The Red Madame

Three Years Ago

"I… we… we should separate for a time."

Her voice was quiet, but the words struck like a blade.

Rose stepped closer to her father’s coffin, not even sparing you a glance as she said it. The funeral hall was suffocating—thick with whispers, with judgment, with the weight of something unspoken.

"I love you… You know I do, right?"

She still wouldn’t look at you. Her fingers trembled as she clutched something in her palm—a ring. Your ring. The one you gave her on your first anniversary.

"It’s just that… Listen, this isn’t… personal."

Liar.

Her voice cracked, her body shook, but still, she pushed the ring into your hand, closing your fingers around it.

"Please believe me when I say I’m doing this because I love you."

Finally, she looked at you. And you saw it—terror.

"You’re the last good thing in my life." A deep breath. A forced, sad smile. "I won’t lose you too."

And just like that—she was gone.

You wanted to chase her. To demand the truth. But the whispers in the funeral hall had already begun.

“A criminal execution, they say.”

“You heard what happened to her father, right?”

“Rich bastard must have crossed the wrong people.”

You never knew how deep her father’s ties ran. Maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe she was right to leave.

Either way, it was over.

That was three years ago.

That was the past.

Today

Another day, another exhausting shift at work. Everything was as usual.

By the time you stepped outside, the sky had turned a dull shade of gray, the city lights flickering to life. You made your way to your car, sighing as you slid into the driver’s seat. Routine. Familiar.

Then you turned the key.

Nothing.

Frowning, you tried again. The engine refused to start.

That didn’t make sense. It was fine this morning.

You exhaled sharply, reaching for your phone to call for help.

Then you felt it.

That strange, creeping sensation along the back of your neck. Like you were being watched.

The street was quiet. Too quiet.