Zale's brows tightened in restless sleep as sweat glistened across his forehead. In his dreams, he relived the original owner's life, seeing everything through the man's eyes.
In the final moments of that life, he sat old and frail in a rusted recliner that groaned beneath his weight.
Then the scene shattered.
In an instant, the chair vanished, and he was sinking. Cold darkness swallowed him as he plunged into a vast sea. Zale thrashed desperately, his lungs burning, his nose and chest on fire. He fought against the crushing weight of the water, but the sea stretched around him like an endless abyss—no surface, no light, no escape.
Just as his body was about to give out, Zale jolted awake with a violent gasp.
But the pressure didn't fade.
Something heavy still pressed down on his head, smothering his breath. Zale's mind faltered—was he still dreaming?
Almost instinctively, he shoved it away with brute force. A loud thud shattered the dead silence of the night.
A small figure tumbled to the floor, blinking in confusion before tears welled in his eyes and he began to cry.
"Wahh…"
Zale froze.
Realization struck him—he had pushed his son. Guilt flashed across his face as he quickly pulled the boy into his arms.
"Shh… it's okay. It's okay. It doesn't hurt. Go back to sleep."
After a few soft whimpers, the boy slowly drifted back to sleep. Zale exhaled in relief.
Then his gaze fell on the faint red bump on his son's forehead. Guilt clawed at his chest.
At the same time, he couldn't help but let out a quiet chuckle, caught between amusement and exasperation.
How did he even climb onto my head in his sleep?
After carefully applying ointment to the bump, Zale tiptoed into the living room and sank onto the couch.
Holding a cigarette between his fingers, he began sorting through the memories.
After the divorce, he had drowned himself in alcohol until his son nearly collapsed from food poisoning. Only then had he snapped back to reality.
A few months later, a lottery ticket he bought on impulse changed everything. After clearing his debts, he moved to another city and built a small business that eventually grew into a company worth millions.
Traumatized by his first marriage, Zale no longer sought love—only a loyal, responsible partner. His second marriage was purely practical, chosen from a family of equal standing.
A year later, his second son, Aden, was born. The year after that, a daughter followed—fulfilling his long-held wish of having both a boy and a girl.
Undeniably, the house was never entirely peaceful. But life was never meant to be perfect, and Zale had long since learned to be content with that.
That day was his daughter's eighteenth birthday. A beautifully decorated cake sat in the center of the room. Zale watched the lively scene with quiet satisfaction, his expression softened by a tenderness he rarely showed.
A moment later, he realized his eldest son, Daren, was missing. He scanned the room and found Daren standing on the balcony, absorbed in his phone.
A faint helplessness flickered in Zale's eyes. No matter how hard he tried, he had never been able to bridge the gap between Daren and the rest of the family.
He had long since stopped forcing it, choosing instead to hope they would simply remain safe.
Then Daren rushed inside, his face pale and stricken.
Zale's heart skipped a beat. What could make his usually calm son look so shaken?
"Dad! Look at this!" Daren's voice trembled as he shoved his phone forward.
Zale took it from his trembling hand. His eyes widened in shock and disbelief at the sight on the screen.
His name was trending online. And all of it was tied to his ex-wife, Amelie. Zale's fists clenched until his knuckles turned white.
Amelie was already a famous actress. The comment section beneath the post was flooded with hatred and curses, like a horde of beasts smelling blood.
He immediately instructed his PR team to control the situation and issued a public clarification from his account.
At first, Zale wanted to sue Amelie, but his lawyer advised against it. On paper, there was no clean way to refute the evidence.
Because Amelie's swollen eye was real—but it had been an accident.
After failing job interview after job interview, Zale had once smashed a glass in frustration. The sound startled Amelie just as she came home, causing her to slip and strike the edge of a table.
The bruises on her arm came from another incident. Zale had caught her striking their son in frustration over the child's incessant crying. He had grabbed her arm and shoved her away, bumping her into the door. It had been taken out of context and twisted into something else.
The clip circulating online showed only Zale's expression. Amelie had turned away from the camera.
Some believed his clarification. Many more did not. Most were Amelie's obsessive followers, and they clung to his family like predators that refused to let go.
Threatening letters.
Dead animals.
Blood-stained clothes.
Photos taken by stalkers.
It became routine at their doorstep.
And then came the day he could never forget.
Zale stood frozen at the doorway while his daughter lay inside, her face wrapped in bandages.
He could not make himself step inside. Cowardly or not, he feared seeing resentment in his daughter's eyes more than anything else.
Behind him, Aden's voice rang through the corridor as he turned his anger on Daren.
"Why are you standing here… like nothing happened?"
"My sister is fighting between life and death… and you're still standing perfectly fine?"
Zale was too drained to interfere.
Then—
"You son of a domestic violent man. Die! Die!"
"No!"
A sudden shout tore through the hallway. The sight before him turned his blood cold.
Aden lay sprawled on the floor, blood spreading across the tiles. Daren was grappling with a short, heavyset man who had somehow forced his way inside.
Without thinking, Zale rushed forward. The hospital hallway erupted into chaos. By the time the police dragged the man away, he was still laughing.
"Hahaha… I've avenged my goddess!"
It was her again.
Mira turned completely against Zale and Daren after both her son and daughter died in the same week. A month later, Daren jumped from a building.