(Prologue)
My name?
Better you don't know.
Just know this: I'm a multi-billionaire, and I have a sworn enemy: love.
Not because I've lost it.
Because I've never seen it. Not once. Not real love. Not the kind that survives.
For six years, I've run this game.
A twisted experiment. A beautiful trap.
Fifty grooms. Fifty brides. All taken the night before their weddings.
The options are simple:
Fall in love or fall in grave.
Not just flirt. Not just fake it.
Fall for real.
Or disappear.
You might call me cruel. A villain. A monster.
But I'm just searching for the truth whatever it costs.
And year after year, I've watched them lie, betray, cheat, and break.
No one has won.
No one has proven love is anything more than desperation in a pretty dress.
But this year...
This year feels different.
Maybe I'll finally witness something real.
Or maybe, once again, I'll prove what I've always known:
True love doesn't exist.
***
The cool air of the quiet field brushed against Alicia's tear-streaked face as she sat hunched over. In one hand, she clutched her phone, the screen lighting up with Peter's smiling face. Beside her lay a small, neatly wrapped package, a simple gift for her mother, filled with special herbal tea and a soft scarf to keep her warm.
"You took everything," she whispered, her voice barely audible, strained and raw. Anger bubbled up inside her, a fierce, burning thing that coiled in her stomach and threatened to choke her. She couldn't yell at Peter; he was gone. The only target for her rage was the innocent package lying on the grass.
With a choked sob, she grabbed it and hurled it against a nearby tree. The wrapping tore apart, and the teabox tumbled out, its contents scattering across the ground. "Why?" she screamed, her voice cracking. "Why did you do this to me?" The fury poured out of her, a wild, uncontrollable force. She kicked at the scarf, her foot connecting with it in frustration. The outburst left her feeling drained, and she slumped back, burying her face in her hands as shame washed over her.
"You've got a lot of fight in you," a calm voice said.
Startled, Alicia looked up to see a man standing a few feet away. His clothes were worn and dirty, and his face bore the marks of hard years, but his eyes were kind. He didn't approach; he simply watched her, his gaze shifting from her tear-streaked face to the torn package and the scattered teabags.
"Sometimes," he said softly, "it's easier to hurt something that can't hurt you back." He paused, glancing at the broken gift. "It's easier to hit the wall than to confront the person who put the hole in it."
His words were simple, yet they struck her like a stone. He wasn't judging her; he was just speaking a truth she wasn't ready to face. He didn't offer solutions, just a nod of understanding before he turned and walked away.
Alicia watched him go, feeling the weight of solitude settle back in. Slowly, she reached for the torn package and the scattered contents. The scarf was still soft, and the teabags were intact. As she began to pick them up, the heaviness of her outburst pressed down on her chest. She had come to the field to mourn what Peter had taken from her, but now she was leaving with a new wound she had inflicted on herself.
***
Alicia's tired key scraped against the lock of her front door. As she stepped inside, the weight of the torn package in her hands felt like a new kind of burden. The house was still and silent, an unsettling quiet that wrapped around her.
On the couch, her thirteen-year-old brother, Alex, was curled up under a worn blanket, fast asleep, waiting for her return.
"Mom?" she called softly, setting the package down on the floor. Silence answered her.
A flicker of unease twisted in her stomach, quickly morphing into a knot of fear. "Mom? Are you awake?" she said, her voice rising. The stillness in the house felt heavy, almost foreboding, as if it were holding its breath.
Dropping her keys on the small entry table, Alicia hurried down the short hallway to her mother's room. The door was slightly ajar, and she pushed it open, stepping inside. The dim light from the hallway spilled into the room, revealing her mother lying still in bed. She wasn't sleeping. Her eyes were closed, her face pale, and her breathing was shallow and uneven.
"Mom?" Alicia whispered, her voice trembling. She reached for her mother's hand, only to find it cold. A gasp escaped her lips, panic surging through her.
Without thinking, she bolted out of the room, grabbed her phone from the table, and with shaking hands, dialed 911. Her voice was tight and frantic as she relayed their address.