The drive back to the mansion felt like it took forever. The weight of the day clung to my shoulders like a wet coat. By the time Amilea and I pulled into the driveway, the sky was already brushing into night.
As I stepped out of the car, I stretched with an exaggerated groan.
"Finally!" I shouted, arms high in victory. "The big day is officially over!"
I reached back in, grinning like a kid, and blasted the horn twice. "We did it!" I yelled into the air.
"Shhh!" Amilea hissed, smacking my arm lightly. "You'll wake the girls!"
I paused, pretending to look guilty. "Oops! My bad."
She narrowed her eyes playfully. "Don't 'oops' me."
I leaned against the car, smirking. "Come on, you really think they're asleep? Those two wouldn't dare knock out without ambushing me for a goodnight hug."
As if on cue, the front door creaked open and two little heads peeked out, eyes sparkling.
"Told you," I whispered with a wink.
"Daddy! Daddy!"
I turned just in time to catch Aurora and Astrid, my baby girls, racing down the stairs into my arms. I shot Amilea a smug look.
"Aww, looks like they were already awake," I teased.
"You know what you did," she replied with a smirk, arms crossed as her phone buzzed in her purse.
Joy surged through me like a teenager getting their first car keys. My girls meant the world to me. Their sparkling blue eyes reminded me of my mother. Every time I looked at them, my heart softened.
I remembered once getting into a heated argument with their teacher after he made them cry for forgetting their workbook—one I had accidentally taken to the office. The memory still made me chuckle. Ever since, I triple-checked their bags every morning before school.
Growing up without parents, I swore I'd always be there for my daughters.
"Aurora! Astrid!" I called again, leaving Amilea to answer her phone.
"You always light up more when they call you than when I do," Amilea joked as she walked off.
I ignored her playful jab and turned to my girls.
"Happy birthday to you, Dad!" they sang in unison, holding up their iPads proudly. Then they recited a little poem:
> Happy birthday to a dad so dear,
A guiding light, always near.
Here's to another year of love,
And making memories from above.
I was touched. Sometimes I wondered how they could only be six. I was just relieved they weren't upset I hadn't taken them to my party—it had been an adult-only event. I'd arranged for a nanny to stay with them instead.
"Daddy, where's Grandma Susan and Grandpa Robert? We haven't seen them in a long time," Astrid asked, fidgeting with her sleeve.
I knelt down and gently tousled her hair.
"Come on now, girls. It's only been two weeks since they left for their vacation. They'll be back in a few days. Just be patient," I said with a smile. "Besides, if they were here, they wouldn't have let your mom and me go partying without bringing you two little angels along, now would they?"
"That's true, Daddy," Aurora chimed in. "Grandma doesn't take bribes like we do!"
"And by the way, Dad," Astrid added, arms crossed like a tiny lawyer, "you promised to upgrade our bedroom. You'd better keep your word. That was the agreement."
I laughed and extended my hand. "Don't worry, my love. I'll make the changes as promised. I won't go back on my word."
We sealed it with a pinky shake.
"By the way, Daddy!" Aurora piped up, her eyes lighting up like she'd just discovered buried treasure. "You got sooo many gifts! I want some!"
I burst out laughing. "Oh really? Just like that?"
She nodded eagerly, already eyeing a fancy-looking box. "Sharing is caring!"
I crossed my arms, pretending to think. "Hmm… now, baby girl, you do know you can't just steal your old man's presents, right?"
She gave me the puppy-dog eyes. "But you have, like, a million!"
I sighed dramatically, then knelt down. "Alright, alright… but only because you said the magic words."
She beamed. "I did?!"
"Yup," I grinned. "You said 'Daddy,' and that's magic enough for me. Go ahead—pick one."
She squealed and dashed for the pile like it was Christmas morning.
She grinned and dashed off like a rocket. That's Aurora for you—outspoken, full of energy, always the first to jump into the action. Just like her mother.
Now, Astrid… she's different. More reserved, thoughtful—definitely takes after me. While Aurora was already tearing into gift ribbons, Astrid just sat quietly on the couch, her big eyes calmly taking it all in, like she was observing the whole world in motion.
I walked over and slipped my wristwatch into her hand. It slid down her tiny wrist, way too big for her, but the way her face lit up—you'd think I'd just handed her a crown. She didn't say a word. She just looked at me and smiled that soft, knowing smile of hers.
That's my girls—one a little firework, the other a quiet star.
Amilea was already heading upstairs, clearly exhausted. She paused at the foot of the stairs and called out,
"Sweetie, don't forget—the girls have school tomorrow," she said with a knowing smile. "Just in case they forgot they have a mother too."
I grinned, catching the playful jab. "Got it, got it. I'll have your little fan club in bed before ten."
She rolled her eyes, half-smiling. "Just make sure they don't crown you Parent of the Year without consulting me."
"Too late," I teased. "They're already designing the trophy."
She shook her head with a tired laugh and disappeared upstairs.
I sensed the faintest trace of playful jealousy in her tone—just enough to make me smile. She had every right to claim some credit. Sure, I was the one who tossed out the idea of the party, made it sound like it'd be a fun little gathering… but she? She had done everything else. The planning, the decorations, the endless back-and-forth with vendors, even picking out my outfit I wore.
Me? I just signed the checks and nodded at whatever she showed me.
She was the heart behind the day's success, and she knew it. So when she made that sly comment about the girls forgetting they had a mother, it wasn't just about bedtime—it was her playful way of reminding me, "Hey, I'm the magic behind the curtain."
And she wasn't wrong.
That evening, I whipped up my famous pasta—packed with veggies, of course. The girls weren't exactly thrilled.
Aurora took one bite and made a face like she'd just eaten a sock.
"Daddy… why does this taste like salad? Where's the real pasta?"
I burst out laughing. "Come on, sweetie. Be grateful! It's healthy—and made with love."
She crossed her arms dramatically. "You always say that. You said you'd 'tone down the veggies' last time. And the time before that!"
I turned to Astrid, my little quiet hope. "What about you, kiddo? Help Daddy out here?"
She tilted her head, chewing thoughtfully. "Hmm… it's okay. But maybe a treat every now and then wouldn't hurt. You did promise last time."
And just like that—betrayed by my only ally.
"C'mon girls, just this once. Do Daddy a tiny little favor and eat your veggies?"
Aurora's eyes sparkled. "Let's make a deal."
Uh-oh.
"If we eat all our veggies, we get two sweets tomorrow. One for snack time, one for after lunch. Deal or no deal?"
She extended her tiny hand like a mini businesswoman.
I squinted at her, then shook it. "Deal. But tonight? No sweets. That's the trade."
Astrid chimed in with a perfectly timed, "But you promised!"
I gasped, clutching my chest. "Oh no! Betrayed again! Is nothing sacred?!"
They both burst into giggles. Music to my ears.
"Alright, alright," I caved with a grin. "Double sweets tomorrow. But tonight, I need you two to eat those veggies like the brave superheroes you are."
After dinner, we cleaned up together—well, mostly me while they danced around the kitchen. Then we headed upstairs.
"It's past nine," I said in my best serious-dad voice. "Bedtime!"
They shrieked and ran, and I chased after them, stomping like a dinosaur.
"RAWR! Who dares defy the mighty Veggie Monster?!"
Laughter echoed down the hall as we tumbled into their room. I grabbed their favorite book.The Bedtime Story, which I always called Only for Good Children.
They snuggled under the covers, eyes wide with anticipation as I began, saving the best for last our favorite line to end the night.
> Sleep, my little angels, let your dreams take flight.
Sleep, knowing Mom and Dad are near.
For when the dark comes, children must rest,
Lest monsters come for those who jest.
Fear not, for we are close.
Sleep, my little angels, the night draws near.
We closed with a bedtime prayer. Soon, their gentle breathing filled the room.
By 10:30, I slipped quietly into our bedroom, expecting to find Amilea fast asleep. The day had been long, and I figured she'd already surrendered to it. But instead, the soft amber glow of the bedside lamp lit something unexpected—a sleek black box resting on the middle of the bed.
My pulse quickened.
Years of paranoia kicked in. Without thinking, I reached beneath the bed for the gun I kept stashed there—just in case.
But before I could grasp it, familiar arms slipped around my waist, warm and soft.
"What are you looking for?" Amilea whispered against my neck, her breath sending a shiver through me.
Relief washed over me, followed by something much deeper. I eased the gun back into hiding and turned toward her with a grin.
"Damn," I murmured, eyes locking with hers. "Who's this gorgeous woman standing here looking dangerously sexy?"
She giggled, biting her lip just a little as she stepped back and lifted the lid of the black box. Inside was something I never thought she'd actually buy—the bunny-girl outfit I had casually admired online, half-joking.
Without a word, she slipped it on.
The fabric hugged every curve like it was made just for her, teasing and perfect. Her movements were slow, confident, magnetic.
"No wonder you didn't get me a gift," I said, my voice low and rough.
She smirked as she adjusted the collar at her throat. "Forget your gift? Please. This is just the down payment—for not buying you that overpriced wristwatch you keep staring at."
I laughed, but the sound faded as she pulled me close, her eyes daring me to resist.
She pushed me gently onto the bed, and I didn't fight it. Not even a little.
The rest of the night blurred into kisses, laughter, and stolen breaths—just the two of us, tangled in heat and love, until the world outside disappeared
But as I drifted into sleep, the warmth of the room faded.
Darkness crept in—not the comforting kind, but thick, crawling, alive. It slithered beneath my eyelids, coiling around my thoughts like vines. The silence grew too deep. Too still.
Then the whisper came—low, distant, yet unmistakably real.
And just like that, I was no longer dreaming.
I was trapped.
Inside the nightmare.
"No, Travour. After all we've been through, you can't end me like this," came the voice—Mr. Danvore, the Big Boss. His tone wavered, teetering between desperation and mockery, like he couldn't decide whether to beg or manipulate.
"We're family," he said, voice cracking under the weight of his own fear.
I let out a laugh—sharp, hollow, scraped raw from the pit of my soul. It wasn't humor. It was grief twisted into rage.
"You're not my family," I said, my voice low and shaking with fury. "I watched you kill mine."
The words hung in the air like the stench of blood—undeniable, suffocating.
His mask cracked.
His eyes widened—not with guilt, but with realization. Realization that this wasn't a bluff. That I had come here not just to confront him—but to end it. Truly end it.
My hands trembled—not from doubt, but from everything I had buried for years clawing its way to the surface. The memories. The screams. The fire. The cold silence that followed.
He took a step back, but there was nowhere to run.
"You made me this way," I whispered. "And now… you'll face what you created."
His face didn't flinch, but his eyes shimmered with a cruel red glow.
"And what of the lives you've taken?" he said, each word soaked in venom, his voice slithering through the room like smoke. "You think killing me is justice? Redemption? No, Travour. It's just another corpse for the pile."
He took a step closer, eyes gleaming like embers, cruel and knowing.
"You think you're punishing me? Look in the mirror. The monster I molded… he's still in there. Still hungry. Still whispering to you when you close your eyes."
I clenched my fists, jaw tight, but I couldn't look away.
"You're not some noble avenger," he spat. "You're just a monster—a monster born out of emotions. You let pain shape you, rage define you. You didn't fight the darkness… you became it."
He laughed then—slow, broken, echoing off the walls like a funeral dirge.
"And now you want to blame me for the hell you chose to walk into with open arms?"
His voice sank lower, almost tender. "You blame me for your guilt. But you chose this path. You let the grief fester. You didn't fight the darkness—you ran to it. You're not a hero. Not a noble avenger."
He leaned forward, his face inches from mine. "You're a coward, Travour. A little boy who couldn't face the pain, so he wrapped himself in blood and called it strength."
My fingers trembled around the trigger. My heart thudded like a war drum, not from fear—but fury. Fury so deep, it felt like it had always been there.
I raised the gun and screamed as I pulled the trigger.
Three shots.
His skull cracked open like overripe fruit. Blood sprayed the walls—warm, bright, and sickeningly real. He collapsed. Silence followed. My breath came in ragged gasps.
I turned to leave—then froze.
His hand shot up and gripped my ankle.
The touch was ice. My legs buckled.
Danvore's corpse began to twitch, then convulse. Bones snapped. Skin peeled back like paper. His body twisted into something inhuman—a rotting amalgamation of limbs, teeth, and shadows. His voice returned, thick and guttural.
"You'll never escape the guilt," he rasped. "Because you are the guilt."
The room warped around me. The walls throbbed, pulsing like living veins, wet and twitching with every heartbeat that wasn't mine. The air grew thick—suffocating, pulpy, like I was breathing through flesh.
Then the shadows began to melt.
They dripped down the walls and slithered across the floor before rising again—reforming, reshaping—into faces. Familiar faces.
Their faces.
The ones I thought I had left behind. Men. Women. Some no older than teenagers. All victims. My victims.
They stood silently, shoulder to shoulder, surrounding me. Watching.
Their eyes weren't eyes anymore—just hollow voids, dark as a starless sky. Their mouths were sewn shut with something crude and jagged, yet I heard them. Not in words, but in waves of anguish that hammered into my skull.
Every stare was a weight. Every silence screamed louder than any voice ever could.
Guilt swelled in my chest, burning, suffocating, poisonous. I tried to look away—but their eyes pulled me back, accusing, endless, unforgiving.
And I felt them. Not just in the room—but inside me. Rooted in the cracks of my mind. Whispering their pain through the seams of my soul.
I backed away—stumbled—but the room just bent with me, wrapping me in their judgment.
I could run nowhere.
Because they weren't outside me anymore.
They were part of me.
"You'll never be free," they whispered.
"You'll never be clean."
I stumbled back—but there was no floor. Just blood.
It erupted from the cracks like something alive, gurgling and seething, thick as tar. It surged upward, fast and unstoppable, swallowing everything in its path. Within seconds, it was around my ankles—then my knees—rising higher with each panicked breath.
I tried to move, but my legs wouldn't respond. The blood wasn't just liquid—it was heavy, clinging, sentient. It soaked through my clothes, wrapped around my skin like it remembered me. Like it belonged to me.
I opened my mouth to scream—but it rushed in.
Hot. Metallic. Tasting of iron and rot and something fouler. It filled my throat, spilled into my lungs. I thrashed, choking, gagging, but it just kept coming. Every breath became a struggle. Every gasp brought more of it inside.
I couldn't breathe.
The room twisted, walls warping, shadows pulsing. Faces stared from the blood—half-formed, hollow-eyed, mouths open in silent screams. Victims. All of them.
Mine.
They watched me sink, judgment in their gaze. Their hands reached from below, pale and broken, dragging me deeper.
My chest felt like it was splitting. My mind screamed louder than my mouth ever could. This wasn't just death—this was punishment. This was guilt made real.
A voice echoed through the darkness, cruel and cold:
"You carry us with you. Forever."
I couldn't breathe.
I couldn't think.
Their hands clawed at me—cold, brittle, unrelenting. Fingernails scraped against my skin, digging deep, peeling at flesh like they were trying to strip away my very soul. I stumbled, trying to scream, but my throat locked, tight and dry, like the air had turned to ash.
They were everywhere. Faces I recognized. Faces I'd buried—some with bullets, some with silence. Their eyes weren't just angry… they were hollow, soulless, filled with the kind of hate that doesn't fade, not even in death.
My chest felt like it was caving in. Every heartbeat pounded like a drum inside a coffin. This wasn't fear—it was guilt made flesh. Regret, heavy and rotting, lodged in my gut.
Their whispers hissed in my ears. Murderer. Liar. Coward.
One grabbed my face. Her jaw was unhinged, eyes bulging, mouth stretched unnaturally wide. Her breath reeked of earth and rot. "We remember," she rasped.
I dropped to my knees. My arms wouldn't move. My legs felt like stone. The room was warping—bleeding shadows, the walls pulsing like a living thing.
I tried to shut my eyes, but even in the dark, they were still there. Grabbing. Clawing. Judging.
And then they began to pull—really pull—like they wanted to drag me into the ground itself. My fingers scraped the floor, but it offered no grip, no mercy.
Their faces twisted, melting, reforming into grotesque versions of themselves. Flesh sagging, mouths dripping with thick, black sludge. One by one, they leaned in, whispering in perfect, synchronized horror:
"You'll never be clean."
I gasped awake, lungs clawing for air like I'd been drowning. My body was drenched in sweat, the sheets tangled around me like restraints. My heart pounded so violently I thought it might rip straight through my chest.
But the nightmare hadn't fully let go.
The room was dark—too dark. The kind of silence that shouldn't exist hung in the air, thick and unnatural.
And then I heard it.
Faint… but unmistakable.
"You'll never be free…"
The whisper slithered through the room like smoke—cold, hollow, inhuman. My breath caught again. I sat up fast, scanning the shadows. My eyes jumped from corner to corner, but there was nothing there.
Nothing but that voice still crawling under my skin.
My hands were shaking. I gripped the edge of the bed, trying to ground myself. It's over, I told myself. It was just a dream. But deep down, I knew better.
It wasn't just a dream. It was a warning.
A reminder.
No matter how far I ran… or how much I tried to bury the past… something was always waiting.
And it wanted me to remember.
My heart thundered in my chest, each beat louder than the last. My body was soaked in sweat, the sheets clinging to me like a second skin. It was just a dream—just a dream—but the pain… the fear… it felt real, far too real to ignore.
Beside me, Amilea stirred, her voice laced with sleep and concern.
"Travour… what's wrong? You were screaming."
I swallowed hard, trying to steady my breath. My throat was dry, like I'd been choking in the nightmare.
"Just a bad dream," I whispered, forcing the words out.
A lie.
I didn't want to burden her with the truth. Not tonight. Not ever, if I could help it. Some shadows were better left unspoken—some truths too ugly for the light. But deep down, I knew… the past wasn't done with me.
It was clawing its way back.
And I had to talk to Leo. He was the only one left who knew just how deep the rot went.
Amilea reached out, brushing my arm gently. Her eyes searched mine, soft but firm.
"This conversation isn't over," she said quietly.
She didn't press further. She never did. But I saw it in her eyes—she knew I was hiding something.
And part of her was scared of what it might be.
We headed downstairs—and there it was. The daily battlefield.
The girls were already locked in fierce combat over the TV remote. One stood on the couch, holding it high like it was Excalibur. "Cartoons!" she declared.
The other crossed her arms and stomped her foot. "No! Singing show! I want to hear people sing, not watch talking animals fall down stairs!"
"Exactly why I want cartoons!" the first one shot back, sticking out her tongue.
They kept going, voices overlapping, one threatening to hide the batteries, the other vowing to tell Grandma.
I just stood there, arms crossed, grinning like an idiot. I couldn't bring myself to stop them. It was too good. Like live comedy—free of charge.
They were chaos, and I loved every second of it.
I smiled at the scene—but guilt pulled at my chest. If my past ever touched them…
I won't be able to live with myself if I lose this… because this—this is my world. My very universe. The only thing that ever made me feel whole. The thought echoed through me like a prayer wrapped in pain. I can't afford to lose this. Not now. Not ever.
I was spiraling—drowning in that silent plea—until a gentle touch pulled me back, soft and grounding, like a hand reaching into the storm.
Amilea placed a hand on my shoulder. "You okay?"
"Yeah. Just tired."
But deep down, I knew
"Guilt fades. Scars heal. But deep in the mind—where shadows whisper and regrets fester—the devil keeps score. And the devil... never forgets."
NEVER .