Stolen Body, Shattered Heart

"Don’t put on an act to win sympathy and don’t even think about destroying this body. If you die, make sure you die whole because if you don’t, my Portia will never come back!" "I didn’t..." Kyrie’s voice came through gritted teeth, each word laced with venom. Dorothy stared into his dark, endless eyes and tears flowed freely down her cheeks. Once, they had been this close, their breaths mingling, their noses brushing together as they gazed into one another’s souls. Back then, Kyrie was just eighteen and she was the center of his world. His love for her had been fierce, unguarded. He had always promised, "Dorothy, we’ll be together forever." But fate had been cruel. A car crash had allowed Portia Sandoval to take control of Dorothy’s body. Kyrie knew instantly. He had cried, screamed and even in his darkest hours, thought of ending it all. "Give me back my Dorothy!" he had begged, his voice breaking with desperation. But day after day, under Portia’s influence, Kyrie was drawn to her, his love for Dorothy slowly dying until he married Portia and built a life with her. Now that Portia had completed her mission and vanished without a trace, Kyrie had lost himself completely. His new obsession became a chant, an endless cry, "Give me back my Portia!" Their once unbreakable love had withered and crumbled into nothing over the past six years. "Speak!" Kyrie’s cold voice yanked Dorothy from her thoughts. She choked back a sob, her words trembling. "Kyrie, what if I told you I was sick? That I’m going to die?" Kyrie’s grip tightened. "Then die! Make room for my Portia!" That single sentence dragged Dorothy into the darkest depths. A coldness crept through her, numbing her body and leaving her heart empty. Her face drained of color and she couldn’t find the strength to speak, her tears falling freely. "Dorothy, your tears are disgusting! Don’t think for a second I’ll feel sorry for you!" His words, sharp as daggers, finally made him release her. Dorothy collapsed into the seat, her body folding in on itself as she sobbed quietly, the pain too deep to bear. When they reached home and stepped into the living room, a delicate figure rushed into Kyrie’s arms without hesitation. A sweet, melodic voice broke the silence. "Kyrie! Where did you go? You promised to stay with me while I slept but vanished!" Kyrie’s expression softened instantly. He scooped the girl up in his arms. "The floor’s cold. Why aren’t you wearing shoes?" Though his words carried a scolding tone, his voice was impossibly tender, his gaze filled with nothing but affection. The girl clung to his neck, pouting with playful mischief. "Because I knew you’d carry me!" "Troublemaker." Kyrie chuckled, the sound rich and warm. He carried her over to the sofa, tapping her nose with a teasing grin. The girl’s laughter rang out like chimes in the wind, light and joyful. Watching them, Dorothy felt a sharp, aching pain slice through her chest, like a blade cutting through the heart of everything she once held dear. This girl was Kyrie’s stand-in for Portia, a replacement in appearance and spirit. She had the same temperament, even the same name. Kyrie spent every moment of his day with her as though she were the only thing that mattered. "Kyrie, my feet are suddenly cold," the girl murmured just as Dorothy was about to leave. Her lips brushed the hollow of Kyrie’s throat, making his body tense. His voice dropped, hoarse and strained. "I’ll get you some socks." "I want her to kneel and put them on for me." Portia’s eyes lifted, locking with Dorothy’s in a gaze that shimmered with challenge, a spark of unspoken provocation. Dorothy’s fingers curled into fists, her nails biting into her palms. From the moment this girl had stepped into their home, her presence had been nothing but a thorn in Dorothy’s side. Perhaps it was because Dorothy still wore the title of "wife," the title Kyrie refused to release. "Dorothy, come here. Kneel and put Portia’s socks on," Kyrie’s command rang out, sharp and unyielding. His gaze held no trace of warmth, just the coldness that had settled between them long ago.

Dorothy stood frozen and said, "I won’t!" "You don’t get to refuse!" Without warning, Kyrie rose, his hand curling into her hair as he forced her to her knees before Portia. "Let me go!" Dorothy fought against his grip, but Kyrie’s words struck her like a blow to the chest, draining all strength from her. "Dorothy, don’t forget about your brother." Her body went rigid, collapsing onto the floor like a lifeless doll. Ivan Howell, her younger brother, lay in a hospital bed, battling both heart disease and leukemia. Each round of chemotherapy came with a bill she couldn’t pay. She had no choice but to depend on Kyrie. Kyrie knew Ivan was her only family and he used that fact to twist the knife, keeping her bound in a life of humiliation, forcing her to crawl like a dog. Portia’s soft laugh filled the room as she casually poked Dorothy’s shoulder with her toe. "The hospital’s asking for more money, isn’t it? Or have you somehow managed to scrape together enough?" Dorothy clenched her teeth so tightly that her palms bled from the force of her grip. "I’ll put the socks on for you." In the end, she chose to give in, lowering her head as she picked up the socks handed to her by a servant, her fingers trembling as she slid them onto Portia’s feet. "Forget it. I don’t feel like wearing them anymore." Portia kicked the socks aside carelessly, her gaze shifting to Kyrie with a soft whine. "Kyrie, I’m getting sleepy again. Stay with me. You can’t just leave this time because of some random person, okay?" Kyrie picked her up effortlessly and kissed her forehead. "Don’t worry. I won’t leave you this time." Dorothy’s hands tightened on the hem of his pants, her voice barely a whisper. "Kyrie, my brother’s chemotherapy fees…" Before Kyrie could respond, Portia’s sharp and disapproving voice sliced through the air. "Who allowed you to call him that?" "Who gave you the right to speak of him that way?" Kyrie’s face darkened with anger as he kicked Dorothy aside, his voice low and menacing. "Don’t make me remind you again." Fighting back the tears, Dorothy lowered herself even further, her forehead touching the cold floor. "Mr. Leonard, please…" Portia giggled, her voice laced with cruel amusement. "How pitiful!" Kyrie’s gaze turned colder, darker, as he fixed his eyes on Dorothy for what felt like an eternity. Then, with a sharp motion, he pulled out a black and gold card and flung it at her face. "Take it and get lost!" With that, he lifted Portia effortlessly and carried her into the bedroom. The door slammed shut, the sound echoing in Dorothy’s chest like a heart shattering into pieces. The pain was a heavyweight, suffocating her, stealing her breath. She wiped her tears away numbly, her fingers trembling as she carefully picked up the card and slipped it into her pocket. Without a word, she hailed a cab to the hospital. Inside the VIP ward, Ivan lay on the hospital bed, his skin so pale he looked like a delicate glass doll, one that could shatter with the slightest touch. The chemotherapy had taken his hair, leaving him looking even more fragile. Still, it hadn’t taken away the striking beauty in his features. His fragility seemed to add an almost ethereal purity to his appearance. Dorothy looked at him, her heart aching, her eyes turning red. Her brother was the only one who had never turned away from her in the past six years. When everyone else accepted Portia, only Ivan stood firm, his voice raw and fury. "You shameless woman! Give my sister back her body! What right do you have to steal her life?!" "Sis!" Ivan gasped suddenly, his chest rising and falling in labored breaths. His eyes snapped open and when they found Dorothy beside him, they softened, a quiet relief washing over his face. "Sister, you're here." Dorothy quickly wiped the corners of her eyes, her voice gentle as she leaned closer. "Are you feeling unwell today, Ivan?" Ivan’s gaze dropped to her face, his eyes narrowing when he saw the fading red marks on her skin. His voice turned dark with anger. "Did that bastard Kyrie hurt you again?!" Dorothy lowered her head, her words soft and dismissive. "No, don't worry about it." "Do you want some apples? I’ll peel one for you."

She quickly changed the subject, her hands trembling as she picked up an apple to peel. The shaking was uncontrollable and her body betrayed her in ways she couldn’t hide. It was the somatic symptom of depression, an unwelcome flare-up Dorothy hadn’t anticipated. Her fingers worked frantically, but the apple slipped from her grasp, landing with a thud on the floor. A sharp sting spread across her hand as a cut appeared. "What’s wrong?" Ivan rushed to grab tissues, trying to tend to the wound, but his gaze fell on the deep scars crisscrossing her wrist. "What is this? Sis, have you been hurting yourself?" Dorothy jerked her hand away, her voice trembling. "It’s nothing! I just cut myself by accident." But the truth was harder to hide. Since the depression had taken hold, her body had become an unwilling accomplice, shaking uncontrollably, making simple tasks like holding a spoon or fork a battle. There were moments, dark and suffocating when she longed to escape it all. And the scars on her wrist? They were all from times she had sought solace in the sharp bite of a blade, a release after Kyrie’s cruel words and actions. Ivan froze, his face draining of color. Then, without warning, he broke down, tears streaming down his face. "Sis! I can’t keep doing this! Don’t sacrifice yourself for me, leave Kyrie!" As Ivan cried, the last trace of color drained from his face, his breaths quick and shallow. Dorothy froze in horror. "Ivan, no! I’m fine! Don’t move!" Ivan’s grip tightened around her hand, his voice hoarse with urgency. "Sis, you… leave him!" The terror in his eyes was unmistakable. Dorothy’s heart skipped a beat as she realized his heart condition had worsened. Panic seized her chest and she screamed, "Nurse!" The nurse rushed in, her face ashen. "The patient’s condition is critical. We need emergency treatment!" Before Dorothy could speak, Ivan was immediately wheeled into the emergency room. She hurried to follow, but at that very moment, her phone rang. It was Kyrie calling. "Portia wants blueberry muffins from Fort Wayne. Go get them." Dorothy gripped the phone so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Her voice cracked with desperation. "My brother’s heart just flared up. I can’t leave right now. Can you…" The cold, unfeeling voice on the other end cut her off. "Even if he dies, you must get those blueberry muffins for Portia." Before Dorothy could respond, the phone went dead, the line gone as though nothing had ever happened. She cast a lingering glance at the emergency room, then down at her phone, the weight of the choice settling heavily in her chest. After a long breath, she gritted her teeth and resolved to stay at the hospital. Hours later, Ivan was finally wheeled out of the emergency room. It had been a narrow escape. The doctor’s voice was somber but hopeful. "He’s stable for now, but his condition remains serious. Please, try to keep the stress to a minimum." Dorothy nodded quickly. "Thank you, Doctor." In the quiet of the ward, she sat by Ivan’s side, her eyes tracing every detail of his pale face. The dam she’d been holding back for so long finally broke and silent tears spilled down her cheeks as she whispered, "Ivan, you haven’t given up on me, so I won’t give up on you." Outside the window, the first snow of the season began to fall, each flake drifting softly to the ground. Dorothy’s gaze followed them and her mind wandered back to a time long ago. When she was young, her parents’ arguments echoed through their home, growing louder and more frequent. The threat of divorce hung heavy in the air and both of them wanted to take Ivan with them as if he could somehow heal all the broken pieces. When Dorothy had knelt on the cold floor, feeling like nothing more than a discarded piece of trash, Kyrie had stormed in. He’d grabbed her hand with a grip that almost felt desperate, his voice cutting through the silence like a whip. "If you don’t want her, I do!" At fourteen, Dorothy and Ivan had been forced to face the world alone after their parents died in a plane crash, their lives forever altered. Relatives who had once shown kindness turned into ruthless vultures, eager to divide them up as though they were mere objects. Just when it seemed they would be torn apart, Kyrie had stepped in. Back then, at only sixteen, Kyrie had been young, but his courage had been unmatched. He had stood tall against the world, facing down the elders with a fierce resolve. "Anyone who dares to touch them will have to answer to my family." For four years, Kyrie had kept them safe, standing by their side through thick and thin. The three of them had been inseparable, their bond stronger than anything. But now, because of Portia, that bond had shattered beyond repair. Dorothy couldn’t fathom it; could loving someone really change Kyrie so completely? Could it really turn him into this cold, heartless stranger?

But if you truly loved someone, how could you ever look for a substitute? The question lingered in Dorothy’s mind, but no answer came. After a long, silent wait, Dorothy finally left the hospital, the weight of the day pressing down on her. It wasn’t until she was home that she remembered that she had forgotten the blueberry muffins for Portia. By then, the night had settled in and the snow was falling thick and fast. The house was shrouded in darkness. Dorothy stepped inside her heart racing. As her eyes adjusted, she saw him, Kyrie, sitting motionless on the sofa. A cigarette dangled from his lips, a haze of smoke swirling around him. Empty bottles of alcohol lay scattered at his feet, the remnants of a long, lonely evening. When he heard her footsteps, his head snapped up, his eyes cutting through the gloom like a blade. "You finally decided to come back?" Dorothy’s fingers curled tighter around the hem of her clothes. "My brother’s condition... it flared up. It’s serious. I couldn’t leave, so I..." Her voice faltered, but before she could finish, Kyrie was on his feet, closing the distance between them in an instant. With a grip like iron, he seized her neck, his fingers digging into her skin. "Didn’t I tell you something today? Did you not understand me?" As his words left his lips, Kyrie pressed the burning cigarette onto Dorothy’s chest with brutal force. Dorothy screamed, the searing pain shooting through her and tears streamed down her face uncontrollably. "Please, don’t!" In a flash, Kyrie’s expression shifted, panic flooding his features. He quickly flicked the cigarette away, his face twisted with distress as he looked at her. "I’m sorry, Dorothy! I didn’t mean to…" Dorothy’s eyes shot up to meet his, filled with pain and confusion. "Kyrie, you..." But before she could finish, his eyes turned cold again, his gaze filled with rage. Bloodshot and burning, they locked onto hers. "Why did you come back? Give me back, Portia! Bring her back to me!" Her body trembled, her lip trembling as blood leaked from it, a result of her desperate bite. "But this is my body!" Kyrie’s fury erupted like a volcano. "I don’t care!" In an instant, he shoved her out the door, his hands firm and cruel. "Go find the blueberry muffins now! If you can’t, don’t bother coming back!" Dorothy struggled, her heart racing. "Wake up! They’re not the same person!" "I don’t need you to remind me!" he snarled. As panic gripped her, Dorothy caught a glimpse of Portia standing at the door, watching her with a cold, twisted smile. The door slammed shut before she could speak. The snow kept falling, heavier now and Dorothy trembled in the biting cold. Tears mingled with snowflakes streaked down her face as an absurd thought suddenly flashed in her mind. Portia had been the one to occupy her body for six long years, part of the manipulation. Could it be that Kyrie had only been a puppet in all this? Her phone buzzed, breaking her train of thought. It was a message from Portia. [If you don’t bring back the blueberry muffins, your brother will be discharged from the hospital tomorrow!] With a growl of frustration, Dorothy gritted her teeth and plunged into the snow, determined to find the shop. But when she arrived after what felt like an eternity, the shop was closed. She pushed on, searching through the snow-laden streets, until, finally, she found a dim sum shop still open, a dim light glowing through the window. She had just paid for the items, ready to head home when another message from Kyrie buzzed on her phone. [Portia doesn’t want the blueberry muffins anymore. Go buy her shortbread cookies instead.] Frustration gnawed at her as she searched for the new item, but the shop didn’t carry shortbread cookies. So Dorothy pushed on. By the time she found a store that sold them, Portia had changed her mind again. Back and forth, like a pawn in their game, Dorothy was tossed around for what seemed like forever. By the time she made it home, it was late, her clothes drenched with snow, a mess of exhaustion and frustration. She knocked for what felt like ages, but no one answered. Her call to Kyrie went unanswered and she hung up before it even rang twice. Finally, the servant, unable to watch her torment any longer, spoke from the other side of the door. "Madam, the Master and Miss are already resting. Miss Sandoval says the cakes aren’t fresh and doesn’t want them. She wants you to throw them away." At that moment, Dorothy nearly crumbled. Her hands shook, the cakes tumbling from her grip with a resounding thud.

"It's very cold outside. Could you let me in?" The servant hesitated, the words caught in their throat. "Sorry, Madam, Miss Sandoval said you cannot enter. She also said you can’t leave before they wake up. Otherwise... your brother..." "I understand." Dorothy crouched down, her body curling instinctively as if to protect herself from the biting cold. Evansville's winter had never been this cruel. Despite her thick clothing, the sub-zero temperatures seeped into her bones, turning her body to stone. Her hands shook relentlessly, unable to find warmth. The wind sliced through her like a thousand tiny blades. Dorothy struggled to breathe, her throat tight as her tears froze into small, painful beads against her skin. The door swung open just as the cold began to steal her consciousness. Kyrie's voice rang out above her, sharp and accusatory. "Dorothy, who are you trying to fool this time?" Before she could answer, he hauled her to her feet. "What, you’re out here freezing just to make me pity you?" Her teeth clattered, her lips pale, but she managed to speak. "It’s Portia. She won’t let me in." "What nonsense are you talking about? Am I really that cruel?" Portia emerged from the room, her eyes sharp. She latched onto Kyrie’s arm, her lips pouting in feigned innocence. "Kyrie, look at her. She’ll say anything just to make you feel sorry for her!" Kyrie sneered. "You think she’s trying to trick me? Who do you think you are?" Dorothy quickly pointed toward the servant standing nearby. "Ask her." The servant lowered her gaze, speaking softly. "Miss Sandoval didn’t give any instructions." "You..." Dorothy’s words were cut short as if struck by a bolt of lightning. Before she could even react, Kyrie slammed her to the ground. "Since you enjoy tormenting yourself so much, clean up the garden and pull every weed! Otherwise, you and your brother can forget about everything going well for you!" The words drained all the fight from Dorothy, leaving her hollow. Her eyes reddened with unshed tears, but she remained silent. Slowly, she rose to her feet and staggered toward the garden, the weight of her defeat heavy with each step. The garden had been neglected for days and wild grass had crept into every crack in the walls as though it had been left there just for Dorothy. She had only managed to pull a few weeds when blisters began to form on her hands, a combination of itching and sharp pain. "How pitiful." Portia’s voice cut through the air, dripping with mockery. Dorothy clenched her fists, determined not to respond. But before she could continue, a cold stream of water cascaded over her, soaking her to the bone. Dorothy gasped in shock, scrambling to her feet, only to find Portia grinning wickedly, holding the hose like a weapon. "Portia, are you done yet?" Dorothy’s body trembled with rage, the biting cold wind cutting at her skin like a thousand knives. Portia giggled. "Seeing you like this makes me so happy." Dorothy stared at her, her heart hardening with each mocking word. Suddenly, a strange calm settled over her. She clenched her fists. "Portia, you're the same as the one who took over my body, aren’t you?" Portia froze, just for a moment. Then she twirled her hair, a deeper smile spreading across her face. "Looks like you're not as stupid as I thought. Yes, I’m the one who took over your body." Dorothy’s eyes widened, her fists tightening so hard that her knuckles turned white. "Why? Why are you doing this?" Portia studied her with interest, a smile playing on her lips. "Let me tell you something. At first, my target wasn’t Kyrie. It was your brother, Ivan. But he was so stubborn, wouldn’t listen to me and all he cared about was you, his precious sister." Ivan... Dorothy’s throat tightened, her breath hitching. "According to the story, he only had three years left to live. I couldn’t tie myself to someone with such a short life. So, I used a tool to take over my body and shift my focus. As for Kyrie... well, the tool I used helped me win his favor as well."

Portia grew increasingly pleased with herself, her satisfaction evident in every word. "I have to admit, my decision was spot on. He’s far better than Ivan in every possible way. It’s just a pity that once the tool ran out, I was dragged back to the original world." Her smile deepened, a trace of something darker behind her eyes. "But since I love him, I couldn’t bear to stay away. So, I found a way to return to this world. And seeing you in such misery... it fills me with such satisfaction." "Truthfully, I didn’t want to go after you, but you kept standing in my way, ruining everything. You even made me lose face in front of everyone!" Dorothy froze and fragments of the past surged through her mind. She remembered a girl who would visit Ivan at the hospital, bringing him gifts. At first, Dorothy had assumed the girl was just a friend. But then Ivan had told her the truth, that she was no friend at all. Ivan had always been distant from that girl, showing nothing but indifference. Yet, she clung to him like a shadow, even daring to force her way into his room while he rested. At first, Dorothy had only tried to advise the girl gently, but soon, she realized something far darker had happened; the girl had somehow caused Ivan to fall unconscious and even touched him. That was when Dorothy had snapped, throwing the girl out without a second thought. She had never imagined that girl was Portia. Nor could she have known that Portia would harbor such deep resentment over it. Seeing Dorothy’s stunned silence, Portia’s tone grew colder, her words cutting deeper. "Let me spell it out for you, Dorothy. Everything you’re going through now is your fault. After all, you were the one who got in my way back then." A cruel smile curled Portia’s lips. "But I do owe you a thank you. If it weren’t for you, I never would have switched my target to Kyrie. He treats me so well... and he’s far more satisfying than your short-lived brother. I…" "Shut up!" Dorothy’s vision blurred with rage as she charged forward, her hand connecting with Portia’s cheek in a stinging slap. Portia stood frozen for a moment, eyes wide. "You dare slap me?" "What are you doing, Dorothy!" The sudden roar from behind shattered the moment. Before Dorothy could react, she was shoved into the bushes, her face scraping against sharp rose thorns that tore at her skin, drawing fresh blood. "Kyrie, thank goodness you’re here!" Portia rushed into Kyrie’s arms, feigning distress. Though she wasn’t hurt in the slightest, she cried with a dramatic flair, clutching him like a lifeline. Kyrie’s cold gaze locked onto Dorothy, his voice seething with anger. "Dorothy, you’ve become bold, haven’t you?" Dorothy gritted her teeth, ignoring the sharp sting on her face as she pushed herself up. "Kyrie, don’t be fooled by her. She’s not who she seems..." Before she could finish, Kyrie’s hand connected with her cheek in another slap, this time gripping her chin with a vice-like hold. "I told you, no tricks. Apologize to Portia right now." Dorothy’s heart bled just as her cheek did and with fists clenched so tightly her nails dug into her palms, she glared at Kyrie with defiance. "I won’t apologize!" Kyrie’s eyes darkened, a storm brewing within them. "Are you sure?" Dorothy’s fingers, icy and trembling, turned pale from the force of her grip, her voice cracking with raw emotion. "Kyrie, why won’t you trust me? Portia isn’t who she seems. She’s the one pulling the strings!" "Enough of your nonsense!" "Since you refuse to listen, I’ll make you see sense!" With that, Kyrie wrenched Dorothy up. As soon as she was on her feet, a sharp, searing pain ripped through her abdomen, followed by a warm, unwanted rush. Her period had come. "Let go of me!" Dorothy fought with all her strength, but Kyrie’s grip was unrelenting, and in the end, he dragged her toward the edge of the swimming pool, her body a captive to his force.

"Get down!" Before the words even settled in the air, Kyrie shoved Dorothy into the cold water. With a harsh splash, Dorothy gasped, choking on mouthfuls of water. The frigid sensation engulfed her and the sharp pain in her abdomen intensified. Her face drained of color as she looked at Kyrie, her eyes silently begging for mercy. But he was unmoved, his expression as cold as the water around her, his gaze hollow and unfeeling. At that moment, Dorothy felt herself sinking, not just into the water, but into the depths of despair. It was clear now: she and Kyrie could never go back. He was no longer the man she had loved; he had become something unrecognizable, like a stranger or a madman. "Keep an eye on her. Don’t let her come up until she admits her mistake. Only when she does that can you pull her out!" Kyrie’s command was chilling. Without another glance, he turned and walked away, Portia clinging to his side. The servants watched, their faces etched with sympathy. One of them whispered, "Madam, just apologize." None of them could have predicted how the once inseparable, loving couple had shattered into this cruel, cold reality. Before, Kyrie had treated Dorothy like fragile porcelain, holding her close, fearing she might break. Now, he had become the very thing that threatened to destroy her. But now, he was tormenting his wife for another woman… The servants could hardly comprehend the whirlwind of confusion swirling in Kyrie’s mind. The woman who had captured his attention wasn’t even as beautiful as Dorothy. In that moment, Dorothy’s vision began to blur, her face draining of all color as the words of the servant echoed in her ears. She fought the urge to bite her lip, but instead, she simply shook her head in disbelief. It wasn’t until Kyrie’s figure disappeared from view that she finally gave in to the darkness, fainting from the weight of it all. As she slipped into unconsciousness, nightmares gripped her like cold hands. The memories of her past with Kyrie surged forward, overwhelming her in a crushing wave. She found herself adrift on a vast, pitch-black ocean, utterly alone, desperately searching for something to cling to, her strength slipping away as she neared the brink of drowning. Back then, Kyrie had been pure, like a delicate mix of ice and water, in a fragile porcelain bowl. The simplest touch, a hand-held, a fleeting kiss, was enough to make him blush, his innocence and affection evident in every gesture. He used to say, "I really like you, Dorothy; no matter what happens, let's never be apart, okay?" Dorothy smiled at him, her heart fluttering, but before she could respond with a simple "like," the dream shifted violently. The man in his twenties had shed the innocence of youth and now his cold presence felt like a blade slicing through Dorothy’s soul. Without warning, he seized her neck in a ruthless grip. "Why did you come back? Give me my Portia back!" Dorothy jolted awake, drenched in a cold sweat, her chest heaving. Dazed, she felt the tender touch of someone carefully tending to the wounds on her body, applying a soothing medicinal liquid. The touch was so familiar, so gentle that it made her shiver. Her eyes snapped open and there, hovering above her, was Kyrie. His gaze was soft, filled with an unfamiliar pity, as though she were a delicate treasure he was afraid of losing. "You..." Dorothy’s eyes widened, her mind struggling to grasp the reality of the moment. She couldn’t believe what she saw, her thoughts spinning in disbelief. Was this still a dream? However, Kyrie’s tender gaze vanished in an instant. His expression shifted as though a storm had overtaken him. "Dorothy, who gave you the right to hurt yourself? Where did these scars come from?" He seized Dorothy’s arm, lifting it roughly. The sleeve slid down, revealing the dark marks etched into her skin like a map of suffering. Dorothy bit her lip, her silence echoing in the space between them. Kyrie’s gaze darkened, his voice turning as cold as the winter wind. "I’ll tell you this: you’ll die completely, even if you die!" Dorothy’s heart was numb from the weight of his words. Her eyes burned and with a bitter smile, she looked up at him. "But aren’t you also hurting me?" Kyrie fell silent for a moment, his thoughts a storm raging behind his eyes. Then, with a sneer, he spoke. "Don’t expect me to feel sorry for you. You made me lose Portia. I wish you were dead." With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Dorothy to face the crushing silence.

With a deafening bang, the door slammed shut. Dorothy stared at the bottles of medicine beside her and the tears she had been holding back finally fell, each drop carrying the weight of her grief. Her hands trembled violently and an overwhelming urge to grab a knife and cut her wrist surged through her. In her darkest moments, Dorothy had often turned to self-harm, finding a strange peace in the blood, a way to silence the chaos inside her. But now, the room felt suffocatingly empty, with nothing to grasp onto. She gritted her teeth, trying to still her trembling hands, but it was hopeless. Finally, she curled up into herself, her sobs silent yet full of despair, like someone who had lost their voice. For days, Dorothy remained locked in this void of emptiness. The servants brought her food, but Portia would always replace it with leftover scraps. Portia’s grudge over the slap remained fresh and every chance she got, when Kyrie wasn’t around, she would find ways to humiliate Dorothy, even showing her videos of herself with Kyrie in bed. Dorothy was on the edge of a complete breakdown. Her body shook relentlessly and the thoughts of self-harm and suicide grew, suffocating her like wild vines. At her lowest point, she even considered ending it all in front of Portia or dragging them both down together. But when her mind turned to Ivan, still lying in the hospital, she gritted her teeth and fought the urge. If she died, Kyrie would never care about Ivan’s life. She couldn’t die. Portia watched Dorothy, her hands trembling as she tried to hold back the pain, a mocking smile curling on her lips. "Worried about Ivan?" Dorothy froze, feeling the blood drip from her clenched palm, where she had dug her nails in too deep. Portia’s voice was cold as ice. "I’ll tell you the truth. Your brother’s condition has worsened. While you’ve been away, his heart disease relapsed multiple times. The doctors have said he’s critical. He’s about to die." Dorothy’s eyes widened in horror. She hissed, barely able to breathe. "Did you do something to provoke him?" Portia just smiled, saying nothing. "Why are you doing this?" Driven by anger and desperation, Dorothy stumbled out of bed, reaching for Portia’s sleeve. But just as her fingers brushed the fabric, Kyrie stepped through the door. Dorothy turned instantly, gripping his pant leg with desperate hands. "Kyrie, how’s my brother? Please, let me see him!" Kyrie looked down at her, his gaze hardening, unable to stomach her pitiful state. He clicked his tongue and tossed his phone at her. "Go ahead." Without hesitation, Dorothy gritted her teeth, sprang to her feet and bolted out of the villa. Snow fell heavily outside and she stood in the cold for what felt like an eternity before finally hailing a cab. But when she reached the hospital, her heart shattered. Ivan was gone. She hadn’t even gotten the chance to say goodbye. This couldn’t be true… It was impossible. Tears blurred Dorothy’s vision as she gripped the doctor’s sleeve. "You must have made a mistake! His heart disease was serious, but not to the point of death! When did this happen? How could this happen? Why didn’t anyone contact me?" The doctor shifted uncomfortably. "Miss Howell, please calm down. Mr. Howell’s condition relapsed last night. We tried to reach you, but we couldn’t." Dorothy staggered back, barely keeping her balance. Last night, she had woken suddenly, pain cutting through her chest, a cold sense of dread filling her. For reasons she couldn’t explain, her thoughts had turned to Ivan. Yet no matter how desperately she begged, Kyrie had refused to let her go. Now, they had released her. It was clear they had known Ivan was gone. "Why did his heart disease relapse so suddenly? It had been stable! Did someone provoke him? Did Portia visit him?"

The memory of Portia’s smug expression set Dorothy’s blood boiling. Her hand shook as she pulled out her phone and showed the doctor a photo. The doctor’s face faltered, his words stumbling in his throat as he hesitated to answer. "She was the one who went to see him, wasn’t she?" Dorothy’s tears spilled, flooding her face as she screamed out in agony. Her body was trembling on the edge of collapse, each sob a sharp reminder of her torment. At last, the doctor, worn down by her relentless questioning, nodded, confirming that Portia had visited the hospital the night before. During her visit, Ivan’s condition had taken a turn for the worse. Portia. Dorothy’s vision turned red with fury, her hands trembling so violently that blood began to drip from her clenched fists, falling like a steady stream to the floor below. Without a second thought, she rushed out of the hospital, her next destination clear. She bought a sharp, bone-cutting knife before heading straight back to Kyrie’s villa. When she burst into the living room, her ears were pierced by the sound of Portia’s laughter mingling with Kyrie’s, the noise sinking into her heart like a thousand daggers. "Portia!" Her shout reverberated through the room as she gripped the knife, her hands shaking with fury. Without hesitation, she lunged at Portia. "Are you out of your mind, Dorothy?" Portia screamed, narrowly dodging her. At that moment, Kyrie grabbed the knife, his strong grip halting Dorothy’s charge. The blade bit deep into his wrist, a grimace of pain twisting his face. Fury flared in his eyes as he kicked Dorothy away, sending her crashing to the ground. Pain exploded in Dorothy’s abdomen, making it impossible for her to rise. Blood dripped from the corner of her mouth as she glared at them, her voice hoarse from the agony. "Portia! Why did you harm my brother?" Portia hid behind Kyrie, her voice dripping with false innocence. "What are you talking about? I never hurt your brother." "His heart failed when you visited him at the hospital!" Dorothy’s eyes burned with anger. "You provoked him. You’re a murderer!" Before she could finish, Kyrie slapped her hard, the sting of the blow sending shockwaves through her already battered body. Kyrie looked down at Dorothy, his expression dripping with contempt. "What nonsense are you babbling? A sick man died, big deal." It felt like a lightning bolt struck Dorothy, her entire body trembling as her voice faltered. "Kyrie, how can you say that? You were once Ivan’s closest friend! You…" Kyrie cut her off with a cold, twisted smile. "Who cares about being his friend? Now that he’s dead, it's just as well." Dorothy’s world spun. Her mind went blank and her heart felt like it was being torn to shreds. The pain crushed her chest, making it hard to breathe. "Oh, Kyrie, don’t be so harsh. Dorothy is just heartbroken and acting out," Portia purred, her tone oozing with false sympathy. She approached Dorothy, her hand reaching down to help her up, but her words were sharp as a knife. "Yes, I was the one who killed him. But it’s all your fault, really, you slapped me the other day, remember? So technically, you killed him." The final thread of Dorothy’s sanity snapped and she crumpled, her mind breaking apart in a wave of overwhelming grief. Her hands shook uncontrollably as she slowly stood, her legs trembling beneath her. She didn’t utter a single word as she cast one final glance at Kyrie before rushing out of the villa, her heart pounding in her chest. "Where are you going?!" Kyrie’s voice was laced with urgency as an uneasy premonition crept into his gut. Without a second thought, he followed her, reaching out to grab her arm. But Dorothy, summoning every last ounce of strength, broke free, her feet pounding the ground faster and faster. They reached the sea and Dorothy stood perched on the high rocks, her eyes bloodshot, streaks of tears marking her face like a map of her pain. She turned to face Kyrie, her voice cracking with raw emotion. "Kyrie, you’re so heartless! You promised me forever, but now you’re the one tearing me apart!" "Do you even know? I wanted to end it all during this time, but I kept going for Ivan. And now… now he’s gone to.” "Portia is a liar! She's not as innocent as you think! Why are you doing this to me for her?!” Her voice cracked with desperation, but Kyrie only frowned. "So what? Are you planning to throw yourself into the sea to make a scene or threaten me?" Behind him, Portia snaked her arm around Kyrie’s, her laughter dripping with mockery. "Sister Dorothy, stop it. This trick won't work on Kyrie. You’re just embarrassing yourself now!" As Dorothy stood there, the crowd began to form, their whispers and glances prickling her skin. Kyrie’s brow furrowed, his patience thinning. "Alright, enough. Come down now." But Dorothy, numb to everything, no longer cared to defend herself. She simply stared at Kyrie and Portia with a cold, unblinking gaze. "I’ll never forgive you both." With that, she turned, the weight of the world pressing on her chest and leaped into the dark sea.