Lucas woke to softness.
Not the stiff mattress of a safehouse. Not the worn couch of a temporary hideout. Soft—silk sheets, plush pillows, a mattress that swallowed him whole. The air carried a faint floral scent, and sunlight filtered through gauzy curtains, warm and golden.
He shot upright.
This wasn't his apartment.
The room was enormous—tastefully decorated in muted creams and golds, every piece of furniture elegant and expensive. A chandelier glittered overhead. The carpet beneath his bare feet was thick enough to drown in.
His heartbeat quickened.
He stumbled toward a tall mirror framed in silver.
The reflection staring back at him was not his own.
The man in the mirror stood at about 5'8", his build slender with a faintly feminine softness. His skin was porcelain white, unblemished and delicate. Curly platinum-blonde hair fell past his ears in loose waves, framing a face far too pretty for an assassin. Bright blue eyes blinked back at him—wide, confused, and slowly filling with horror.
"…What the hell?"
Before he could process further, pain lanced through his skull.
Memories—foreign, intrusive—poured in.
Julius Hayes.
The name struck like a death sentence.
Julius had been born a carrier, a rare type of man in this world capable of bearing children. Beautiful and aware of it, he had grown obsessed with one man—Kayden Black.
Kayden Black.
Six foot five. A towering presence of raw masculinity and dominance. Broad shoulders, sculpted muscle, and an eight-pack carved like stone. A sharp jawline, steel-gray eyes colder than winter, and black hair that only made his gaze more striking. He was powerful, untouchable—already a rising force before the apocalypse even began.
And recently widowed.
When Kayden's wife died, grief left him vulnerable.
Julius took advantage of that vulnerability.
The memories made Lucas's stomach churn.
Julius had drugged him.
Drugged Kayden Black, seduced him in his haze of grief, and deliberately conceived a child. He believed that if he carried Kayden's baby, Kayden would have no choice but to marry him—would have to acknowledge him.
And it worked.
The pregnancy forced Kayden's hand. Marriage followed.
But not love.
Kayden treated Julius like air—an obligation, nothing more. The only time Kayden stepped into Julius's wing of the estate was when it concerned their daughter.
Their daughter.
After giving birth, Julius expected devotion. Attention. Gratitude.
Instead, Kayden withdrew even further.
The humiliation festered. Twisted. Hardened into resentment.
And Julius began to hate the very child he had schemed to create—because Kayden's rare softness was directed at her, not him. In his warped mind, his own daughter became competition.
The flood of memories ended abruptly.
Lucas staggered back, gripping the edge of the vanity.
Eight months.
Eight months before the events of Rise of Sorrow begin.
Eight months before the apocalypse.
Eight months before the seven children die.
And he—
He was Julius Hayes.
The villainous spouse.
The catalyst.
The reason Kayden Black would one day become a cold, merciless monster.
Lucas stared at his reflection again, dread settling into his bones.
He hadn't transmigrated into a side character.
He had become the most hated man in the entire novel.