Thorn's Obsession

　　The alarm clock jolted Iris Shae awake at dawn， ripping her straight out of the nightmare. 　　She lay staring at the ceiling， her forehead damp with cold sweat. It took several heartbeats for her vision to clear. 　　That dream again... 　　The same relentless nightmare that had haunted her for years. 　　Crumbling ruins materialized behind her eyelids. A derelict building scheduled for demolition echoed with screams that pierced her eardrums. Then the bloodstain bloomed in her mind's eye - severed limbs scattered carelessly across concrete， edges raw and glistening... 　　The faceless figure materialized next， blade plunging rhythmically into flesh. Arterial spray painted crimson arcs across his leather-gloved hands with each mechanical thrust. 　　Then the turn. Always that slow， inevitable turn revealing the face that had stalked her nightmares for three endless years. 　　Blood-smeared features twisted into something inhuman. Eyes as dark and merciless as an abyss locked onto hers - a hellspawn claiming its due. 　　The final frame burned brightest: those same bloodied hands accepting handcuffs with disturbing ease. His head turning back over one broad shoulder， lips curving in a smile that held no anger... only the electric thrill of a predator catching its prey's scent. 　　Iris sat up abruptly， the sheets pooling around her waist.“Get a grip，“ she muttered， raking shaky fingers through sweat-damp hair. She'd personally put that monster behind bars. What was there left to fear? 　　......... 　　Three years. Three years since she'd stumbled upon that blood-drenched crime scene in the woods. Three years since she'd become the mouse in a psychopath's deadly game. 　　They'd played their cat-and-mouse chase through acres of wilderness - every snapped twig a potential death sentence. But in the end， the forensic science major had outsmarted the butcher with her own brand of cold calculation. 　　Now her victory sat rotting in a maximum security cell. She'd made sure of that. 　　Iris silenced the still-blaring alarm with more force than necessary. Her bare feet slapped against cold hardwood as she moved through the empty brownstone. 　　Her parents had long since relocated to Asia， leaving their teenage daughter to parent herself.“Responsibility“ wasn't in the Van Shae family lexicon. If she'd survived that nightmare in the woods， it was despite them - not because of them. God knew they hadn't stuck around long enough to teach her anything useful. 　　Iris put on her uniform in front of the mirror， the girl in the reflection had a porcelain complexion， with eyes like fractured ice， raven waves cascading past a defiant jawline that held both stark elegance and quiet rebellion. Coupled with her outstanding achievements in both sports and academics， it's no wonder that even though she spoke little at school， she attracted considerable attention. 　　Suddenly， the phone on the table rang. Iris walked over to take a look; it was a call from Selene Voss. 　　Dr. Voss is not a nanny or a relative， but her psychological counseling teacher. 　　The truth was， she had demons of her own. 　　The incident had rewired her psyche in ways even her absentee parents never detected. Dr. Voss—that sharp-tongued psychiatrist who’d stumbled into her life while consulting on the murder case—remained the sole keeper of her secrets. 　　“Dr. Voss? What’s wrong?“ Iris rasped into her phone， throat still raw from screaming into her pillow. 　　“What’s wrong?!“ A clatter of stilettos punctuated the woman’s smoky contralto.“You ghosted my texts for three days， sweetheart. Those meds I prescribed better be in your system， or so help me—“ 　　Iris’s thumb traced the rim of her teacup where crimson residue clung—thick and cloying as congealed blood.“You know they don’t... After all this time， what’s the point?“ 　　“I’ll tell you the point when you start sleepwalking into traffic again!“ Plastic rustled as Voss presumably grabbed her designer handbag.“Don’t make me drive over there.“ 　　The hollow promise hung between them before the line went dead. 　　Voss’s bulldozer brand of care should’ve grated. Instead， Iris found it... steadying. Like barbed wire around a crumbling fortress. 　　Her phone buzted with notifications—spam， probably. She thumbed it open. 　　The world tilted. 　　Her device clattered against hardwood as primal terror seized her diaphragm. Sixty seconds. A full minute where her vision tunneled to the glowing screen displaying liquid scarlet pooling beneath a stag-handled hunting knife. The caption burned through her retinas: 　　“Miss me? Let’s play again.“ 　　No. 　　Impossible. 　　He’s caged. Buried. Forgotten. 　　Yet her bones knew. That particular shade of crimson wasn’t found in nature—only in nightmares. 　　“Dr. Voss—“ She stabbed redial with shaking fingers， breath sawing.“Is he out? The man from three years ago—did they release him?“ 　　A weighted pause.“Darling， even with juvenile sentencing laws...“ The psychiatrist’s tone turned liquid velvet—the voice she used during midnight panic attacks.“What’s happened?“ 　　Sunlight speared through bay windows as Iris pressed against cold glass. Too bright. Too still.“He’s here，“ she whispered.“Watching. Waiting.“ 　　In the darkness， the demon's bloodthirsty smile and frenzied gaze beckoned to her amidst the swirling blood. 　　……… 　　Sunlight streamed mercilessly through classroom windows， the humid air thick with adolescent sweat and the metallic tang of dry-erase markers. Cicadas screamed their summer death rattle beyond the glass as Mrs. Kowalski droned through pre-calc equations. 　　Iris Shae's pencil moved in mechanical precision - another perfect parabola drawn by the girl who weaponized routine against chaos. Not that anyone noticed. They never did， until the knock came. 　　The door swung open to reveal Counselor Vale's salt-and-pepper beard.“We've got a transfer，“ he announced， igniting wildfire whispers across rows of Ugg boots and Supreme hoodies. 　　“Midterms are next week!“ 　　“Bet his parents donated a library.“ 　　Iris elbowed her snoring childhood friend Zane Cole， their decade-long familiarity evident when he instinctively caught the drool slipping from his mouth.“Wha...? Did they cancel AP Chem?“ 　　All oxygen left the room when the newcomer stepped through the doorway. 　　The boy moved like smoke - six-foot-three of coiled muscle in a charcoal shirt that cost more than the teacher's monthly salary. Platinum Rolex glinting beneath rolled sleeves. Knuckles scarred from fights involving weapons far deadlier than fists. 　　“Kael Thorn.“ His voice dripped molasses-dark amusement， glacial eyes sweeping the room before landing on Iris.“Just your average... transfer student.“ 　　The lie hung glittering and dangerous as broken glass. 　　Plastic snapped. Zane blinked at the splintered pencil in Iris' white-knuckled grip， ink bleeding across her calculus notes like poison veins.“Iris? Yo， you okay?“ 　　She wasn't. Blood welled where the graphite spear had pierced her palm， yet her gaze remained locked on Kael's smirk - the same feral curve she'd last seen through police cruiser glass. 　　When she bolted upright， chair screeching， twenty heads swiveled. Kael didn't flinch. His tongue flicked over canine teeth as she passed， a wolf savoring the chase. 　　The bathroom tiles leached cold through Iris’ soles. Empty. For now. 　　She gripped the sink， refusing to acknowledge the blood blooming across her bandaged palm.*Breathe. Analyze.* That smirk. Those predator’s eyes. The boy from her nightmares wore Kael Thorn’s face like a bespoke suit. 　　*Revenge.* 　　The text’s crimson taunt pulsed behind her eyelids.*Let’s play again.* As if her survival had been mere prologue. 　　Her phone trembled against porcelain. Three rings before Dr. Voss would— 　　“Miss me?” 　　The voice slithered across her nape. 　　Iris’s reflection fractured as Kael materialized in the mirror behind her—six feet of tailored menace leaning against the tampon dispenser. His smile could’ve frostbitten hell. 　　“You’re supposed to be rotting in—” 　　“Ah-ah.” He tsked， silver-ringed fingers tapping the *Vespera Thorn Group* logo on his phone case.“Careful with accusations， little mouse.” 　　Every hair on her arms rose. The Thorn Consortium owned senators. Buried scandals. Made cartels look like lemonade stands. 　　“Three years，” he purred， closing the distance.“Three years watching lawyers peel my life apart like rotten fruit.” His thumb brushed her jugular.“All for you.” 　　Iris slammed her palms against his chest.“911’s three digits， Thorn. Let’s see your‘consortium’ stop ballistic evidence.” 　　He laughed—rich， warm， and utterly soulless.“Dial it.” His breath feathered her earlobe.“Watch what happens when power picks up the phone.” 　　The Vespera Thorn Group operates as a transnational conglomerate with tendrils in both Wall Street and the underworld. Its century-old family legacy built on blood-soaked boardroom battles makes the Corleones look like amateurs. But within the family， there were bloody storms and constant struggles， with countless deaths in the conflicts. On the surface， it appeared glamorous and clean， but inside it was filthy and sordid， with siblings turning against each other. Each ruler rose to power over countless corpses， and the horror and bloodshed of it all are unimaginable. 　　Its branches are spread all over the world， and even Iris's parents work at the Asian branch.. 　　Parents.. 　　Iris was uncontrollably filled with dread， how could it… how could it have come to this? 　　Thorn observed her every move leisurely， then said，“And I... am the next ruler of the Vespera Thorn Group.“ 　　This news was like a bolt from the blue. Iris's body trembled， and Thorn approached with satisfaction as the class bell rang. Iris's mind was in a daze， and in the end， she only remembered Thorn's cold voice echoing in her ears along with the bell.. 　　“We will... take our time playing... I promise， I will definitely drag you into hell...“