Chapter 3

I grabbed Gemma's neck to inspect her, feeling a hard, metallic ring beneath the thick plumage. Parting the pristine white feathers, I found an intricate golden choker engraved with dark Sanskrit sigils tightly clasped around her throat.

So this was the dark occult artifact Damian had bound to her soul.

It looked vile and sinister. Without hesitation, I snapped the golden choker off Gemma's neck. Gemma went completely berserk, writhing like a severed snake, but tightly mummified in heavy-duty duct tape, she couldn't break free.

I took the golden talisman and fastened it snugly around the neck of the replacement white peacock. Looking back down at Gemma, I whispered coldly, "When you die, make sure you stay dead. You want to steal my life? In your damn dreams."

I wasn't sure if the sorcerer could immediately sense Gemma's demise, but as long as this golden talisman remained on an identical bird, my parents wouldn't suspect a single thing.

Gemma began shaking uncontrollably, her eyes wide with mortal dread. The butcher stepped forward, holding a gleaming, razor-sharp cleaver. He grabbed her by the crest and dragged the blade cleanly across her throat!

Blood sprayed across the concrete floor. Gemma convulsed violently, her pupils dilating before slowly fading into a lifeless haze. In her final dying breath, she glared at me, her gaze dripping with unspeakable curse and venom.

I smiled calmly, watching the last drops of blood drain from her limp carcass. The workers swiftly plucked every feather and tossed the meat straight into a boiling ceramic stew pot.

An hour later, the rich, savory aroma of seasoned poultry broth filled the air. I let out a soft, satisfied chuckle.

I had the butcher pack the hot broth and shredded meat into an insulated gourmet container, which I carried home after finishing my scheduled outdoor shoot.

The moment I pushed open the front door of the Vance mansion, my mother hurried over eagerly. "How was it, darling? How did she behave today?"

"She was an absolute angel, Mom! The entire crew couldn't stop praising how sweet and cooperative she was. Look at the shots we got today!"

I unlocked my phone, showing her high-definition photos of me posing with the replacement white peacock. Under the golden afternoon sun, the bird proudly fanned out its majestic tail feathers, glowing like an ethereal deity.

Beside it, my smile was radiant and effortless.

A fleeting flicker of resentment flashed through my mother's eyes. To this day, I still couldn't comprehend it: I was her flesh-and-blood daughter, so why did she despise me so deeply?

Could twenty years of biological absence truly be eclipsed by an adopted parasite?

In my past life, even after I died, she never shed a single tear. She would casually stroke my corpse's face and sigh to Gemma, complaining that my bone structure was too striking, wishing she could find someone who resembled Gemma's delicate features more closely.

As I swallowed the bitter memories, my mother suddenly sniffed the air.

"Wait... what smells so delicious?"

I smiled warmly. "I spotted an artisanal farm near the set where they raise organic, free-range poultry. I bought one and had the chef slow-simmer it into a rich, nourishing broth for three hours."

I twisted open the lid, releasing an intoxicating wave of savory steam.

"Mom, Dad, you both need to try this!"

I had purposely asked the chef to slow-cook it until the meat fell apart, removing every tiny bone and leaving only tender, succulent shredded meat.

After all, this was the vessel of her precious Gemma. Having my parents swallow every bite down into their bellies so they could truly "become one" was the greatest honor I could give them.

My mother couldn't wait. Seeing how obedient I was, and seeing the white peacock resting peacefully in the living room, she was in the best mood of her life. She grabbed a porcelain spoon and took a generous bite.

I watched her with a gentle, hooded gaze. "Well? How does it taste?"

"Incredible! Tender and so flavorful!"

My father nodded in enthusiastic agreement, savoring a hefty bowl of the broth.

Once they had their fill, I turned on my heel and walked up the stairs. Behind me, my mother happily scooped up a shredded chunk of the stewed meat and walked toward the replacement white peacock.

"Come here, my sweet baby. This is packed with nutrients! Have a bite, come on..."

I paused on the landing, watching my mother cradle the bird with tender maternal affection—a look of pure, unconditional love she had never once shown me.

I smiled faintly and continued up to my bedroom.

Barely ten minutes later, a bloodcurdling scream shattered the silence downstairs!

I walked down the grand staircase at a leisurely pace. The living room was a scene of utter carnage: my mother was clutching her face, blood pouring through her fingers, while my father stood frozen, pale as a ghost.

The replacement peacock was shrieking hysterically, relentlessly chasing my mother and viciously pecking at her head as she scrambled across the floor like a wounded animal.

"Gemma! What's wrong with you?! It's Mommy! Mommy's here!"

"Richard! Help me! Get it off me!"

"Gemma, have you lost your mind?!"

Hearing her desperate cries, I walked over calmly, seized the peacock by the base of its neck, and pinned it down. Then, I turned to my weeping, blood-soaked mother with wide, bewildered eyes:

"Mom... she's just a dumb bird. Why on earth are you calling her Gemma?"

"Gemma's already dead, isn't she?"