Marco's eyes fluttered open. The room was bright, unnaturally so. He blinked, disoriented, and saw the maids moving silently, their gowns pure white streaked with extreme lavender. They were setting the curtains again, the same diminishing shades.
Confused, Marco asked, his voice hoarse, "Why are you changing them now… again?"
The maids exchanged uneasy glances. One finally answered, her tone heavy with dismay. "Oh… well, you were asleep for four days straight. Today is the Lover Night."
The words struck him like a blade. It all clicked — the curtains, the shifting gowns, the painted walls. The countdown had been unfolding before his eyes, and now it had reached its end. Tonight.
Marco rushed downstairs. The palace was drenched in lavender, every wall painted, every surface gleaming with the same suffocating hue. His stomach twisted in dismay.
The mother‑in‑law appeared, her voice sharp yet falsely sweet. "Oh, why aren't you dressed for breakfast? Come down fast, Ralph is about to arrive."
Marco obeyed, though his reflection in the mirror nearly broke him. Hollow cheeks, ricket bones, terror etched into his face. He looked like a ghost of himself.
At the table, everyone stood, applauding the couple. Marco sat beside Ralph, his skin crawling. Ralph's sister acted normal, as though she had never stolen the letter. Marco's eyes darted across the room — Jeremy was still missing. His absence gnawed at him. Where is he? Why hasn't he come?
Breakfast was served. Again, the food was pristine, not greasy, almost mocking in its perfection. Marco barely touched it. As the meal ended, Ralph leaned close, his breath hot against Marco's ear. "Get ready for the night," he whispered, smiling with cruel delight.
Marco's heart froze. Terror consumed him.
Night fell. Marco stood at his window, staring at the gate. Empty. No Jeremy. No hope. His chest hollowed, despair swallowing him whole. He dressed slowly, his hands trembling, and his eyes fell upon the torn cardigan. Blood stained, frayed, yet it was his tether to memory. He put it on.
Descending the stairs, he found the family waiting, dressed in beautiful lavender, radiant and cruel. The mother‑in‑law's eyes widened in disgust. "Hideous! That cardigan… with blood on it? Change at once!"
Marco stood lifeless, his gaze dead, his body unmoving.
The man from the night — the one who had warned him — stepped close, smiling. He whispered, "What are you doing?"
Marco's lips parted, his voice low, trembling with rage. "Fuck off."
Ralph arrived then, clad in an extravagant suit, his eyes narrowing at Marco's cardigan. Disgust flickered across his face. The mother‑in‑law began to speak, but Ralph silenced her with a wave. "Leave it. It won't be on anyway."
They seized Marco and dragged him down to the basement.
The sight froze him.
Jeremy was there, chained to the wall, blood dripping from his eyes and hands. His body sagged, exhausted, cuffed and broken. Marco's breath caught, his chest collapsing inward.
The blood — it was too much. It reminded him of that day. The day of reckoning. The day everything had been stolen from him.
Marco's knees buckled.
His heart screamed.
The fire crackled in Marco's memory. Bright sunshine filtered through the window, though winter's chill was already creeping in. His mother had prepared hot chocolate, the steam rising as they sat together near the firepit. Her smile glimmered, radiant, warming him more than the flames ever could.
A knock at the door. She rose, her steps light, her presence still lingering in the room. Marco stared into the fire, imagining the wedding he once hoped for — his mother walking him down the aisle, her hand steady in his.
Then the scream.
It was familiar. It was hers.
Marco rushed out, and the memory sharpened into horror. His mother lay helpless on the floor, her body broken, her warmth gone. He screamed, grief tearing through him, his voice raw as he cried his heart out. Hands dragged him across the floor, his nails scraping against the stone.
Elaine appeared, desperate to stop them. But one of the men pinned her down, striking her head again and again. Marco's cries echoed, his hands clutching his mother's lifeless fingers. They were cold now, pulsative no longer. His sobs faltered, collapsing into silence. Blood stained the floor. Blood revealed the truth. The real truth.
Marco snapped back to the present. Rage surged. He charged at Ralph with the knife he had stolen. Ralph's smile widened, grotesque, as he caught Marco's hand. The blade bent — fake. Marco screamed, his voice breaking, pleading for help. The family laughed, their faces twisted in cruel delight.
Ralph stripped him, pinned him down, cuffed him. Marco's eyes darted to Jeremy, chained and silent, blood dripping from his face. He shook him, desperate, but Jeremy did not stir. Tears streamed as Marco begged, "Why me? Why are you doing this? I don't even know you… please, just leave me. I don't want to die."
Ralph lifted a crowbar, his voice chilling. "I've known you long enough."
The blow never came.
Steel flashed. A knife cut through Ralph's head. The mother screamed. Jeremy stood, trembling but alive, his eyes blazing. He rushed to Marco, uncuffing him in an instant.
The man who had frightened Marco appeared, blocking their path. Marco swung the fake knife's hilt into his eyes, buying them seconds. Together they ran upstairs, the family in pursuit. Behind them, the mother collapsed in the basement, crying over her sons' dead bodies.
The sister and maids surged forward, but Marco and Jeremy broke through, reaching the front gate. Marco sprinted, his breath ragged, his heart pounding. Jeremy stood still.
"Jeremy, come on! They're coming!" Marco cried.
Jeremy's eyes held chains, heavy with resolve. Marco knew. "No… no, please, NO!"
Jeremy's voice was sharp, urgent. "Listen to me, damn it. They will hunt you until they can. Run to the hills. Go beyond." He paused, his breath trembling. "I'll keep them occupied."
Marco shook his head, sobbing. "No… please, no."
Jeremy's gaze softened. "I looked into your eyes. There is someone you love at home. My love story ended. Doesn't mean yours doesn't begin. Go to them. To the ones you love."
The sister appeared at the door, an axe gleaming in her hands. Jeremy pressed the torn cardigan into Marco's chest, his smile faint but true. "Go home, friend."
Marco ran, his tears blinding him. He looked back one last time. Jeremy was struck, stabbed again and again, blood spilling as the axe tore through him. Marco's scream caught in his throat, but he did not stop. He ran, clutching the cardigan, his heart breaking.
Jeremy's farewell burned in his ears.
He ran. He ran.
TO BE CONTINUED…
ONTO THE SECOND PART ....
SEASON-2 PART-1 ENDS HERE ...