Mirror of Malice

Dark clouds loomed over the city. Inside the villa, the floor-to-ceiling windows reflected Damien as he loosened his tie. The meeting documents on his desk still carried the warmth of the printer. In a photo frame, a smiling Elena stood at the foot of the Alps, dressed in her wedding gown.

Damien's fingers paused at the edge of the frame, his other hand lightly rubbing his wedding ring. His chiseled jawline tensed slightly.

"Madam's itinerary has changed?"

The servant beside him responded, "Miss Sophia picked up Madam this morning, saying they were going to Nice for artistic inspiration. She mentioned it would be a month before they return."

Damien rubbed his temples and nodded. "I see."

Meanwhile—

Elena stepped into a mud puddle for the third time, her brown ankle boots now indistinguishable from the sludge. "Are you sure there's a sketching spot here?" She wiped the rain from her eyelashes, squinting at the distant transmission towers that flickered in and out of view beneath the heavy clouds.

Sophia kicked aside a fallen branch blocking their path. "We're almost there, just a little farther." Her voice was laced with excitement. "You're going to love it—just like our secret hideout back in college."

The moment the cold metal blade pierced her ribs, Elena's eyes widened in disbelief. She couldn't fathom that her once-cherished friend would go so far as to kill her.

"This is the perfect place," Sophia whispered into her ear, pressing down on the wound with her foot. "A long, peaceful rest awaits you here."

Then came the sickening sound of the knife plunging in again and again, followed by swift withdrawals.

Elena met Sophia's venomous gaze, clutching her bleeding abdomen with trembling hands. Her voice quivered as she asked, "W-why...? Weren't we best... friends?"

"Friends?!" Sophia spat, her voice filled with resentment. "Aren't you sick of playing this childish game? Why was everything handed to you from birth while I had to fight for every scrap? Do you have any idea how disgusting it was, watching you pretend to be my friend every day?"

She stared at Elena's pale, blood-soaked face, then suddenly laughed, as if a great burden had been lifted. "So what if you're a wealthy heiress? So what if your powerful CEO husband adores you? Soon, everything you had will be mine."

Lightning split the night sky. The metal edge of the shovel gleamed ominously as Sophia mechanically scooped up wet earth, humming a cheerful tune.

Thick clumps of soil struck Elena's chest with dull thuds. Blood seeped through her fingers, mixing with the stormwater, swirling into dark red pools in the mud.

As the shovel swung down for the final time, Elena's mind clung to a desperate thought: Did Damien know about this? Was he part of it? I will return for my revenge.

She curled her body with the last of her strength before succumbing to the darkness.

In the depths of unconsciousness, Elena found herself reliving her university days—the moment she and Sophia first became friends. She had always known Sophia came from a poor background, and out of compassion, she had done everything she could to ease her financial burdens.

Over the years, Sophia had begun purchasing identical clothes, bags, and even mimicking Elena's gestures and habits.

Even Senna had once warned her: "Haven't you noticed? Sophia is becoming more and more like you."

Back then, how had she responded? "We're best friends. A little resemblance is completely normal!"

The dream shifted. She was introducing Damien to Sophia for the first time after they had started dating. The moment Sophia saw the handsome, charismatic Damien, her eyes lit up with admiration.

But then, the scene morphed into a nightmare—Sophia, holding a bloodstained knife, ruthlessly twisting it inside Elena's body.

"It hurts... It hurts so much..." Elena screamed inside her mind.

"Ah—!"

She jolted awake, drenched in cold sweat. Beads of perspiration trickled down her forehead as the tangled memories and burning hatred toward Sophia sharpened her consciousness.

"You're finally awake."

A deep, gentle male voice sounded beside her.

Elena, still disoriented, asked, "Who are you? I... I'm not dead?"

Sunlight streamed through the window, casting a soft glow on the man's chiseled features. Even his white lab coat seemed to pale in comparison.

The man responded calmly, "I'm Marcus, the doctor who saved you. Thankfully, it rained that night—when we found you, you were still alive."

He paused, his expression growing serious. "Who was cruel enough to try to kill you in such a way?"

Just then, the television in the hospital room broadcasted a news report:

"Financial tycoon Damien and his wife Elena are set to host a grand birthday banquet for their son's fourth birthday at the city's most luxurious hotel."

Elena stared at the screen, her gaze locking onto the woman with an identical face to hers. A flash of murderous intent flickered in her eyes.

Her fists clenched involuntarily, knuckles turning white from the pressure.