CHAPTER 5

NEXT MOVE

Kim stalked out of the hospital, the afternoon sun glaring down as he reached the parking lot. His hands trembled with anger and frustration as he unlocked his car, slid into the driver’s seat, and yanked the door shut. He fastened his seatbelt with a sharp click, then grabbed his phone from the dashboard, scrolling through his contacts until he found Luna’s name.

He jabbed the call button, his jaw clenched. When Luna answered, Kim’s voice was tight with irritation. “It didn’t work. Mr. and Mrs. Wills aren’t going to hand over Reiyal that easily.”

On the other end, Luna sat in her room, a framed photograph of Nicole and Reiyal hugging in her lap. She held the phone to her ear, a faint smile playing on her lips. “You’re a fool, Kim,” she said, her tone calm but edged with amusement. “You should have cried, shown some grief—maybe then they would have believed you actually feel guilty. But no, you marched in with paperwork, right after her mother’s death. What did you expect?”

Kim’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. He exhaled sharply, realizing his mistake. “You’re right. What should I do now?”

Luna’s smile widened. “Marry me. Then I’ll become Reiyal’s stepmother—I’ll wrap her in my care, make her trust me. She’s only ten, after all. She needs a mother now more than ever.”

Kim’s eyes gleamed with sudden understanding. “You’re right. I’m coming over. By tomorrow, no matter what, we’ll be married.”

He ended the call, tossed the phone onto the passenger seat, and started the engine. As he pulled out of the parking lot, his mind raced with plans, the hum of the car blending with the turmoil in his heart.

At Shang Mansion, 4 PM.

The bedroom is spacious and airy, sunlight streaming through the window beside the large bed in the corner. The bed’s crisp white linens contrast with the deep mahogany headboard. Directly across the room, at the opposite diagonal, two plush sofas face each other over a sleek coffee table. The door stands beside the sofas, while a tall wardrobe faces the bed. Next to the bed, a bookshelf is neatly arranged, a nightstand nestled between them. The bathroom door is just beside the wardrobe.

Luna lounges on one of the sofas, her posture relaxed yet poised. She meticulously paints her nails with glossy black polish, each stroke deliberate. On the coffee table in front of her rests a framed photograph of Nicole and Reiyal, smiling in a tight embrace.

Her lips curl into a cruel smile, eyes glinting with cold anger. “Just because of you, Nicole, Kim could never truly be mine,” she hisses, her voice sharp. “My son and I suffered because of you.”

Then, her expression softens, a warm, almost tender smile playing on her lips. “But now you’re dead,” she murmurs, voice silky, “and soon, he’ll be mine completely.”

The black polish on her nails catches the light as she admires her handiwork. She’s dressed in a short, off-shoulder black dress that ends just above her knees, the fabric clinging to her frame. With a slow, deliberate motion, she lifts her legs and rests her feet on the coffee table, right on top of the photograph. She crosses her ankles, her smile widening as she gazes down at the image beneath her.

“This is where you belong,” she whispers, voice dripping with satisfaction, “under my feet.”

The room is silent except for the faint hum of the city beyond the window. Luna’s satisfaction is palpable, her dominance over the memory of Nicole as stark as the black polish on her nails.

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