Chapter 3
I didn't dare imagine what the future awaited Hank and his crew.
The paper crafts shop returned to its eerie calm. The paper figures that had come to life were back in their original spots, as if nothing had ever happened.
Only the smell of blood still hanging in the air proved the nightmare was real.
I looked at Victor standing in front of me, my body still shaking uncontrollably.
He wasn't a ghost, and he wasn't a monster.
But he was ten thousand times scarier than any ghost or monster out there.
"Just leave," I forced myself to look Victor in the eye. "I don't need a husband like you."
His hand hung frozen in the air, and for just a moment, I saw hurt flash through those blood-red eyes.
"We're even?" Victor let out a low, almost manic laugh. "Stella, have you forgotten? You were the one who gave me my eyes, pulling me out of endless darkness.
"And now you want to walk away?"
He advanced on me, step by step, until my back hit the wall and I had nowhere left to run.
His cold body closed in, pinning me against the wall with his arms on either side, trapping me.
"No way," he said, his tone absolute.
He went on, "From the moment you gave me my eyes, our fates have been bound unless we're dead."
Just then, the shop door was kicked open again.
My heart leaped into my throat, thinking it was more trouble.
It was Leslie, the butler from Harris Group.
But this time, he wasn't followed by bodyguards. Instead, a middle-aged man in a sharp suit walked in, his face cold and stern.
There was a faint resemblance between us.
He didn't even spare me a glance.
His eyes slid right past me, fixing on Victor standing behind me, hungry and almost crazed.
"Finally... At last, I've found you..." the man muttered.
Leslie bowed respectfully. "Mr. Harris, this is the one."
Mr. Harris? This guy was the chairman of Harris Group?
And also the man who called me?
He took a step forward, speaking in a commanding tone straight to Victor.
He said, "My daughter woke you up. Now it's your turn to honor the contract and serve me."
Daughter? It hit me like a bolt of lightning.
Victor's arms, which had been pinning me in place, loosened just a little. He slowly turned his head, his blood-red eyes narrowing.
He shot a glance at the man who claimed to be my father, and then his gaze returned to my face.
He leaned in close to my ear, his voice flat and emotionless, but it sent a chill straight to my bones.
He said, "So this is the reason you want to give me away?"
Wait, my dad?
Without thinking, I shook my head. "I don't know him."
Victor's cold, piercing stare felt like a knife stabbing right into me.
I blurted out, clutching his sleeve, my voice shaking. "I swear, I never tried to give you away. I don't even know who that guy is!"
Dylan Harris, my father, finally bothered to spare me a glance.
There wasn't a shred of fatherly affection in his eyes, just plain disgust.
"Shut up. Just do as you're told," he snapped.
Then he turned back to Victor, his eyes burning with greed. "The pact is made. You belong to me now. I want you to..."
Before he could finish, Victor moved.
He didn't attack. He just raised his hand and flicked his wrist, almost lazily.
An invisible force clamped around Dylan's throat, hoisting him straight into the air.
His face turned a dark, purplish red as he thrashed helplessly.
"You? You think you're even qualified to talk pacts with me?" Victor sneered.
His voice carried a primordial authority, the kind that demanded respect and tolerated no defiance.
In his blood-red eyes, murderous intent burned fiercely.
"S-Stop!" Leslie was scared out of his wits, fumbling an ancient bronze mirror from his pocket and aiming it at Victor. "Mr. Harris, use the divine mirror."
Dylan struggled to raise his hand, chanting an incantation as he fixed his gaze on the mirror.
A blast of golden light burst forth from the mirror, hurtling straight toward Victor's face.
My heart clenched.
But the golden light froze in midair, about three feet from Victor, like it had hit an invisible barrier.
Then, in the blink of an eye, it whipped back around, blasting even faster straight into Dylan.
Dylan screamed as he was hurled across the room, slammed into the wall, and coughed up a huge mouthful of blood.
The bronze mirror broke with a loud crack, splintering into pieces.
Victor let go of him, like he'd just squashed an ant, completely effortlessly.
He walked toward Dylan, who was sprawled on the floor, and the icy aura pouring off him made it feel like the whole shop was about to freeze solid.
I was certain that in the next second, my so-called father would be shredded to bits, just like Hank.
Just then, an old man in a flowing robe burst through the door. It was Zachary, the master the Ward family had hired before.
He was obviously called in by Dylan to back him up.
"You fiend, don't get cocky! Just wait till you feel my fame..." Zachary shouted.
But his words died in his throat.
As Victor strode toward Dylan, the sleeve of his crimson wedding robe slipped down, exposing a pale wrist marked with a deep, intricate sigil, a maze of runes carved into his skin.
The mark wasn't red or black. It was a dark, soul-devouring purple.
Zachary's eyes locked onto the mark, and all the color drained from his face.
The talisman in his hand fluttered to the floor as he shook uncontrollably, his lips trembling so hard that he couldn't even get a full sentence out.
He looked at Victor, like he'd just seen an immortal, or the stuff of nightmares.
"S-Sir?" Zachary stammered.
But then he shook his head hard, as if denying the address.
With a loud thud, he threw himself flat on the ground, prostrating himself completely. With every ounce of strength he had, he forced out some words from his throat.
He said, "W-Welcome, Ghost General!"