A wave of helplessness crashed over him. How could this be?
Why was he the only one who remembered?
Lucas descended into madness.
Obsessed with proving the reality of those seven days, he tested theory after theory, desperately seeking confirmation. It became
an endless cycle of frustration and disbelief.
For a brief moment, he regained clarity after learning that the person responsible for Celia’s death had been captured. He hired
the best lawyer he could find, vowing to ensure the harshest punishment for the killer.
But once that was done, he sank deeper into his torment, unable to escape.
His parents, distraught over his deteriorating state, eventually gave up on him. They appointed a new heir to the family business, resigning themselves to the fact that Lucas was beyond saving.
One day, unable to bear their worry, they decided to visit his villa. The house was eerily quiet, and as they searched every corner,
dread built in their chests.
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Finally, in the master bathroom, they found him.
Lucas lay in the water–filled bathtub, his eyes closed, a faint smile lingering on his lips.
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Blood dripped steadily from deep, bone–revealing gashes on his wrists, staining the water a vivid red. The scene was hauntingly
serene, as though he had finally found peace in his anguish.
The moment she saw her son’s lifeless body in the blood–stained bathtub, Lucas‘ mother let out a piercing scream before
collapsing to the floor.
Lucas‘ father, trembling, fumbled for his phone to call for an ambulance while cautiously reaching out to check for any breath
beneath his son’s nose.
He felt nothing; his vision blurred with tears.
His trembling hand fell to his side, and his chest heaved with ragged breaths. It wasn’t until the ambulance arrived, its sirens
wailing, that he broke down completely, tears spilling freely as the paramedics carried Lucas‘ body out on a stretcher.
Lucas didn’t make it.
Or rather, from the moment they lifted him out of the bathtub, the attending doctor had already confirmed his death.
Hearing the final confirmation at the hospital, Lucas‘ mother, who had just been revived after fainting, broke into uncontrollable
sobs, covering her face as though the grief would swallow her whole.
Meanwhile, Lucas himself was no longer in this world.
He opened his eyes to darkness, his surroundings shrouded in a murky, otherworldly gloom. For a moment, he thought it was a
dream. But when he lifted his hand, he saw it—a faintly translucent form, no longer human.
“I’m… dead?”
A realization dawned just as a fearsome figure appeared before him. It was the grim and terrifying visage of the King of the
Underworld.
Lucas‘ emotions swelled–not with fear, as the King had anticipated, but with a wild, unbridled joy that bordered on madness.
“I knew it! I knew it!” Lucas cried out, his voice frenzied, his expression wild with a strange, desperate hope.
The King of the Underworld furrowed his brows, momentarily speechless. With a wave of his hand, he halted Lucas mid–step as the man stumbled forward, trying to reach him.
“Lucas Shaw,” the King said gravely, “your life was not supposed to end here. This was not your destined time.”
Ordinarily, those who took their own lives did not cross paths with the King of the Underworld. However, Lucas‘ fate had been altered by the King’s earlier interference, binding him to this place by the threads of karma.
When the King had severed Celia’s connection to the world, he should have erased Lucas‘ memories of her final seven days. Yet, for reasons he couldn’t comprehend, the spell had failed.
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Chapter 13
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And now, here Lucas stood–a broken man, his mind fractured by grief, having taken his own life in a desperate attempt to find
the answers he sought.
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