Chapter 3

He grabbed a fruit knife from the table and plunged it into Richard's back.

Kewell, fearing what might happen, held Richard in a death grip as he tried to chase us.

Gripping his waist tightly, she didn't hesitate. "Joel, take Paul and go! Something bad will happen!"

I struggled to drag Paul away, who looked ready to go back and finish him off.

I thought that if I separated Paul from the scene while he was in a fit of rage, nothing else would happen.

I thought the tragedy had stopped there, but I was wrong. It was only just beginning.

My uncle, Richard, whom I had respected and loved since childhood, my usually refined uncle, had assaulted Kewell under the influence of drugs.

When we returned to the villa with the police, I saw a memory I would forever wish to forget.

Kewell lay pale on the wooden floor.

Her clothes were in tatters, blood gushing from one ear — Richard had slapped her — and her face was marred with bite marks.

She was rushed to the hospital.

But assault wasn't flirting; her injuries were so severe that she would never be able to have children.

Upon learning the news, Kewell's mother lunged at me and slapped me hard. "Why was it Kewell who got hurt, not you?!"

"It's all your fault, you're a walking disaster."

A tidal wave of guilt swallowed me whole, and in a daze, I walked to the hospital's rooftop.

I told myself I needed to atone to Kewell.

But Kewell pulled me back from the edge, crying, "What about Paul and me if you die?!"

"Please don't die."

I smiled and nodded, but secretly hid a fruit knife in my sleeve.

It was all for me; I wanted Richard to pay for what he did to Kewell.

I pushed open the villa door, and an eerie silence hung in the air.

Richard was dead. He'd slit his wrists in the bathtub.

He'd left a suicide note and a letter of apology and understanding.

My eighteenth year, my youth, ended so abruptly.

When I woke up from the nightmare, I realized Paul hadn't come home all night.

I opened Ins, and Kewell's private account popped up on my feed again.

This time, the video showed two hands intertwined on a bed, with the wedding bed I'd personally picked out as the background.

The caption read: "Sorry, Joel, this is our last indulgence."

I smiled helplessly. Kewell was so foolish.

That wedding house was their third wedding gift from me.

Why the rush?

But then, the pain of the double betrayal by my best friend and the man I loved surged through my heart.

I rushed into the bathroom and dry heaved over the sink. I looked up and realized tears were streaming down my face.

When the pain reached its peak, I started hallucinating.

In the mirror, it was a vibrant, youthful Kewell, looking up with her innocent face, asking me:

"I want a satin mermaid gown, a wedding covered in champagne roses… Do you remember all of it?"

I smiled faintly, nodding at the empty air. "I remember, I remember it all, Kewell."

Happy wedding, Kewell and Paul.

The sound of a key turning in the lock came from the door. I haphazardly wiped away my tears and walked out.

Paul walked in, supporting Kewell with one hand and holding my pill bottle in the other.

Their eyes met my swollen, red eyes, and for a fleeting moment, they showed shock and concern.

Then, Paul frowned deeply. "How long are you going to keep making a fuss? Shouldn't I go get Kewell, considering her state?"

He threw the pill bottle at my feet. "Stop playing the victim for attention, okay? Haven't we sacrificed enough for you?"

I bent down to pick up the pill bottle, saying calmly, "Okay, thank you."

Perhaps I was too calm, Paul looked bewildered for a moment.