Crimson Illusions
The chase was relentless.
He ran, his breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps, heart hammering against his ribs. His legs ached, but he pushed forward, taking the stairs two at a time. Fifth floor. He didn't stop. He couldn't.
But neither did she.
She followed him—silent, composed, watching with those unsettling, unreadable eyes. Her presence was suffocating, her footsteps too light, too precise.
He burst into an empty classroom, slamming the door shut and locking it behind him. Pressing his back against the wall, he tried to steady his breathing. Silence.
Was she gone?
His fingers trembled as he wiped the sweat from his forehead. Cautiously, he peeked from behind the teacher's desk. Nothing. The door remained locked, untouched. The air was still.
His muscles loosened. He exhaled, shakily.
And then—
"Looking for me?"
His body stiffened.
Slowly, he turned his head.
She sat beside him.
Calm. Relaxed. As if she had always been there.
His breath hitched. His mind screamed at him to run, but his body refused to move.
Then, that smirk.
Slow and knowing, it spread across her lips.
Run.
He didn't think—he just bolted.
Fumbling at the lock, his fingers worked frantically, but the door wouldn't budge. His pulse spiked. He turned back.
She stood in the center of the room, dangling a set of keys from her fingers.
"Looking for these?"
His blood turned to ice.
Then—the knife.
Effortlessly, she unsheathed it, the blade glinting under the dim light. She stepped forward, unhurried.
He stumbled backward, his breath shallow, vision spinning. His back hit the door, his hands clawing at the handle. No way out.
The blade hovered near his throat.
Sirens.
Her head snapped toward the window.
A pause. A flicker of hesitation.
She turned to him one last time, her dark eyes holding a silent promise. And then—
She jumped.
He lunged toward the window. Five stories down. No one could survive that.
The door burst open behind him. Officers stormed in, weapons raised.
And then—darkness.
---
Water. Cold and unforgiving.
Droplets traced his face, dragging him back to consciousness. His eyelids fluttered open to a dimly flickering light above. The scent of iron lingered in the air.
Custody.
He was in a police station.
A gruff voice cut through the haze. "What happened back there?"
His head throbbed. He squeezed his eyes shut, then forced them open again. The officer's gaze was sharp, expectant.
He parted his lips, but only one sentence escaped:
"I don't remember."
A smirk tugged at his lips as he walked out of the station. Behind him, hushed whispers rose among the officers. He ignored them.
His mind was elsewhere.
On her.
---
Somewhere far away…
A storm raged through a desolate forest, lightning carving through the night sky.
The heavy doors of a secluded villa groaned open. A masked girl stepped inside, rain-soaked and silent. The wind howled, slamming the doors shut behind her.
A knife clattered from her fingers.
The rain had washed away most of the blood, but fresh droplets still trickled from her soaked clothes. She moved toward an old wooden table, her gaze landing on a dust-covered photo frame.
A family. Four faces. Frozen in time.
A man. A woman. A boy. A girl.
Her fingers traced the glass, lingering over each face. A long exhale. Then, she placed it back.
Without hesitation, she entered the bathroom, twisted the tap of the bathtub. The sound of running water filled the space. She poured herself a glass of red wine, stepped in with her boots still on, and submerged herself completely.
The warm water mixed with the remnants of blood, turning it a haunting shade of crimson.
And then—memories.
A grand ballroom. Firearms raised in celebration.
"Please welcome the King of Kings, Mr. Ralph Lorenzo Marchese—our new Mafia King!"
Applause. Cheers. Clinking glasses.
Then—rain.
A funeral.
A little girl and a boy, dressed in black, eyes void of light. The world around them mourning the loss of—
1. The Mafia King, Ralph Lorenzo Marchese.
2. The Mafia Queen, Evelina Rosette Marchese.
Gone.
Murdered.
---
Years Later.
Two orphaned siblings. Wandering the streets.
A convenience store. Hunger clawing at their bellies.
The boy stepped inside. The girl waited outside.
Then came the monsters.
Three boys. Smirks plastered across their faces.
"Helpless orphans," one sneered.
She stayed silent. Her fists clenched.
Then—her brother's voice.
"Emilio, don't you dare touch my sister."
Emilio scoffed. "And what will you do about it?"
Her brother's jaw tightened. "At least we're not betrayers' children."
Silence. Then—rage.
Fists flew. Blood spilled.
And then—a gunshot.
Her eyes widened. Her heart stopped.
Her lips trembled as a soul-crushing scream tore through her throat.
"Romeoooooooo!!!!"
---
Present.
A sharp inhale.
Her eyes snapped open. The memories faded, leaving behind a familiar, burning void.
The wine glass slammed with force, shattering against the tiled wall, crimson liquid dripping down like fresh blood.
She exhaled, stepping out of the tub, letting the warm water cascade over her body. The heat did nothing to thaw the ice lodged deep in her bones.
Wrapping herself in a maroon silk bathrobe, she strode into her room, her every movement deliberate, graceful—dangerous.
She sank into a large, royal chair, fingers curling around a fresh bottle of wine. Without hesitation, she uncorked it, dropped in a few sleeping pills, and took a slow, measured sip.
Leaning back, she wiped the wine from her lips with her thumb. A small, amused smile played on her lips.
She was thinking about him.
---
Elsewhere…
A studio apartment.
A young man lounged on a sofa, a mysterious smirk curling at the corner of his lips.
He was thinking about her.
Two souls. Chasing. Hiding. Waiting.
And at the same time, whispering the same word—
"Interesting."
- End of the chapter -
To be continued.....