The knife was still in his hand.
Tim's father lay sprawled across the floorboards, chest torn open, blood pooling fast. The smell hit Tim first—sharp copper, heavy and final. His grip on the handle was so tight it hurt. His reflection rippled in the red puddle at his feet, twisted and broken.
His throat burned. Had he done this?
The argument, the shouting, the pressure—then nothing. A blackout. And now this silence, the knife in his hand, his father's blood reaching for his shoes.
Tim staggered back. His breath came rough, ragged. He wanted to scream, but the sound stuck in his chest. His mind spun with the only thought that mattered: I killed him. I killed my own father.
The room wavered. Shadows bent, pulling at the edges of his vision. The floor sank, dragging the blood with it. The knife slipped from his hand and clattered into the void.
The world snapped apart.
When Tim blinked again, the body was gone. So was the house.
Before him rose a black iron gate, tall and bent, its bars twisted into shapes like screaming faces. Rusted chains dangled like ornaments of death. Across the top, a cracked gold sign flickered faintly: Villian Ville.
The name looked like a joke. Or maybe a warning.
A cold wind pushed through the gate, carrying the smell of smoke—and something softer, like perfume. Beyond it stretched a village that shouldn't exist. Moonlight washed over crooked streets. Houses leaned against one another like drunks. Windows glowed faint red and green, as if something alive stared out from the dark.
Tim's knees shook. His chest tightened with the memory of his father's body. He pressed a hand to his temple, wishing to wake up, even if it meant seeing the blood again.
The gate creaked open.
"Welcome home," a voice purred.
She stepped out of the mist as if the village had been saving her for the cruelest moment.
Tim froze.
At first sight, she looked like an angel who had walked out of a Victoria's Secret show—long legs, hair flowing, smile bright enough to blind. She wore a short black tube top that left her stomach bare and shorts that barely covered her thighs, every inch of her daring him to look.
And he did. His eyes betrayed him. He couldn't stop glancing at her chest, her waist, the smooth lines of her hips. He dragged his gaze back up, embarrassed, only to find her smirking like she already knew.
"Still staring, huh?" she teased. "Some things never change."
Her voice snapped him out of his daze, but only for a heartbeat.
Jenny's smirk widened as she walked closer, her hips swaying with a rhythm that felt too deliberate to be innocent. Moonlight traced the shape of her, turning her into both temptation and threat.
Before Tim could think of a word, she grabbed him by the collar and pressed her lips to his.
The kiss was sudden and fierce, stealing his breath. Her lips were hot, tasting faintly sweet, moving against his with teasing pressure. His body locked, then melted. The warmth of her chest pressed into him, and his pulse roared in his ears. His hands twitched at his sides, fighting the urge to grab hold of something—anything—to steady himself.
By the time she pulled away, his lips tingled, his lungs clawed for air.
"Forgotten me already?" she whispered, her smile now edged with something sharper. "It's me, Jenny. Your ex. Don't worry—I don't hold grudges. At least not the kind a kiss can't fix."
Jenny. The name landed heavy, like a stone in his stomach. His memories were broken, but a woman like this wasn't someone you forgot.
Tim staggered back, guilt slamming into him again. "No. I… I can't…"
Jenny laughed softly, the sound first like silk, then like a knife sliding free of its sheath. "Still crying over Daddy? Or are you scared of what the village wants?"
Her eyes glittered, no longer angelic but devilish, playful cruelty replacing her glow. She leaned closer, finger pressing against his lips, her nail dragging lightly as if she enjoyed watching him squirm.
"Shh," she whispered. "Questions later. Survival first. And here, survival has rules."
"Rules?" Tim croaked.
Her lips brushed his ear. "When the sun falls, so must someone else. One kill. One night. Or sunrise burns you away."
The sweetness in her tone had vanished. What came out now was dark, wicked, hungry.
Tim wanted to step back, but the kiss still burned on his lips, the sway of her body still pulled his eyes. Angel at first glance, devil underneath—that was Jenny.
The gates of Villian Ville groaned wider, shadows spilling across the ground.
"Now," she said, her smile sharp as fangs. "Come in, lover. Let's see if you're still as good at surviving as you used to be."
Tim's legs moved despite himself. The last thing he saw before stepping inside was Jenny's smirk—no longer angelic, but devilish, daring him to follow.
And against every scream in his mind, he did.