Chapter 4

The name hung in the air like a curse; neither of us dared to breathe again.

"Derek M…"

It left my mouth like poison, but it didn't burn nearly enough.

Lily's hand trembled as she clutched the file tighter, her lips parting in a silent gasp. Her eyes flicked up to meet mine, glassy with disbelief, horror, and something else — fear.

Not fear of the man.

Fear of me.

"What are you going to do?" she whispered, even though no one was near. But I understood. On this island, even shadows had ears.

My voice was ice. "Revenge."

Lily stood frozen, but I didn't wait for her reaction. I couldn't. If I stayed still, I'd unravel. I walked to the cracked mirror nailed above the basin, staring into the eyes that no longer looked like mine.

These weren't the eyes of the girl who cried for her mother last night in a dream.

These were the eyes of something else — colder. Sharper. Starving.

"They'll kill you," Lily said behind me. "You're not thinking straight. You want to die for this?"

I turned slowly, breathing evenly despite the wildfire burning in my veins.

"I'm already dead, Lily."

She flinched.

"I died the day they dragged me here. Every girl who walks this ground has already been buried in a shallow grave. The only thing keeping us moving is rage, and even that's fading. I won't let that happen. Not to me."

I stepped closer to her, lowering my voice. "They'll learn what it means to fear a woman. Not a girl. Not a victim. A goddamn reckoning."

Lily's lip quivered. "You don't have a plan."

"I'll make one."

"You're going to get all of us killed."

I gave her a smile that didn't reach my eyes.

"No. I'm going to get him killed."

Lily looked away, but I didn't dare to confront her. I didn't have the right.

Not when I knew I was the reason behind the silence thickening the air between us.

Not when I knew the fear in her wasn't just fear of death—it was fear of losing me.

She wasn't afraid of the punishment. She was afraid of what would be left of me after I was done.

"Have faith in me," I whispered, my voice barely a breath. I didn't look at her. Couldn't. I was scared that if I did, I'd crumble under the weight of her eyes.

The bed creaked behind me as she turned. I could feel the heat of her stare against my spine. Her silence burned louder than a scream.

"Please…" I added, softer this time. Begging didn't come naturally to me, but with her… it wasn't pride I was fighting. It was guilt.

Lily bit her bottom lip so hard it turned white. Her lips trembled, fighting the scream that wanted to claw out.

I didn't sleep that night.

Not because I was scared. That feeling is something I can't afford anymore.

Fear is a luxury, and women like me don't get luxuries. Because the moment I let fear in, I become like every other broken girl on this island.

No.

Not until he feels pain.

Not until I hear his voice beg for mercy.

Not until I see his blood on my hands.

I stared at my hands in the dark.

I wanted them painted in red.

His red.

I lay there, eyes wide open, staring at the splintered ceiling—

Counting breaths.

Waiting for dawn.

Waiting to become the nightmare he never saw coming.

I could hear Lily breathing above me, uneven and tired from crying, but still breathing. She always cried silently. She never wanted anyone to carry her pain.

But I would carry it. All of it. Hers. Lilith's. Mine.

By dawn, I wasn't the same girl who stumbled into this cabin last night.

The sky was still a shade of grey when I got out of bed silently. I moved so quietly, even my shadow didn't follow.

By the time I realized where I was standing, my hand was already on the door knob. My hands didn't shake. My heart was steady. That's how I knew — I was doing something right.

I didn't go to him right away. That would be foolish. Revenge without planning is suicide.

For days, I watched him.

He worked around the storage units, where the supplies were kept. He laughed with other guards like nothing was wrong. Like there wasn't a girl lying in the infirmary because of him.

He joked. Smoked. Slept.

As if the world still spun for him.

But soon, I would stop that spin.

Permanently.

Today was the night as I stood behind the wall, watching him entering the storage room alone. I adjusted my hair as I looked around.

No one was around. Silence. Just me, him and his death.

I entered the room with confidence, my hips swaying. I made sure that I was wearing a tightened corset. There I saw him standing facing the window. 

I cleared my throat to gain his attention. I felt sickened to see his face.

"What are you doing here?", he raised his eyebrow but his eyes travelled down to my body. Stopping at my cleavage. I looked at him as if I was lost.

"I was looking for the match box here", I said while looking around. 

He thinks he is in control, let him think it. 

He let out a dry chuckle, stepping closer, his boots thudding softly against the wooden floor.

"You girls really are useless," he said, his eyes glued to her corset. "Matches? At this hour?"

I tilted my head, pretending to be confused.

"I couldn't sleep. Thought I'd light a candle." I smiled—soft, naive, just the way they liked it.

He stepped even closer. Too close.

I didn't flinch. I tilted my head slightly, allowing my hair to fall over my shoulder, exposing my neck the way I had seen Lilith do when she was nervous. I wasn't nervous. I was calculating.

His fingers reached out, brushing my collarbone. "You've never come to me before," he murmured.

I leaned in, letting my fingers trace the table edge beside them. "Maybe I finally got curious," I whispered.

He smirked, eating it up like the predator he thought he was. "I knew you'd come around. All of them do."

My jaw clenched at those words, but I forced myself to relax. Not yet.

I let him step closer. Let him reach out. Let him lean in. His hand touched my waist.

Then—

I slammed my knee into his groin.

He gasped, stumbling back in shock.

Before he could scream, I grabbed the heavy wine bottle from the table and cracked it across his temple. The sound of glass shattering mixed with the thud of his body hitting the floor.

But I wasn't done.

I stood over him, panting, staring at the blood seeping from his head.

"You should've invited your friends, remember?" I whispered, picking up a shard of broken glass. "Too bad. This party's just for you." 

He groaned, dazed. Still breathing.

Good.

I grabbed a shard of the shattered bottle, its jagged edge glinting under the moonlight.

"I hope you feel every second of this," I whispered, crouching beside him.

The first stab went into his side — he screamed.

The second tore through his chest— he begged.

The third carved through his heart — he sobbed.

But I wasn't looking for mercy. I was looking for meaning.

I straddled him, face inches from his blood-soaked skin. "Do you remember her name?" I asked, voice low, controlled. "The girl you broke. The child… No means no . "

He shook his head, mouthing something, maybe an apology, maybe a plea.

I slammed the shard into his mouth.

"Wrong answer."

His teeth cracked. Blood and saliva sprayed as I ripped the glass free, leaving him gargling on his own flesh.

I kept going.

Stab. Rip. Tears. Until his body was more ruined than man. Until my arms ached and blood soaked through my dress, warm and heavy. Until there was no more screaming.

Only silence.

I stood, breathless. Covered in his blood. My hands were red. My arms were red. My soul was red.

This wasn't justice.

This was a message.

I dragged his corpse out into the corridor and propped it against the wall like a puppet. Then I dipped my fingers in his blood and wrote the words above his head:

"She was sixteen."

Let them see it.

Let them wake up to the monster they created. 

I didn't go straight back to the cabin.

First, I peeled the blood-soaked dress off my skin and stuffed it into the rusted incinerator behind the abandoned servant quarters. I poured kerosene on it — an old bottle I'd stolen weeks ago — and lit the flame. It burned quick and silent, just like I needed.

I buried the shard beneath the chapel ruins where the earth never held footprints. A place even guards avoided — a ghost-haunted corner of the island they'd rather forget.

I wiped my skin with vinegar cloth from the cleaning closet, scrubbing every trace. No scent. No blood. No mistake.

I had stashed a fresh dress under the firewood days ago. Just in case.

 I made sure I was seen. Before the sun rose, I was in the kitchen scrubbing pans with Lily. I laughed once. It felt foreign, but necessary. I let a guard scold me for working slow. I apologized. I kept my head down. I made sure at least three people could say: She was here. She was working.

Let them build my alibi for me.

I was in my room when I heard a loud scream.

They found it .

It started with a maid. Her shriek echoed through the stone halls, high-pitched and raw. Then came the clatter of boots, the rumble of panic surging through the walls like a storm.

Guards stormed the corridor outside the storage room — weapons drawn, eyes wide. But nothing could prepare them for what they saw.

Derek M., one of their own, sat propped against the cold wall like a grotesque marionette. His face was unrecognizable — a pulp of torn skin, broken bone, and blood. The words above his head, written in his own blood, bled down the wall in thick, ugly streaks:

"She was sixteen."

Silence fell like a blade.

One guard gagged. Another whispered a prayer.

No one dared speak louder.

The head of security Rex, a tall man with a scar down his jaw, stepped forward. He scanned the scene, his face carved from stone. He was used to violence — but not this. Not this kind of vengeance.

"This wasn't man's work," one of the guards muttered. "This… this was personal."

"A woman," another said, voice shaking. "One of the maids?"

"No maid could've done this," someone replied.

Rex turned sharply. "That's what you think? That's the mistake. You think they're weak. You think they'll stay quiet." He pointed at the words. "Whoever did this, she's not afraid. She made a spectacle."

He turned to the others, jaw clenched. "Lock down the castle. No one goes in or out. Search every cabin, every maid, every corner. If she's not punished, the rest will think they can do the same."

"And if we don't find her?" a younger guard asked.

He stared at Derek's corpse again — the butchered face, the gutted body, the blood still warm.

"Then we're already too late."

I scrubbed the dirty dish like I always did—not out of duty, but desperation. The blood still clung to my hands, tinting the creases of my skin. Soaking them in cold water helped dull the memory, but it wouldn't wash away the truth.

I didn't hear her coming until a hand gripped my arm—soft, small, but urgent.

I was yanked from the kitchen and dragged down the hallway. Into the cabin.

"Lily," I breathed her name when we were finally alone.

She slammed the door shut behind us and drew the curtains tight. Not even our breaths would escape this room.

I couldn't meet her eyes.

"Look at me," she demanded, kneeling in front of me as I sat stiffly on the edge of the bed.

Her voice cracked. "You did it, didn't you?"

Her fists clenched so tightly her nails drew blood. She didn't want to believe it. She wanted me to lie. But I didn't.

"Yes," I said.

A single word. And Lily collapsed to the floor.

Her knees gave out beneath her as if the weight of it all crushed her bones. She crouched, her body trembling.

"They'll flip the island upside down," she whispered. "They'll tear through every cabin, every woman, every shadow until they find you. Because you're not allowed to fight back. You're not allowed to bleed them. You're a maid. A slave. A body. That's all they think we are."

Her eyes finally rose to mine, wide with something worse than fear.

"They won't just kill you, Ava. They'll make you an example. A warning. They'll carve your body into a story to tell the others. To remind us where we belong."

I grabbed her arms, not harshly—but with urgency. My eyes locked onto hers, sharp and unyielding.

"I didn't take that step to get caught," I hissed, my voice low and furious. "I took it because it was necessary. And I made damn sure to cover my tracks."

But Lily's expression didn't soften. If anything, it hardened.

"You fool," she snapped, her voice trembling with rage and fear. "The storage room didn't have cameras—but the corridor did."

My breath hitched.

A flicker of doubt broke through the fire in my chest.

The beat of my heart stumbled. Then sped.

Her words echoed in my skull like a bell tolling doom.

The corridor had cameras.

Guards stormed through the castle like a hive disturbed. Shouts echoed through halls, cabins were searched, and anyone who even looked sideways was questioned.

The whispers started early.

"There's blood in the storage room."

"A guard's dead."

"They say it was a woman."

The rumors spread on the island like a wildfire. Every human on the island was gossiping about it. And then started the weekend of chaos.