Chapter 26: 23

CHAPTER 23

HOW IT STARTED

Seyren's POV

"I'm home!!" I raised my voice a little gently, even taking on a singsong tone.

It's been almost three months since Azara gave birth.

It's April again, marking a year and three months since the start of my game.

"Ma'am, the mother and child are sleeping in their room," our maid informed me. I nodded and headed directly to Azara's room.

There, I saw her sleeping soundly on her bed.

Peaceful, calm, and looking so innocent.

I approached her and gently pulled the blanket up to her shoulders.

I kissed her forehead and found myself smiling unintentionally.

She looked so damn gorgeous even without any makeup.

I left the bouquet of flowers I brought on her table, where I noticed a piece of paper that looked like a script.

I read it and realized it was indeed a script for a screening. She must have auditioned for a role.

She couldn't stand staying at home anymore.

She's been home for almost a year because of her pregnancy.

Now that she's given birth, she's back in front of the camera.

If I recall correctly, her male manager called her yesterday because a director wanted her to be part of an upcoming Netflix movie, the details of which I don't quite understand.

At least she's back in her own game.

When I went to our daughter Azalia's room, I saw her sleeping in her crib.

Her room was beautifully decorated, with swans painted on the wall by Azara herself.

She's a talented woman.

She knows how to act, she paints, she's smart, and sometimes witty.

"Sleep tight, my love," I whispered to my daughter, kissed her forehead, and left an angel keychain hanging among her other toys, like stars, moons, and clouds.

I arrived home late, so I expected them to be asleep.

I went to my own room, changed clothes, did my skincare routine, and then headed to the kitchen to get some food.

"Are you eating alone again?" Manang Marie asked. I smiled at her and nodded.

I ate alone in the dining room, and while eating, I received a text from Elowen.

From Elowen

Come to the house on Monday. I'm throwing a party for Skyler's birthday. Bring Azalia.

To Elowen

Sure, thanks for the invite.

We chatted for a bit, and I couldn't help but smile as I teased Elowen about being in love with Skyler.

She retorted that I was just as in love with Azara.

She knows I fell in love with Azara the very first moment I stepped into their house. Elowen is quite observant.

While texting, my phone was suddenly snatched from me. I turned to see Azara glaring at me.

"Who the hell are you talking to?" she demanded, checking my phone.

I let her, why not? I had nothing to hide.

"I swear, if you're cheating on me, I'll kill-" she stopped mid-sentence, likely realizing who I was texting.

"Are you hitting on my sister?" I laughed, knowing she was just finding an excuse to cover her embarrassment.

I shook my head and extended my hand. She returned my phone and folded her arms, still glaring at me.

I placed my phone on the table and held her hands, looking into her beautiful eyes.

"Why are you awake? You were sleeping earlier," I asked in a softer voice.

"I just fell asleep waiting for you. You took so long to come home, and I'm hungry." I raised an eyebrow as she pulled away from my hold, grabbed a plate and utensils, and sat next to me to get some food.

"You waited for me just to eat together?" I asked.

"Obviously," she replied simply.

My heart raced faster. I chuckled, stunned by the cuteness of the gesture.

"You didn't have to do that," I said, helping her with her food.

"Why? Because you hate the idea of eating with me?" she replied, sounding slightly hurt.

"I love eating with you, but I don't like the idea of you starving yourself just to wait for me. If you're hungry, eat right away. But thank you for waiting for me," I said. She nodded indifferently and started eating.

I continued eating too.

"How was your audition, by the way?" I asked to start a conversation.

"I'm one step ahead of getting the role. Just screening time and chemistry test left. If my leading man and I click, then I'll get the role," she replied. I nodded, listening intently.

"I heard on social media that it's a heavy, toxic love story. What's the series adaptation about?" I asked again.

"It's about the female lead falling in love with her stalker who killed her great-great-grandmother, who was also a stalker. It's called 'Haunting Adeline,'" she explained.

"Hearing that from you, it doesn't sound too toxic-" I started, but she cut me off.

"There are many sex scenes, mostly explicit," she said nonchalantly.

It felt like the sky fell on me. My mind stopped working, and it felt like my breath got caught in my throat.

She said it so emotionlessly, like it was no big deal.

"And you know it, yet you still auditioned for the role?" I asked, slightly disappointed.

"It shouldn't be a big deal for you, right? You let me date Liam before, and I never saw you get jealous. It makes me doubt if you really love me." She's right; I rarely got jealous when she was with Liam because I was confident she'd still come home to me.

I created who she is now.

Why would I fear what she can do?

"Why are you crying? Stop rehearsing your act in front of me," she said. That's when I realized tears were streaming down my face.

Why am I crying?

Why do I feel like my heart just got crushed?

Why am I feeling this way?

"I'm done. I'm going to sleep now," she said coldly, kissed my lips, and left me alone.

Why do I feel disappointed?

I've never been like this before.

---

"Syrah, you're going to live here from now on. Is that okay with you?" Uncle Elliot said as I entered their mansion, his voice echoing through the grand hall.

Many maids greeted me, their smiles warm and welcoming, but I ignored them. I was too absorbed in my own thoughts.

The house was spacious, a stark contrast to our previous home. It felt strange, as if I was in a different world entirely.

The luxurious surroundings were almost overwhelming, with their polished marble floors, towering ceilings, and chandeliers that sparkled like stars.

Since witnessing my stepfather brutally kill my mother, something dark and twisted had awakened within me.

I felt like a stranger in my own skin, navigating this new, opulent world with a sense of detachment.

Living with the Camerons, I met a girl six years older than me. She was big for her age, twice my size, but she was beautiful, like an angel.

Her name was Azara, and her presence seemed to shine a light into the darkest corners of my mind.

It seemed like an angel whispered to me to take an interest in that girl, to draw her into my web of manipulation.

"What are you doing? Why are you removing your doll's legs?" Azara asked one day, her voice tinged with judgment as she looked at me.

I didn't like that look. It made me feel vulnerable, exposed.

"What should I do with the doll? Pretend they're alive? They're not," I replied, my tone cold and dismissive.

She sat beside me and took the life-size Barbie doll from my hands.

"You're cruel. Alive or not, you should take care of your doll. My dad bought this," she scolded, her eyes flashing with anger.

Instead of getting annoyed at her raised voice, I found it amusing how she looked at me like she wanted me dead.

It reminded me of my stepfather, his eyes filled with the same cold malice.

"If they're alive, then they should die. They look too ugly to be alive," I said, standing up and leaving the playroom without another word.

As I exited the room, I encountered Aunt Azalea. An idea for mischief crossed my mind, a smile curling my lips.

"Auntie~" I acted sad, my voice trembling. She noticed and knelt down to my height, her eyes filled with concern.

"What's wrong, baby?"

"Azara doesn't seem to like me. She destroyed my doll." I pouted and hugged her neck, burying my face in her shoulder.

Aunt Azalea hugged me back, her warmth seeping into my cold, numb heart, and then carried me to my room.

She put me to bed, and I pretended to sleep, listening intently as she scolded and hit Azara, her voice rising in anger.

"Mama, I'm telling the truth. I didn't destroy it. You're mistaken," Azara cried, her voice desperate and filled with tears.

Hearing Azara cry while defending herself made me smile. It was a cruel, twisted satisfaction that bubbled up inside me.

Busybody.

_

__

For years, I continued playing with the Camerons' minds, weaving a web of deceit and manipulation that kept them constantly on edge.

Why do I do this?

Because it's fun.

Their cries and shouts and the sound of smacks feel surreal to me.

It's so satisfying to hear, like music to my ears.

I liked Azara...

That's why I acted like an angel in front of her, always ready to defend her when she became the main target of the couple's anger.

"Knock knock," I said as I knocked on her door one evening.

I had stitches on my left chin because of her, a mark of her anger. I had told the couple without her knowing, but Azara believed I didn't snitch.

"Do you fucking come in," she yelled harshly from inside the room, but I ignored her, pushing the door open and stepping inside.

I still went in, bringing food.

Her punishment for hurting me was being deprived of food for days, a cruel and unusual form of discipline that had left her gaunt and weak.

That's always her punishment, so she lost weight.

At first, she enjoyed the punishment because she was losing fat, but now it's becoming unhealthy.

"I brought you food. Please eat before Auntie and Uncle see you eating," I said, placing the food on her study table, my voice soft and soothing.

"Why are you bringing me food? You should be mad at me. You've defended me several times against mom and dad and my horrible bully, and I repaid you with violence," she said tearfully, hugging her knees, sitting on her bed, and looking at me with tears in her eyes.

"This? It doesn't even hurt. I barely felt anything when I got it, so why would I be mad? I don't mind you hurting me. You're already hurting so much from how Uncle and Auntie treat you. I don't want to add to that pain," I said gently, though I was just acting, my heart cold and calculating.

"God, I hate it when you don't feel anything. You're not human," she said irritably, her eyes narrowing.

"You're right. I'm not human, so even if you hurt me, you'll never see me cry. Nothing hurts me. There's no sadness here," I said, pointing to my chest where my heart was, a cold smile playing on my lips.

"I'm the only ally you have in this house. Put a little faith in your little sister, huh?"

"You're not my sibling, and you never will be," she said, throwing her pillow at me.

I didn't dodge, and it hit my head, causing me to lose balance and sit on the floor.

Tsk! She's so hard to please.

I pulled myself together, stood up, and placed her pillow back on her bed, my movements slow and deliberate.

"Eat well, Azara," I said with a smile before leaving her room.

Outside, I met Elowen, who was also carrying food.

"What were you doing inside?" she asked, her voice curious.

"I brought food. Please don't tell Uncle and Auntie," I said, smiling.

She hugged me, her warmth a stark contrast to the coldness inside me.

"Thank you." She didn't say what for, but I knew.

"It's nothing, I care for her too, even though she's hard on me." I replied, my voice calm and soothing, even as my mind raced with dark thoughts.

I'm good at acting, which is probably why I managed to win over the four people I live with in this mansion.

My performance isn't just convincing; it's masterful, weaving a web of deceit and manipulation that keeps them all ensnared in my plans.

I got them, turning them into my pawns, with Azara being the king of my own chess game.

Every move I make is calculated, every action deliberate.

Azara is the centerpiece of my grand scheme, and I've carefully orchestrated everything to revolve around her.

I like her.

There's something about her that has always drawn me in, a magnetic pull I couldn't resist.

Even as a child, I knew I liked her.

It wasn't just a childish crush; it was an all-consuming obsession that grew stronger with each passing day.

I was drawn to her, creating a persona of her being complicated.

It wasn't that hard because the couple's attention and love were focused on me.

I became the golden child, the one who could do no wrong.

They showered me with affection and praise, while Azara was left to fend for herself in a hostile environment.

Why?

Because I knew they felt guilty about my stepfather killing my mother.

Their guilt became my weapon, and I wielded it with precision.

I milked their remorse for all it was worth, ensuring they lavished me with everything I needed to maintain my facade.

It's part of my game, my plan?

To create a game to entertain myself.

It's boring to live without a thrill.

I have no emotion na nararamdaman so bakit hindi nalang paglaruan ang emosyon ng iba?

I got all their attention and love, while Azara got their anger and frustration, and Elowen received nothing.

Poor Elowen, always the afterthought, the one who never quite measured up.

But even she had her role to play in my grand design.

Well, for Elowen...

That's a separate plan.

She's a piece in a different part of my game, one that I've been carefully setting up for years.

Her time will come, and when it does, she'll fall right into place, just like the others.

Every interaction, every moment spent with them is a step closer to my ultimate goal.

This isn't just a game to me; it's a meticulously crafted masterpiece, and I'm the artist.

And like any great artist, I won't stop until my creation is complete.

Azara is mine, and I'll ensure she remains at the center of my world, no matter the cost.

---

Returning to my room, I collapsed onto the bed and stared blankly at the ceiling, feeling an unfamiliar weight on my chest.

My heart ached in a way I couldn't quite comprehend, and it left me feeling disconnected and adrift.

This feeling was foreign, as if I had been transported to another world where my heart ruled instead of my mind.

I had always prided myself on my control, on my ability to keep emotions at bay.

But now, something was shifting inside me, something I couldn't ignore.

I shouldn't be feeling this way. I had never felt like this before.

Frustration welled up inside me, and I buried my face in my pillow, letting out a muffled scream.

"Fuck!" The curse echoed through the fabric, but it did little to alleviate the tension.

Desperate to distract myself, I began cleaning my already immaculate room.

This was my usual coping mechanism-focusing on something else to drown out the turmoil in my mind.

I scrubbed the bathroom, polished the bathtub, wiped down the lavatory and faucet, and even changed the sheets and pillowcases on my bed.

I left no corner untouched, no speck of dirt unaddressed.

By the time I finished, I was drenched in sweat, feeling as though I had just taken another shower.

I stripped off my t-shirt, leaving me in only my binder bra and Garfield pajama bottoms.

The cool air from the air conditioner was a welcome relief as I let it dry my sweat-soaked skin.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror, taking in the sight of my body.

The cross-shaped scar on my chest, once stitched, was now a permanent reminder of past pain.

It stretched long and ominous, with the lower point nearly touching the line of my central abs.

I had worked hard to keep my body in shape, sculpting my four-pack abs and maintaining a toned physique.

I loved my body, every inch of it.

My gaze traveled down to the v-line on my waist, a beautifully carved path that led down to my male part.

It was a testament to my dedication and discipline, a source of pride amidst the chaos in my mind.

As I stood there, lost in thought, a sudden, aggressive knock on the door jolted me back to reality.

I opened it to find Azara standing there, her eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my heart race.

We stared into each other's eyes for a few seconds before her gaze lowered, taking in my half-dressed state.

When she looked up again, she rolled her eyes and grabbed my hand with a sense of urgency.

"Let's have a talk." She commanded, her voice brooking no argument.

She pulled me out of my room, and I had no choice but to follow her.

"Wait, let me put on some clothes." I resisted, but her glare silenced any further protests.

I had no choice but to comply, feeling a sense of helplessness wash over me.

When we entered her room, she locked the door behind us, sealing us in.

She guided me to her bed and suddenly pushed me down onto it with a force that took me by surprise.

As I sat on the edge of her bed, she turned around and, without warning, removed her nightdress, leaving her completely bare.

My breath caught in my throat at the sight of her vulnerability.

It turned out she wasn't wearing any undergarments.

When she faced me again, tears glistened in her eyes, threatening to spill over.

"Azara-" I began to speak, but she cut me off by pressing her lips against mine with a desperation that took me aback.

She kissed me with an intensity that bordered on aggression, her tongue invading my mouth within seconds.

I responded instinctively, feeling butterflies erupt in my stomach.

Her hands roamed over my body, from my neck to my arm, and then down to my waist.

When her fingers brushed against my abs, I gasped, feeling a surge of heat course through me.

My body reacted to her touch, heating up as if set on fire.

She bit my lower lip, and in that moment, managed to slip her hand into my pajamas, grabbing my shaft with a swift, confident motion.

I felt my manhood twitch in response, the sensation overwhelming.

In our passionate kiss, I tasted something salty, like tears.

When we finally pulled away, I heard her sniffle, and that's when I realized she was crying.

"Azara," I gently pushed her away, not removing her from my lap but creating a bit of distance between us.

Her tears were now evident, streaming down her face.

She tried to kiss me again, but I avoided her lips and removed her hand from inside my pajamas.

"Azara, stop it. You're crying. Tell me what's wrong and why you're acting like this." I asked softly, my voice filled with concern.

She removed her hand from my manhood and wrapped it around my neck, clinging to me.

She stared at me with tear-filled eyes, and I reached up to wipe her tears with my thumbs.

"Get me pregnant, Seyren. Get me pregnant so you won't have a reason to leave me." Her words almost made me choke on my own saliva.

"Huh? What? Why would I leave you?" I asked, confused.

She didn't answer, instead slipping her other hand into my pajamas, her touch sending another jolt through me.

"Fuck-Azara." Even though I was trying to stop her, my voice remained gentle.

My body was heating up, and I was getting aroused, but I tried to ignore it.

I removed her hands from my body, guiding them to my neck as I placed mine on her waist.

"Please, Seyren, just fuck me," she pleaded, her voice breaking.

"I will, but when you're in a good mood, okay? Right now, you're not in that kind of mood, so please tell me what's wrong." I said gently.

She suddenly hugged me tightly, burying her face in my neck and crying harder.

Her tears soaked my bare collarbone, and I hugged her back, holding her tightly and letting her cry as long as she needed.

"Please don't leave me," she said between sobs.

"I would never leave you. Not even death can stop me from staying by your side. I love you, Azara. I really do. Now, please tell me what's wrong."

"I hurt you, right? I hurt you by accepting such a role and telling you that you don't mind me being with someone else. You're mad, right? I'm sorry. Please don't leave me." Her words softened my heart, and I felt a pang of guilt.

"I'm not going to leave you, love. And I'm not mad at you. I'll never be mad at you. And lastly, you know I'm not a normal person. You didn't hurt me. You're right, I'm just rehearsing my acting." I lied about not being hurt.

I didn't want her to feel more pain, thinking she had hurt me.

"I know you'll leave me sooner, so please get me pregnant so you won't leave me."

"Love, you just gave birth. If you want a kid, we'll create one when you're in the mood, not just because you want a reason for me not to leave. I'm not going to leave you. Now, if you're doing all of this because you thought I was mad, please stop because I'm not. I will never get mad at you." I gently pushed her away and made her face me.

We looked into each other's eyes, and my heart broke seeing her face soaked with tears.

"Look at you, being a mess." I smiled and wiped her tears gently.

"Do you hate it?" Her voice was childlike, her vulnerability laid bare.

"I love your messed-up side. There's nothing that scares me when it comes to your complicated side. I love it, all of it. Now, if you were so worried that I might leave you, why don't you just mark me? I'm only yours anyway." I said.

"You mean... a hickey?" I smiled, knowing that wasn't what I had in mind.

I was thinking of something more permanent, like carving her name on my skin or giving me another deep cut.

"Anything, as long as it comes from you, I'll accept it." Her pupils dilated.

She took a few seconds before she spoke and those second waste feels like hours when all she does is stare at my eyes.

"Can I burn your skin?" She asked with anticipation.

My eyebrows furrowed when she made her request. The gravity of her words sank in slowly, but I nodded, though my uncertainty lingered.

"Sure," I said, even though I wasn't entirely sure of what was about to happen.

She gracefully slid off my lap, and it hit me again just how completely naked she was.

I took in her newly shaved femininity, her large, full breasts, and felt a pang of admiration mixed with arousal.

She moved with a deliberate elegance, opening a drawer and retrieving a few items.

She pulled out a lighter and a necklace with an "AJC" pendant-her initials.

She also took out a pair of tongs, which she used with practiced ease to hold the necklace.

With an intense focus, she lit the necklace with the lighter.

I watched as the pendant slowly turned from silver to a dark, burnt hue.

The transformation was mesmerizing, almost symbolic, as if she was imprinting a part of herself onto me.

Turning to face me, she approached with a sultry confidence and settled back onto my lap.

My eyes followed her every movement, absorbing the sight of her skin brushing against me.

Without warning, she placed her hand on my shoulder, the warmth of her touch contrasting with the coolness of the room.

Initially, I managed a smile, but it quickly turned into a grimace as she pressed the heated, blackened pendant onto my arm, near my armpit.

The searing pain was almost unbearable, a sharp contrast to her soft touch.

I gasped, feeling as though my skin was being scorched.

As she continued pressing the pendant against my arm, she leaned in and kissed me.

The kiss was a blend of tenderness and urgency.

I responded eagerly, our lips meeting in a passionate yet gentle dance.

The juxtaposition of her soft, loving kiss and the sharp sting of the metal created a heady mix of sensations that made my manhood react involuntarily.

I was overwhelmed by a powerful surge of arousal.

The intensity of the moment was brief.

She pulled away, removing the pendant from my arm, and I noticed the imprint it left behind-charred skin marked with her initials, "AJC."

The sight of the burn, coupled with the fiery redness that spread across my body, was strangely exhilarating.

"Sorry," she murmured, her voice tinged with remorse.

She stepped away and went to the bathroom, carrying her clothes with her.

The pain in my arm was intense, a persistent throb that made my skin feel numb.

Despite this, I couldn't help but smile. There was something strangely satisfying about how she had marked me.

It was an unexpected and thrilling gesture, far more intriguing than the idea of getting her pregnant, which she had previously expressed no desire for.

When she returned, she was carrying a damp towel and had changed into a nightgown.

She sat back on my lap and pressed the cool, wet towel gently against my burnt arm.

The contrast of the cold towel against the lingering heat was soothing, and I found comfort in her caring gesture.

Even though the pain was still there, it was overshadowed by the beauty of her profile and the warmth of her presence.

She looked ethereal, almost magical in the soft light of the room.

"Does it hurt?" she asked, her voice soft and concerned.

I shook my head with a smile, trying to reassure her. When she set the towel aside, we resumed our kiss.

Her hand caressed my jaw, and this kiss was slower, more deliberate.

It heightened my arousal even further, with every touch and every gentle brush of her lips.

When I lay back on her bed, she followed, positioning herself on top of me as we continued to kiss.

The sensation of her body against mine, coupled with the slow, deliberate kisses, made my manhood stand upright under the cover of my pajamas.

She bit my lips playfully, and I opened my mouth to let her tongue explore.

Her kisses were always exquisite, and our tongues danced together, matching the rhythm of our racing hearts.

When she won our little tongue duel, I responded by sucking her tongue and letting out a soft moan.

Her touches were electric, making my manhood throb even more.

After our kiss, she simply snuggled into me, her warmth a comforting presence.

"Baby, you're tired, right? Why don't you just sleep?" I suggested, hoping to ease her into rest.

"Sleep by my side," she requested, burying her face in my neck.

"If that's what you want. Do you want me to make you more comfortable?" I asked, and she nodded, sitting up properly.

As she moved, I felt her womanhood brush against my pajamas, making my shaft twitch involuntarily.

"Oh, fuck," I whispered, sitting up abruptly.

I gently laid her down on the bed and settled beside her.

I expected her to turn away, but instead, she faced me and gazed deeply into my eyes.

Her cleavage was exposed, and I lifted the blanket to cover her, noting how cold her room was.

"Why are you staring like that? Let's sleep; you have work early tomorrow, right?" I reminded her, and she nodded in agreement.

"Let's go to sleep then." She shook her head.

"B-but you're-"

"Hard? Yes, I am, but don't worry about it. Let's just go to sleep." I said, moving closer and wrapping my arms around her.

She hugged me back tightly, and my heart raced, almost feeling like it would burst from the intensity of my emotions.

She pressed closer, taking my unmarked arm and using it as a pillow.

Her legs intertwined with mine, and I smiled at the intimacy of the moment.

"I didn't know you were this clingy-"

"Shut up before I cut your head off."

"Which one?"

"Both." I chuckled at her response and fell silent.

I knew she had the power to do anything, and strangely, the thought of her taking such drastic action brought me a twisted sense of joy.

I belonged to her completely, and if she chose to end my life, I wouldn't resist.

Her claim over me was a binding promise I welcomed.

"You're mine, Seyren, all mine," I felt a shiver when she whispered those words.

I nodded, accepting her ownership fully.

Oh, how I loved it when she displayed this playful, almost maniacal side of her.

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