The day started like any other.
Melissa didn't notice anything wrong with the drink.
It was handed to her casually, the glass cool against her palm, the liquid pale and innocent.
She took a small sip, then another, distracted by the noise of the room and the weight of her own thoughts.
At first, nothing happened. Then the world began to tilt.
The floor felt too soft. The lights stretched into long, bleeding lines.
Her heartbeat echoed in her ears, loud and uneven.
Melissa blinked hard, pressing her fingers to her temple.
"Melissa?"
The voice didn't come from anyone in the room.
It came from behind her. She turned.
Vassago stood there. Not the man she knew now—but the version from her nightmares.
His eyes were cold, judging, sharp with disappointment.
"You never deserved to survive," he said softly.
Melissa staggered back, her breath hitching. "You're not real…"
He smiled. "Neither is your strength."
She spun away from him—and froze.
He was standing by the wall, arms crossed, expression filled with silent accusation.
His lips moved, but his voice roared in her head.
"You took my daughter from me."
Tears blurred Melissa's vision. "I wanted to protect her…"
"You always claim to protect but you always end up making things difficult" he replied.
The room dissolved again.
Suddenly she was no longer standing—she was kneeling in her childhood home's garden.
Her grandfather stood in front of her, exactly as she remembered him: kind eyes, gentle hands, a smile that used to make her feel safe.
But now… that smile was gone.
"Why did you let them hurt you?" he asked quietly.
Melissa shook her head violently. "I was a child… I didn't know how to fight."
He stepped closer. "You were supposed to be stronger."
Her chest tightened until she could barely breathe.
Then the air changed. The warmth vanished.
A shadow fell over her. She knew who it was before she even looked.
Davin.
He stood there with the same cruel calm, the same eyes that had once made her feel trapped, powerless, ashamed.
His voice was low, smooth, poisonous.
"You belonged to me," he whispered. "You still do."
Melissa screamed, backing away, her hands shaking.
"You don't own me! You never did!"
He only laughed. "You learned everything from me."
Her mind fractured under the weight of their faces, their voices, their accusations.
They surrounded her, speaking at once, overlapping, crushing her with memories she had buried just to survive.
She dropped to the floor, clutching her head.
"Stop… please stop…"
In reality, people watched in horror as Melissa collapsed, her body trembling, her lips whispering names no one else could hear.
But inside her mind— she was a little girl again.
A broken girl fighting ghosts that refused to let her go.
Melissa knew.
Somewhere beneath the terror, beneath the shaking and the screaming voices, she knew.
Her mind was betraying her.
Those men were long gone. Dead. Buried. Reduced to memories that should no longer have power over her.
Yet they stood around her like living judgment.
"No," she whispered, pressing her palms to her ears.
"You're not real… you're not real…"
She forced herself to stand, her legs barely holding her weight.
The room swayed violently as she stumbled forward, pushing past invisible bodies, past whispers only she could hear.
She ran, up the stairs.
Through the corridor, the rooftop door slammed open as she burst through it, the cold night air slicing against her burning skin.
She dropped to her knees immediately, the concrete scraping her legs as her strength finally gave out.
Both hands covered her eyes as if darkness could erase them.
"Please…" she sobbed. "Leave me alone… I paid for everything… I paid for it all…"
But they didn't leave.
Their voices rose inside her head, merciless, synchronized.
You killed them, you pulled the trigger. You made the choice.
She shook violently. "I didn't want to! I was forced! I was a child!"
Vassago's voice cut through the others.
"You took Willow from me. You killed her."
"I didn't kill Willow, she died giving birth to your child"
"The same child you stole from me?... Blood doesn't care about excuses."
Her grandfather's voice followed, broken and disappointed.
"You survived while they didn't."
Davin laughed softly.
"You're a weapon. You always were."
Melissa pressed her forehead to the ground, tears soaking into the concrete.
"How many lives?" Vassago asked.
She cried out. "I don't know! I stopped counting because I couldn't breathe anymore!"
The memories attacked her in flashes—faces, screams, red-stained hands, orders she obeyed because disobedience meant death.
"You don't deserve peace," the voices said together.
Her chest convulsed as she gasped for air.
"I tried to be good… I tried to save the people I care about… I tried to change…"
Too late.
She lifted her head, her face wet with tears, eyes wild with pain.
"I am not a monster," she whispered, as if saying it enough times might make it true.
But the echoes only laughed. And on that rooftop, under a sky that felt far too empty to care, Melissa was no longer running from enemies.
She was running from herself.
The voices kept circling her.
You killed them. You don't deserve peace. You're still one of us.
Melissa's hands trembled over her eyes. Her breathing came in sharp, broken gasps.
She stood up and walked to the edge of the roof.
"Do you remember the first time you jumped down a window?" Davin asked.
"Jump" Vassago whispered against her ears.
Then— something inside her snapped.
She lowered her hands slowly stepping back.
Her vision was still blurred, the rooftop still warping at the edges, but her spine straightened.
Her shoulders lifted. Her chest rose with a breath that hurt—but grounded her.
"No," she said hoarsely.
The word surprised even her.
Vassago stepped closer in her mind. "You can't deny what you are."
She looked straight at him. Even though she knew he wasn't real, her voice didn't shake this time.
"I can accept what I've done," she said. "But I will not accept what you turned me into."
Vassago appeared beside him. "Blood is still on your hands."
"Yes," Melissa replied. Tears streamed freely now, but her eyes burned with clarity.
"And I carry it every day. I don't hide from it. I don't pretend it didn't happen."
Her grandfather's figure wavered. "Then why are you still afraid?"
"Because I'm human," she whispered. "Not because I'm guilty."
Davin stepped forward last, his shadow stretching long and dark. "You belong to your past."
Melissa rose to her feet, unsteady but unbroken.
"No," she said firmly. "My past belongs to me."
She pressed her hand against her chest, feeling her heart pounding, real and alive.
"You controlled me. You used me. You terrified me," she said, pointing at him. "But you don't get to live in my head anymore."
The figures flickered. Their voices weakened.
"You can't erase us."
"I'm not erasing you," she replied. "I'm surviving you."
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, grounding herself in the cold wind, the rough concrete beneath her knees, the ache in her body.
"I forgive myself," she whispered.
The words cracked something open.
The hallucinations began to dissolve—faces blurring, voices fading into echoes.
"You don't get to define me," she said louder. "I am not a weapon. I am not a monster. I am a woman who lived."
The rooftop grew quieter.
Only her breathing remained.
Melissa dropped back to her knees—not in defeat this time, but in release.
Tears fell freely as the last voice finally vanished.
And for the first time that night—she was alone and she was still standing.
Antonio pushed the rooftop door open and froze.
Melissa was on the ground. Her body was curled inward, arms wrapped tightly around herself, shoulders shaking as if she were fighting an invisible storm.
Her lips moved soundlessly, tears slipping down her cheeks.
"Melissa…" he breathed.
He rushed to her side and knelt, carefully touching her arm.
She flinched at first, then looked up at him with eyes full of terror and exhaustion.
"It's okay," he said softly. "I'm here. You're not alone."
"I didn't mean to hurt anyone. I tried so hard not to but I screwed that up," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
He didn't understand what she meant—but he didn't question her.
Antonio gently pulled her into his arms.
She trembled against his chest, her hands gripping his jacket like he might disappear.
"Look at me," he murmured. "Breathe with me. Just breathe."
He guided her breathing slowly, steadily. In. Out. In. Out.
Gradually, her shaking softened. Her sobs turned into quiet, broken breaths.
She rested her forehead against his chest, exhausted.
After a long moment, she whispered, "I'm sorry you had to see me like this."
"There is nothing to be sorry for," he replied. "You're human."
She lifted her head slightly. Their eyes met.
Something fragile passed between them.
Antonio reached up without thinking, brushing a tear from her cheek with his thumb.
His touch was gentle, reverent.
"You scared me," he admitted quietly. "I thought I was going to lose you."
Her lips parted, but no words came.
The space between them shrank.
Slowly, instinctively, Antonio leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to her lips—brief, tender, filled more with relief than desire.
Melissa stiffened immediately. She pulled back.
"Antonio… no."
His breath caught. "Melissa, I—"
She shook her head, pain flickering across her face. "You're engaged. To Chloe."
The name fell between them like broken glass.
He closed his eyes briefly. "I wasn't thinking—"
"This is a problem," she whispered. "I don't want you to betray her like this because of someone so insignificant."
She stood unsteadily, putting a small distance between them.
"You're my boss and I'm your employee," she said softly. "And I won't be the reason someone else gets hurt."
Antonio looked at her, torn, restraint, helpless.
"She deserves honesty," she continued. "Not confusion."
Silence wrapped around them, heavy and aching.
Finally, he said quietly, "I'm sorry."
She nodded, though her eyes were wet again. "So am I."
The wind moved gently around them, carrying away the moment neither of them was ready to let go of.
And on that rooftop— they both realized some feelings are far more dangerous than enemies.
Chloe stood at the edge of the corridor, watching the rooftop door.
When she saw Antonio walk out with Melissa beside him, her jaw tightened.
Her eyes burned, he chose her.
Her fingers curled slowly into fists.
This was not how it was supposed to go.
She had planned everything so carefully.
The drink, the timing, the witnesses.
Melissa was meant to lose control in public. To scream.
To break. To be labeled unstable, unreliable, dangerous.
She was supposed to be declared insane and Antonio was supposed to see her that way.
But instead— he had held her.
Protected her.
Looked at her like she was something fragile and precious.
Worst of all he had kissed her.
Chloe's chest twisted with fury.
"She should have been on the floor," Chloe whispered to herself. "Begging. Ruined."
Her nails dug into her palm. I didn't do all that for nothing.
She turned sharply and walked away before either of them could notice her.
Inside her mind, the truth echoed loudly:
She hadn't wanted Melissa dead.
She wanted her erased from Antonio's world.
From everyone's respect.
From herself.
Chloe stopped in front of a mirror in the hallway. She stared at her own reflection—perfect hair, perfect posture, perfect smile.
"You're still winning," she told herself softly.
But her eyes betrayed her. Because for the first time since she planned it— She wasn't sure.
And somewhere deep inside her, a darker thought formed:
If Melissa survives this… I will make sure she doesn't survive the next thing.