Liana Neri walked aimlessly down the bustling city street, her footsteps light, almost hesitant, as if she were trying not to exist. The world moved around her with purpose—cars honked, heels clacked on pavement, conversations buzzed in the air—but none of it seemed to touch her.
Today, she was supposed to pick up her son from kindergarten. But when she arrived, a teacher informed her that his grandmother had already collected him.
She didn't ask for more details. There was no point.
Her gaze drifted to the roadside flower beds, once carefully tended with seasonal blooms. Now they were wilted, a muted canvas of browns and greys. Even the storefront signs, designed to dazzle and entice, looked faded in her eyes. The people passing by were just as colorless—faceless figures moving with a rhythm she no longer understood.
Her world had long since lost its vibrancy.
At the crosswalk, she paused, waiting for the light to change, her mind far from the present. When her phone buzzed in her coat pocket, she answered without thinking, her voice hollow.
"Hello?"
"Why didn't you pick up Sean today?" The voice on the other end was cold, clipped, and unmistakably irritated.
Liana's lips curled into a tired, bitter smile. "Is that what your mother told you?"
A sharp exhale came through the speaker, laced with exasperation. "Lian, stop causing problems. If she hadn't gone, Sean would've been waiting for who knows how long. Where are you?"
Problems. Always problems. Always her fault.
She swallowed the tightness in her throat and glanced up—the traffic light had changed while she stood unmoving. The crowd surged forward. She remained rooted in place.
Trouble. That's what she was, wasn't she? An invisible inconvenience. The ever-inadequate Mrs. Neri.
Liana remembered arriving thirty minutes early to pick Sean up—she'd stood in front of the gates, waiting. Only to be told the class had ended an hour earlier due to a teacher's conference.
No message had reached her phone.
When she questioned the class advisor, the woman had insisted a notice was sent out to all parents. But Liana had her suspicions. That old woman—Zahn's mother—likely intercepted it. She had always found subtle ways to make her look irresponsible, then swoop in to 'rescue' the child and play the saint.
"Lian? Are you even listening?" Zahn's voice cut through her thoughts.
"Yes," she replied shortly.
"Sean is your son. Stop making excuses. You're always pretending to be sick or overwhelmed. Just... do better."
Same words. Same scolding. Same coldness. And, as always, she gave the only answer that would end the call quickly.
"Yes."
"Okay."
When the call ended, she realized she had wandered into unfamiliar streets. Again. No destination, just drifting.
Looking up, she found herself in front of a massive LED screen mounted on a glass building. A popular drama played—a fantasy tale about reincarnation and second chances. Yeri had mentioned it during their chat at a park, her voice cheerful.
Rebirth, huh? Liana stared at the screen, her reflection faintly visible in the gloss.
She remembered what Yeri had said:
"You know why people love that kind of story? Because deep down, everyone has something they wish they could undo. A moment they'd take back. A person they wish they'd never met... or maybe someone they failed to save."
"I also have someone I wish I'd never met," Liana whispered to no one, her voice frayed by emotion. "And someone I should've never married…"
The drama scene faded out. A new program took its place—a flashy entertainment news segment showcasing the latest celebrity scandal. A video played of Calin Ricci, the angelic socialite turned model and rising TV host, slapping her personal assistant in what appeared to be a fit of rage. The video had gone viral, sparking a frenzy of condemnation online.
Liana's expression tightened. The elite circles had been buzzing with rumors about an upcoming engagement between Shin Keir and Calin Ricci. Did Yeri know?
Her thoughts drifted again, to the quiet warmth Yeri carried, to the rare colour that made Liana's day feel a little less bleak.
---
Across the city, Calin Ricci was unraveling.
She sat in her high-rise apartment, surrounded by untouched designer furniture and a team of assistants who avoided her gaze. The days since that humiliating hospital incident with Shin Keir had been an unending downward spiral.
First came the video of her slapping her PA, a moment she didn't even remember clearly. She had been frustrated, tired, and yes—maybe cruel. Her team worked tirelessly to erase it from the internet, but like spilled ink on paper, it had already soaked into public memory.
Then another video surfaced—this time of her throwing a glass at her manager during a rehearsal. That one, she remembered. The fury, she felt no one took her seriously until she snapped.
Under normal circumstances, her family could've buried the scandal. The Ricci name still held weight, after all. But someone was working against her, feeding the flames. Anonymous accounts were posting inside information, paid trolls were spinning half-truths into trending topics, and even influential bloggers had begun denouncing her.
She knew who was behind it.
No one else could manipulate the media so efficiently, so cleanly. No one but Shin Keir—or more precisely, the people in his shadow who moved for him.
She had called her brother, Sergei, in a panic.
"You have to fix this," she had demanded, her voice trembling.
But he had sounded distracted, disinterested.
"Handle it yourself, Calin. I have my own problems," he snapped before ending the call.
And problems, indeed, he had.
Sergei's latest investments had run into unforeseen trouble. Several plots of land he planned to develop into gem mines had been bought up just before the auction, slipping through his fingers. And the supply chain for their newest jewelry collection had mysteriously collapsed—shipments lost, materials delayed, factories citing missing permits.
"Damn it!" Sergei had raged. "What the hell is happening?"
It was a game of power, played in shadows. And right now, both Riccis were losing.
Calin stood in front of the mirror, her reflection pale and uncertain. She ran a manicured hand over her flawless face, wondering how it had all come to this.
For the first time in years, she felt fear. Not just the fear of losing a role or a reputation—but the one in the losing end.
Despite her current predicament she couldn't stop thinking about what Marianne had casually said: Shin Keir, the CEO to a multibillion-dollar empire, had been wearing a workers uniform at the hospital.
The image was so absurd her brain refused to process it. She'd tried to imagine him in anything other than his usual sharp-angled suits and impossibly tailored designer coats but no matter how she twisted the logic in her mind, it simply didn't make sense.
The more she thought about it, the more it gnawed at her.
---
Meanwhile, in the luxury penthouse office of the Keir Global Group skyscraper, Shin Keir stood by his floor-to-ceiling window, looking every bit the villain.
He was immaculate in a dark, custom-made suit that probably cost more than most people's monthly rent. His neatly combed hair slightly disheveled from a morning of pacing and his expression was menacing as though he was surveying a kingdom before declaring war.
But really, he was just sleep-deprived. Again.
Between relentless board meetings, avoiding family politics, and attempting to patch things up with Yeri—who was mysteriously skilled at ghosting people despite living in the 21st century—Shin hadn't had a decent night's sleep in days.
And just when he did manage to nap last night, that ominous, bizarre dream paid him a visit again.
He hadn't told anyone about the dreams. Not even Tristan. Especially not Tristan, who would've either scheduled a CAT scan or called a therapist.
At that very moment, Secretary Yun entered the office, arms burdened with towering stacks of paperwork like a human filing cabinet. He was halfway into his usual rundown—"This file pertains to the land acquisition in Mining, and this one—" when Shin interrupted him without even turning around.
"Find me an exorcist."
There was a long, echoing pause. Papers rustled. The clock ticked.
"…Boss, what did you just say?" Secretary Yun asked cautiously, wondering if sleep deprivation had officially pushed his boss into the deep end of insanity.
Shin remained by the window, his voice calm and deadly serious. "I said, find me an exorcist."
Secretary Yun stared at the back of Shin's head, uncertain whether to pretend he'd misheard or just back out of the room slowly and retake this scene.
"Ahem," he coughed politely. "I apologize, boss, I may not have cleaned my ears properly today, but I thought you said… exorcist?"
"That's right. A real one. Or a priest. Or a monk. Anyone who knows how to deal with curses." Shin turned slightly, eyes dark with conviction. "I think someone put a spell on me."
Secretary Yun's soul briefly left his body. His face went pale, his hands trembled, and his professional mask cracked.
The boss got dumped and now he thinks he's cursed. We're officially spiraling.
"T-that… sir, I—I don't think it's a curse," he stammered. "It's just that… relationships are complicated. Misunderstandings happen. Breakups, too. But that doesn't mean anyone's been possessed. I mean, I'm no expert, but if you just talk to Miss Zhi—"
Shin waved him off with the same grace he reserved for dismissing stockholders. "This has nothing to do with that. Besides, we didn't break up."
Secretary Yun blinked. "Wait… you didn't?"
That didn't make sense. From what Tristan had said, the two had fought, Shin had sulked like a wounded vampire lord for days, and the company had suffered in direct proportion to Shin's declining mood. Secretary Yun himself had developed an eye twitch from stress.
"You and Miss Zhi made up?" he asked hopefully.