Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Laura woke with a start, gasping for breath, her skin slick with cold sweat. She stared out the window into the dark night and whispered, "Sean... are you in this city?"

Meanwhile, across town, Sean stood outside the grand, imposing mansion of the Southern Family—his own ancestral home, notorious for harboring the most ruthless, heavily armed fighters in the region. Known widely as a powerful syndicate with illicit enterprises, the family members were easily recognizable by their deep brown skin and striking dark red or black hair.

A massive, muscular man stomped out of the gates, nearly barreling into Sean. Annoyed, he glared down at him. "Watch where you're going, you blind idiot!"

Sean didn't flinch. "You bumped into me. An apology is in order."

The man sneered, grabbing a fistful of Sean's shirt. "You motherfucker... do you have any idea who you're talking to?"

One of his comrades jeered from the steps, "Crush this arrogant brat so he learns his place!"

"Get your hands off me," Sean warned quietly.

The man tightened his grip. "Not a chance."

"I'm warning you," Sean muttered, his voice dropping an octave. "Let go."

"Or what, little boy? What are you gonna do?"

Sean slowly raised his head. A chilling, vacant smile spread across his face. "You're going to cry, too."

In a blur of motion, Sean clamped his hand over the man's fist. With a sickening crunch of bone and cartilage, he crushed the man's hand entirely.

The heavy brute collapsed to the cobblestones, screaming in agony as blood poured from his mangled fingers.

His colleague stared in sheer disbelief. "There's no way... a kid like that just shattered his hand with his bare grip?!"

Sean turned cold eyes toward him. "Want to try?"

Terrified, the second man pulled a hunting knife and lunged forward, aiming straight for Sean's chest. Sean sidestepped effortlessly, snatched the blade out of the air, and drove it deep into the attacker's shoulder.

A third guard stood frozen in horror nearby. When Sean turned his gaze toward him, the man stumbled backward, holding his hands up. "Stay back! Don't come near me!"

"Get out of my way," Sean commanded loudly, his voice echoing across the courtyard and drawing the attention of everyone inside the estate.

Doors flew open as guards poured out of the palace. At the front of the crowd stood the twenty-nine-year-old head of the family, Peter, distinguished by his tanned skin and dark red hair.

"What on earth is going on out here?" Peter demanded.

He froze as he saw one of his guards trembling uncontrollably, raising a pistol with a shaking finger pressed against the trigger, aiming directly at the strange young man.

"Don't do it!" Peter shouted, suddenly realizing the danger.

Bang.

The deafening crack of the gunshot shattered the night air. The bullet struck dead center in Sean's chest, tearing through his heart. Sean's eyes widened slightly before he fell backward, crashing hard onto the pavement.

A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the crowd.

Panic surged through Peter as he rushed forward, dropping to his knees beside the body. "You idiots, what have you done?!" He pressed his hands frantically against the bleeding wound. "Hey! Kid, stay with me!"

Sean's body twitched, but the blood continued to pool. Peter pressed harder, his face pale. "Don't you dare die on me."

Suddenly, Sean's chest heaved. His hand twitched, and to everyone's absolute horror, he sat straight up, pushing himself to his feet while Peter stared in dumbfounded shock.

Without a word, Sean reached down, pulled open his shirt, and dug his fingers directly into the entry wound in his chest. With a wet clink, he pulled the flattened bullet out and tossed it onto the ground.

"Damn it," Sean muttered, annoyed. "My healing factor is getting sluggish."

Before their eyes, the ragged hole in his chest stitched itself back together until not even a scar remained. Sean glared at the guard who had shot him. "You bastard ruined my favorite shirt. Are you insane?!"

The guard's knees buckled, his teeth chattering in terror. "A... a zombie! He's a monster! Boss, kill him!"

After a moment of tense quiet, Sean threw his head back and laughed. "A zombie? You actually think I'm a zombie just because a little flesh wound healed?"

Peter slowly stood up, staring at Sean with a mixture of awe and deep apprehension. "What... are you, then?"

"I'm a member of your family," Sean replied smoothly, "just a bit modified."

"Modified how?"

"I possess power far beyond ordinary mortals," Sean explained. "I don't age, and I simply cannot die." He offered a crooked smile. "Oh, and by the way, I'm one hundred and twenty-one years old. Ring any bells? I'm the Sean who took his beloved away from her cowardly husband nearly a century ago."

Peter's eyes narrowed. "You mean the boy who kidnapped a bride and brought disgrace to his family?"

Sean stepped right up to Peter, locking eyes with him, his expression darkening with fury. "I didn't kidnap her. I took her with me because she belonged with me."

"From what the family records say, she didn't want to go and was forced into an arranged marriage," Peter countered.

"Her husband was a coward," Sean snapped. "When I challenged him to fight for her, he ran like a frightened rabbit."

"You're insane," Peter muttered.

"Is that more unbelievable than a man surviving a bullet straight through the heart and healing in seconds?" Sean shot back.

Peter finally let out a helpless chuckle. "Fair enough. That's hard to argue with." He extended a hand. "I'm Peter, head of this family."

Sean shook it firmly. "Sean."

"So, Sean... why come back after all these years?" Peter asked, crossing his arms. "You must want something."

"I have my reasons," Sean replied. "Right now, I just want a private room and a hot meal."

"Consider it done. Let's go inside," Peter said, gesturing toward the palace.

The two men walked past the stunned guards, who stood frozen and terrified, still trying to process the impossibility they had just witnessed.

***

Meanwhile, across the city...

Laura sat in her bed, shivering from a sudden wave of dread. She felt it in her bones—Sean was near.

Needing air, she quietly slipped out of her room, tiptoed down the long, winding staircase, and noticed a warm light spilling from the living room. Pushing the door open a crack, she found David sitting alone on the sofa, quietly watching television and nursing a glass of beer.

Sensing her presence, David glanced over his shoulder. "What are you doing wandering around at this hour?"

"Why are you drinking so late?" Laura asked softly, stepping inside.

"You're remarkably nosy for a guest. Go back to bed."

"I don't want to."

"Please, Laura, just go."

Laura clenched her fists, her voice trembling. "I can't."

Sighing, David patted the cushion beside him. "Fine. Sit down."

She eagerly hurried over, sitting right next to him. David raised an eyebrow. "Why are you sitting so close?"

"Oh—sorry, I'll move."

David caught her wrist gently. "Relax. I didn't mean it like that."

"Okay..."

"Tell me," David asked, studying her face, "how old are you, really? Legally speaking?"

"Well... technically, I suppose I'm nineteen."

"Want a drink?" he offered, holding up his glass.

"No, thank you. I don't drink."

David smiled faintly. "You really are a proper young lady."

"A girl from a respectable family doesn't drink in the dead of night," Laura replied earnestly. "My father taught me that."

"And do you actually believe that, or are you just blindly following your father's rules?"

Laura's expression fell. Her eyes welled with sudden, bitter tears. "I... I don't know."

Noticing her distress, David softened his tone. "Where are your parents?"

Laura raised her head, her voice cracking. "They're dead. They have to be."

"Why would you say that?"

"It's been ninety years!" she cried out. "Normal people don't live that long!"

David rubbed his temples, groaning. "We are not doing this ridiculous story again."

Laura grabbed his hand desperately, looking him straight in the eyes. "It's the truth! I swear I'm not lying!"

David pulled his hand away, his patience snapping. "You know what? I take it back. You aren't a nice girl at all. You're just an annoying, persistent liar." He stood up abruptly. "I'm going to my room. Go to sleep."

"I'm not lying!" Laura called after him, her voice breaking.

David didn't even look back, walking out and leaving her alone in the silent room.

Tears spilled down Laura's cheeks as a crushing wave of despair settled over her. She had wanted a family. She had dreamed of finding descendants who would believe her, who would welcome her home after a lifetime of terrifying isolation.

Instead, she was entirely alone—trapped in a modern world that viewed her as nothing more than a delusional liar.