One quiet afternoon, Alia was sitting entirely alone on a secluded park bench, enjoying an ice cream while lost in her own thoughts. The serene atmosphere shattered the moment a ghost from her past suddenly stepped into her line of sight her old ex-boyfriend, Margaret.
Seeing him materialize out of nowhere after all this time caught Alia completely off guard. For a split second, she froze in sheer astonishment. Slowly, almost instinctively, she raised a hand to touch her own cheek, her eyes widening with a mix of shock and a sudden rush of long-buried memories.
Margaret stepped closer, a familiar, tentative expression on his face as he softly broke the silence, "Alia... is that really you? After all this time, sitting here all alone?"
Alia didn't utter a single word. She just sat there, her gaze locked onto his eyes with an unblinking, heavy stare. Beneath the sudden, fleeting ripple of surprise, her expression hardened into that familiar, lethal stillness a chilling reminder that the woman standing before him now was no longer the girl he used to know, but a creature born of absolute darkness.
Before Margaret could fully process her silence or say another word, Alia made a completely unexpected, calculated move. A chilling, inscrutable smile curved her lips as she shifted slightly on the bench.
Without breaking eye contact, she reached out, took Margaret's hand in her own, and pulled it forward.
Before he could react, Alia leaned in and pressed her lips against the back of his hand a gesture that was simultaneously intimate, hauntingly cold, and dripping with an absolute, untouchable power. It wasn't an act of affection; it was a sovereign dismissing a minor subject, a calculated display of casual dominance.
When she pulled back, her eyes met his with a deadpan, predatory chill. Margaret froze, a sudden shiver running down his spine as the cold reality set in: the woman sitting before him was no longer anyone he could ever claim or understand. She was dangerous, untouchable, and bound to a darkness he could never hope to cross.
The icy, unyielding armor of absolute control that Alia had worn cracked and shattered in a single, agonizing fraction of a second. The moment she lifted her lips from his hand, a shimmering veil of tears welled up and pooled within her dark eyes, catching the dim afternoon light.
She made no effort to wipe them away, nor did she hide the sudden, raw vulnerability breaking through her fierce facade. Her chest rose and fell with a shaky, heavy breath as she stared up at Margaret, her voice trembling with a profound, aching sorrow that echoed deep within the quiet park:
"Why did you have to come back, Margaret...? Why show up now, of all times... when I can never, ever go back to being the girl I used to be...?"
The broken, fragile note in her voice pierced through the cold air, revealing a devastating truth. Beneath all the lethal power, the crown of the underworld, and the suffocating, dark luxury of Viktor's embrace, a small, ghost-like piece of her heart was still silently mourning the innocence she had lost forever.With a swift, practiced motion, Alia blinked away the shimmering moisture, instantly banishing the fleeting vulnerability from her expression. In the blink of an eye, the soft, grieving girl vanished, replaced once again by the lethal, untouchable queen of the underworld.
Locking her piercing gaze directly onto his, a cold, mocking smirk touched her lips as she tilted her head. Her voice dropped into a smooth, razor-sharp murmur:
"Anyway... how is your wife, Margaret?"
The unexpected question hung heavily in the chilling air. Margaret flinched, caught completely off guard as the realization hit him she already knew everything about his new life. There was no warmth or genuine curiosity in her words, only a subtle, cutting dismissal, drawing a definitive line under a past that no longer mattered.
Margaret stared at her, utterly frozen. Hearing her ask about his wife left him momentarily speechless, realizing that beneath her chilling facade, the question was steeped in a lifetime of buried resentment and unexpressed pain.
Recovering slightly, Margaret swallowed hard, his voice trembling as he answered, "She... she's fine, Alia. But..." He hesitated, searching her eyes with a desperate, lingering ache. "She's only a wife on paper, Alia. My heart, my past, my entire present they still belong to you. I never stopped loving you, and I could never forget you..."
As Margaret's confession hung heavy in the quiet air, the cold, mocking smirk instantly vanished from Alia's face. A sudden, violent storm of conflicting emotions flickered deep within her dark eyes.
In the wake of Margaret's confession, the heavy silence between them felt almost suffocating. Alia didn't offer a single word in response. With a slow, quiet sigh, she pushed herself up from the bench.
Without looking back, she began to walk, and Margaret fell into step beside her as they moved silently along the winding pathway within the enclosed campus grounds. The only sound breaking the quiet was the soft crunch of dry leaves beneath their shoes.
As they walked side by side, Margaret kept stealing sideways glances at her, his eyes filled with a desperate longing, as if he still couldn't quite believe the girl from his past was right here next to him. Alia, however, kept her gaze fixed straight ahead, her expression an impenetrable mask of cool indifference. Outwardly, she was the picture of calm, but beneath the surface, a violent storm of old memories and ruthless reality raged on, making the physical distance between them feel like an unbridgeable chasm.
Stepping off the path, the two of them eventually made their way into a quiet, secluded campus coffee shop, choosing a secluded table tucked away in the corner. When the waiter approached, Alia calmly ordered a black coffee, her voice entirely devoid of emotion.
Once the drinks arrived, she didn't touch her cup. Instead, she sat in quiet grace, lifting a hand to gently sweep a stray strand of hair behind her ear, meticulously adjusting her locks with an effortless, hypnotic poise.
Watching her graceful movements, a heavy sigh tore from Margaret's chest. Unable to contain the burning weight in his mind any longer, he leaned forward, his voice dropping to a tense, cautious murmur:
"Tell me, Alia... how is your husband... how is Viktor treating you?"
Margarets gaze involuntarily drifted away from her eyes, lingering hungrily on her lips for a fraction of a second. The old, familiar ache of desire and longing flared up within him.
Alia noticed the blatant stare, yet she didn't flinch or look away. Instead, a slow, mocking smirk curved her lips a lethal, intoxicating smile meant to torture him.
Leaning slightly forward across the small table, her voice dropping into a dark, deliberate murmur, she said with chilling poise:
"Curious to see, aren't you, Margaret...? Wanting to look at the lips that once belonged only to you... knowing they now bear the seal of someone else's absolute claim?"Losing all restraint to the overwhelming surge of desire and desperation, Margaret slipped his hand into his pocket, pulled out a small foil packet, and slid it quietly across the table right in front of her. His voice dropped to a ragged, pleading whisper, "If you want to go back to how things used to be, just for tonight... if you want this..."
Alia's mocking smirk froze instantly, turning as hard and cold as absolute zero. A lethal, terrifying chill settled into her dark eyes as she glanced down at the packet resting on the wood, then slowly raised her gaze back to his face.
Straightening her posture, her voice cut through the air with razor-sharp finality:
"Listen to me, Margaret... I may remember that you were once my past, but that doesn't mean I will ever cheapen my present. I am not going to do this. Stop this pathetic nonsense right now, or you already know the consequences."
Alia watched him with an unreadable, piercing gaze, entirely unfazed by his relentless, desperate fixation. When she saw that his obsessive delusion hadn't broken even after her warning, a sharp, mocking smile touched her lips once more devoid of any warmth, carrying only a cruel, mocking amusement.
Pushing her coffee cup slightly aside, she leaned forward across the table. Locking her eyes directly into his, she let out a slow, deliberate breath, every word dripping with absolute disdain and blistering sarcasm as she spoke with cutting precision:
"What is wrong with you, Margaret? Why are you staring at me like a fool, so obsessed with my life while completely ignoring your own? I'm talking about that wife of yours that innocent, naive woman who wears the title of your wife and sits quietly in your house, completely oblivious to the filthy, rotting dungeon your mind has actually become. She probably spends her days waiting for you to come home, believing with all her heart that her husband belongs only to her... while every single one of your thoughts, your twisted desires, and your cravings are entirely consumed by me! You share a roof with her, yet whenever you look at her, all you see is my shadow. Why are you so obsessed with protecting such a pathetic, miserable existence, honey boy? Or is it because, even inside that picture-perfect life you've built, you know deep down that the person you're holding is nothing more than a living corpse... because I crushed your heart beneath my heel a lifetime ago?!"
As the mention of her and Viktor's eldest child slipped from Margaret's lips, the air around them suddenly grew heavier and frostier. Amidst the sharp, repressed pain and regret gripping his chest, Margaret asked in a trembling, fragile voice:
"Tell me, Alia... how is she now... our eldest daughter?"
Confronted by this unexpected question, Alia froze for a single fraction of a second. A hidden shadow of suppressed pain flickered deep within her eyes. But she reined herself in instantly, replying in a chillingly cold and indifferent tone:
"She's fine... and she's already married."
Hearing the news, Margaret's eyes instantly welled up with tears. Letting out a heavy, shuddering sigh, he muttered, "Married...? She's grown up that much... Tell me, Alia... tell me the truth, haven't you forgotten those words from back then? Including that eldest child, exactly how many children do you and Viktor have? Four or five? Honestly, I can't quite remember anymore..."
Alia stared at him fixedly. There was no anger or irritation on her face, only a ruthless and eerie emptiness. With crystal-clear, icy precision, she reminded him:
"Why would I forget, Margaret? I remember everything. Viktor and I have a total of five children four of them, including that eldest, are your and 4 exboy blood and one is... but why should I even account to you, Margaret? They are the sole heirs to Viktor's empire, and not even a shadow of your past life has any right to touch them."
Margaret lowered his head, listening in silence. He knew all too well that in Alia's vast empire, among her children, and within the royal darkness of her current life, his place was nothing more than a speck of dust from a forgotten past.
Stung by Margaret's biting words, Alia's icy exterior instantly shifted, igniting with a fierce, burning fury. By dragging up the ugly, inescapable truth of their past, Margaret was practically inviting his own doom.
Gritting his teeth in a mix of lingering bitterness and frustration, Margaret snapped, "Man... you were always a bad girl to begin with, Alia... it was that rotten nature deep inside you that destroyed everything!"
Hearing those words, Alia couldn't help the dark, mocking laugh that bubbled up from her throat. Twisting the corner of her lips into a lethal smile, she whispered chillingly, "Honey... do you still remember 'tape time'? Have you completely forgotten the circumstances that turned me into this monster, honeymoon boy?"
The moment Alia mentioned 'tape time' and that dark night from their past, the blood in Margaret's veins turned to ice. Unable to hide his guilt any longer, he lowered his head and confessed in a ragged whisper, "Yes... I know, I ruined everything... I am the mafia boss who turned your life into a living hell with my own hands..."
As Margaret's confession hung heavy in the air, Alia leaned in, locking her dangerous, captivating eyes onto his, and murmured softly:
"Yes.....
At that single word from Alia, a deep, agonized cry tore from the depths of Margaret's chest. All his lingering pride, all his mafia authority, shattered into dust in a single fraction of a second. Unable to contain his overwhelming emotions any longer, he slammed his hands onto the table and leaned forward toward Alia, looking entirely unhinged and desperate for just a scrap of mercy.
Real tears welled up and spilled over the corners of his eyes. Trembling, his voice choked with a raw, desperate plea as he practically begged, hands clasped together in total submission:
"Alia... please... don't punish me like this! I know I destroyed you, I know I was the monster who turned your life into a living hell... but believe me, standing right here, I despise myself more than anything! Every single moment of what I did back then is a living hell I pay for every day. I'll do whatever you say, just... just forgive me, just for once, Alia! All my arrogance is gone... please, take me back to our past, even if it's just for one single night..."
Alia stared fixedly at Margaret's pleading face as he leaned across the table, her eyes filled with a toxic mix of disgust and disdain. Resting her hand on the table, she looked at his begging hands, offered a twisted, mocking smile, and spat out with absolute contempt:
"Fucking honeymoon boy! Did you seriously think a few tears and fake sobs from you would make me melt? Your little 'penance' acts are nothing more than a pathetic, sickening farce to me."
Alia's harsh rejection and insult pierced straight through Margaret's chest like a dagger, shattering every last sliver of hope he had left. With a surge of bitter self-loathing, he pulled the foil packet out of his pocket and slammed it hard onto the table, as if that tiny object was the ultimate symbol of all his degradation and failure.
As the packet skidded across the wood, Margaret lowered his head, his voice reduced to a hollow, broken whisper:
"You're right, Alia... I'm just a criminal. I don't even have the right to ask for this."