begged, I covered his mouth with a cloth. I didn’t want to hear his voice while I did this.
“This wasn’t how I wanted it to end,” I said, my voice cold. “I wanted it quick. One hit. Done. But no... I want you to feel the heat, the pain—like I did.”
“If you had just killed me back then, maybe we wouldn’t be here,” I added.
He shook his head violently, his eyes pleading.
But it was too late.
I picked up the remaining canister of gasoline and the lighter from my pocket.
I poured the gasoline over him. His entire body soaked.
Only one thing left.
I lit the lighter. Watched the flame flicker on that tiny piece of metal.
“Don’t worry. I’m going to hell too,” I whispered.
And I let the fire go.
———
CHAPTER 1.
"THE NIGHT THAT NEVER ENDS"
I was gasping for air, running in circles, my feet soaked with dew and grass. The path seemed endless—as if no road could lead me home.
Am I lost?
Darkness had swallowed everything. The bamboos swayed in the wind, and their rustling sounded like whispers of memories that refused to sleep. I looked up—but all I saw were shadows.
Then I saw it.
Our house—on fire.
My body turned cold as I slowly approached. My feet didn’t want to move, but memory pulled me forward. My lips trembled as I uttered the words:
“Mama… Papa…”
Tears streamed down my face as the light of the flames reflected in my eyes. It felt like I was trapped in a nightmare that kept coming alive, night after night.
When I turned to the right, I saw a child—crying, screaming, calling for help.
“Elleo…”
My eyes widened. It was him.
“Elleo…”
I reached out, trying to get to him through the flames. His cries grew louder as the smoke began to swallow me whole.
“ELLEO!”
---
I shot up from bed.
My back was drenched in sweat. I was gasping for breath, though the breeze in the room was cool. My heart pounded—as if I had just escaped a burning house.
Ten years had passed.
And still, the same nightmare wakes me up every night.
I glanced silently at the old clock beside the bed.
6:34 AM.
I had to get up.
I headed downstairs to help Tita prepare breakfast. As I walked toward the kitchen, I noticed the TV was on.
Breaking news: “Another fire broke out last night in the neighboring town. Witnesses say the flames spread rapidly and—”
I froze. Something tightened in my chest. That same feeling again—like the past was catching up to me.
Moments later, I heard the soft creak of a door from upstairs. I turned, and so did Tita.
Tito came down slowly. Quiet. Each step heavy. Wordless.
When he reached the living room, he gently took the remote beside me and turned off the TV. Just one click—and the news was gone.
I looked at Tita. She didn’t say anything, but she avoided my eyes. There was a forced smile on her lips, but the worry on her face was unmistakable.
Tito…
I couldn’t help but wonder. I watched his every move—his hands, the way he looked at things.
“Ellerie, can you get my lighter from the cabinet?” he asked, while arranging things on the table.
“Po? …Ah, yes po,” I replied, though my voice wavered with unease.
I stood up and went to the cabinet. I picked up the lighter.
I’m holding it now.
And as I stared at this small object, a question slowly began to form in my mind:
Why does this feel… wrong?
I handed it to him quietly. “Here it is, Tito,” I said softly.
He looked at me for a moment. But there was a coldness in his eyes that I couldn’t explain.
We locked eyes briefly. It was as if his eyes wanted to say something—something that words couldn’t express. But he looked away and went back to what he was doing.
He sat down quietly and took the coffee Tita had prepared. Then he pulled a cigarette from his shirt pocket.
Silence.
No words.
I watched him even more closely.
He placed the cigarette in his mouth.
Click.
When he lit the lighter… he used his left hand.
My brows furrowed.
I didn’t know why I suddenly froze. It was such a small thing, but something about it was off. Familiar. Confident. The motion was quick, precise—without hesitation.
As he exhaled the first stream of smoke, a sharp pang hit my temple. Like a memory clawing its way to the surface—blurry, incomplete, but tinged with fear.
The hand. The fire. The smoke.
And I—could no longer hide what I was feeling.
Something is gnawing at me.
I don’t know the whole truth yet, but there’s one thing I’m sure of:
Tito is hiding something.
And I want to know what it is.
What really happened... that night I lost consciousness?
———
CHAPTER 2.
"DIFFERENT EYES, SAME SHADOW"
“I’ll go ahead, Tita. I might be late for work.”
I didn’t stay for breakfast. I felt heavy inside—especially with the way Tito had been looking at me lately.
“Take care. Don’t skip your meals. Come home right away,” Tita reminded me with a smile.
But Tito? Not even a glance. Not a single word. I wasn’t surprised. I was used to his loaded silences.
As I was walking away, someone suddenly grabbed my shoulder. I turned—turns out it was Anyah, my workmate. Her smile was wide, like she hadn’t seen me in a long time.
Her smile… Familiar. Just like Mama’s.
“Did I startle you?” she asked, laughing.
“A little,” I said, forcing a smile.
“Where’s your Tito? I thought you two were coming together again today?”
I looked back. A part of me was hoping he’d be there. But he wasn’t.
“Ah… he said he was running late. So I went ahead,” I lied.
“Hmm,” she replied briefly. There was doubt in her tone, but she didn’t ask further.
When we arrived at the bank office, I tried to push away the uneasiness in my chest. Another day of work. Another chance to forget the mess at home.
I settled into my desk. Arranged my things. Took a deep breath.
Moments later, a man approached. A client.
“Hi…”
I turned.
His voice was cold. But oddly gentle.
A sharp nose, thick brows, glasses—but what really locked onto me were his eyes: dark as charcoal, yet burning with life.
“Good morning, sir. How may I help—”
Ring ring!
I was cut off. The phone on my desk rang.
Anyah answered it right away, so I kept my focus on the man in front of me.
“Sorry, sir. How may I help you again?” I asked again.
“Can you check my account?” he said directly.
“Sure, sir. May I have your full name, please?”
“Ethan Smith,” he answered flatly.
“Thank you, sir. Just a moment.” I checked the system.
I looked into the database right away. Searched. My chest tightened.
“Sir, I’m really sorry, but I can’t find any record under your name. Have you just registered recently? Or perhaps you're using a different account name?”
“What!?” The annoyance showed clearly on his face. His brow furrowed, and one eyebrow arched slightly.
“I’ve been a client here for almost two years. It’s impossible that there’s no record,” he added.
“I understand, sir, and I apologize again for the inconvenience. We can have this verified by another department so your account can be checked in more detail. Would you like me to assist in forwarding this for further checking?”
He looked around, like his frustration was making him dizzy.
“Fine. Let’s just do that.”
He pulled his cellphone from his coat, walked a short distance away, and I overheard him talking to someone.
“Dad, seriously? How can you do this to me?”
Then he shouted—
“Ah, shibal!”
I looked up. Our eyes met.
I didn’t know what that word meant, but I could feel the weight of it. Anger. Hurt.
He turned and walked away.
My eyes drifted under the desk. There was an envelope. Old. Folded. But it hadn’t been there yesterday.
I was just about to open it when—
“Hi, good morning.”
The voice was familiar. Like his. But…
When I turned—it wasn’t him.
But he looked almost exactly the same. Fairer skin. Eyes with a hint of blue. Lips tinged with pink.
“Good morning, sir. How may I help you?” I asked, slightly startled.
“Can you check my account, please?” his voice was gentle.
“Of course, sir. May I have your full name, please?”
“Hyun-woo Smith,” he said. Clear. Calm.
I looked up. Hyun-woo... Smith?
“Is that your real name, sir?”
“Yes,” he answered with a smile. A smile just like… Papa’s.
“All right, sir. Please give me a moment while I check the system.”
I checked right away.
“Sir, I was able to locate your account. It’s under the name Hyun-woo Smith.”
“Good to hear that. I just wanted to confirm if I still have an account. Thank you.”
He smiled, then turned to leave.
But before he walked away completely, he looked back—and smiled at me.
And that’s when I felt it…
My heartbeat sped up.
“Hey!” Anyah nudged my shoulder.
“He’s cute, isn’t he?” she teased.
“Slightly,” I replied, looking sideways.
“Oh please. As if.”
I ignored her. My attention returned to the envelope.
I slowly opened it.
My eyes widened at what I saw:
Henry Wilson
Certified CEO – JNX Bank
September 8, 2015
Papa?
He worked here?
2015? That was ten years ago...
But… why is this still here?
And if he worked here—could he be connected to all of this?
What if… he had enemies?
And what if our house was burned down on purpose?
Because he was about to officially become CEO?
[To be continued...]
———
📌 DISCLAIMER:
This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real people, places, or events is purely coincidental.
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Apologies in advance for any grammatical or typographical errors. Thank you for your understanding!
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