Reels of DECEIT!

Guilty!

Invader's POV

I had done nothing wrong. I had been patient. But with Jonas gone, I knew it was only a matter of time before Emilio swooped in to steal what was rightfully mine. This wasn't how I wanted it. I'd dreamed of a quiet moment, of her choosing me. But that was a child's fantasy. This, the struggle, and the violence was the only way. This was the only language I believed she understood. A pathetic, self-serving pity washed over me. Look what you made me do, I thought, but the face in my mind wasn't hers. It was Emilio's.

I am sorry, Saintilia, a voice inside me whispered, even as my body betrayed the apology. But Emilio is the one responsible for this.

A raw, sickening sound tore from my throat as I finally forced my way inside her. The feeling was a consuming fire, burning away the last fragments of my mind. There was no thought, only a blinding, animal imperative.

I am sorry, Saintilia.

The whisper in my mind was a pathetic, meaningless gesture, a ghost of a conscience I had already murdered. I knew I was hurting her. I could feel it. But my own need was a deafening roar, drowning out everything else. Just before the end, a final, calculating instinct took over. I pulled out and finished myself off, spilling my seed across her stomach and torn dress. It was a final act of ownership, a deliberate defilement. A way to mark my prize without the consequence of leaving a child behind.

I couldn't let her get pregnant. That was a line even I wouldn't cross. It wasn't just that it was her first time; a baby would be living proof. The truth would be undeniable, and my wife... everyone... would know what I had done. A sick sense of triumph washed over me, quickly followed by a cold dread. She was too still. Too quiet. I checked her pulse, my own heart hammering against my ribs. Thank god. She's breathing. She was just broken. Unconscious.

Panic seized me, cold and sharp. What was I supposed to do now? Carry her home? I couldn't be seen with her like this. Then, the sound of footsteps in the distance. Not a threat, a rescue. Someone else will find her. Someone else can deal with this. The weight of responsibility, fleeting as it was, lifted. Let them find her. Let them take her home. My part in this was over. I melted back into the trees, leaving the consequences for someone else to find.

**********

The drunken haze shattered, replaced by a cold, sharp clarity that was far worse. The reality of what I had done crashed down on me, not with guilt, but with sheer panic. I had to get out. The footsteps were getting closer. I could hear them crunching on the path. My mind raced, scrabbling for a way out. I couldn't be found here, crouched over her broken body.

A cruel, simple idea flashed in my mind. I leaned down and pinched the soft skin of Saintilia's arm, hard. I needed a sound. I needed a reason for someone to be here that wasn't me. A pathetic moan escaped her lips. It was enough.

I didn't look back. I lunged for the cover of a thick tree, pressing myself against the bark as the footsteps arrived. My heart pounded not with sorrow, but with the thrill of a narrow escape. It had worked. I had used her one last time to save myself. And as I slipped away into the shadows, the only thing that sank in my heart was the relief of getting away with it.

I retreated into the shadows, a silent ghost. A sickening cocktail of relief and something that felt like remorse churned in my gut. The weight of what I had done was a physical pressure on my chest, but it was the fear of exposure that truly crushed me. I hadn't wanted this. I had only been protecting myself. And in that moment, I made a vow. Not to repent, not to confess, but to be smarter. More cautious. I would never again let my impulses risk my entire world.

Through the leaves, I watched as the passerby lifted her. He handled her with a care I recognized. He knew her. He knew Jonas. I couldn't make out his face, but I knew I'd learn who he was soon enough. I'd have to. I needed to know what she would say.

I waited until the woods were silent and empty before I emerged. The danger had passed. Then, a sharp, stinging pain shot through my arm, a delayed message from the frenzy. I looked down.

And I saw it. The proof.

A deep, savage bite mark wept blood down my forearm. The flesh was torn, a piece of my own skin hanging loose from where her teeth had sunk in, fighting me until the very end. It wasn't just a wound; it was a brand. A receipt for the violence I had inflicted, paid back in my own flesh. A piece of her resistance was now a permanent part of me, a secret I would have to bury along with the memory.

Saintilia POV

My eyes fluttered open to the soft, grey light of daybreak. I was confused and disoriented. The air was thick and the shapes of my room where I laid was slowly becoming clear, but my mind was still foggy, I couldn’t even figure out where I was. Then I heard Aunt Tina. Her voice was a familiar anchor in the swirling haze.

My memory was a shattered pane of glass that I tried to piece together. The river... the gourds... the shadows... then nothing. A crushing, black nothing. How did I get here? My skin felt clean. The smell of the forest, the feel of the dirt, it was all gone, scrubbed away. The thought was somehow more terrifying than the memory itself. Someone had washed the evidence from my body while I was lost in a dream.

I learned then that I had been asleep for three days. Three days lost in a prison of my own mind. In that darkness, I had been trapped, reliving the trauma in fragmented dreams and awful hallucinations. A nightmare on an endless, screaming loop. Yet, even in the deepest part of that turmoil, a single, stubborn fire refused to be extinguished. It wasn't hope for happiness, but something more fundamental: a refusal to be broken. A refusal to succumb.

As the days passed, a slow, remarkable transformation began. My body and mind, like two battered allies, fought a valiant war against the darkness inside me. In the haze, Jonas was there. "Return," he told me, his voice firm. "I am not ready to see you yet."

I protested. I wanted to stay with him, to finally meet the mother I never knew. But he scolded me, his voice rising, the first time I had ever heard him raise it. The sting of his resentment was sharper than any physical pain. It was that disappointment, that firm push from my father, that finally shoved my soul back into the realm of the living.

The habit of survival kicked in. It was time to be in the kitchen. I needed to get up, to start cooking. But when I tried to move my body into a sitting position, it felt impossibly heavy, as if I were buried beneath a ton of bricks.

"Ouch!"

A sharp cry escaped my lips as a bolt of pain shot through me. The movement was a brutal reminder of how badly my body had been abused. My face, still stung, a persistent echo of the blows. And the last, fragmented memory that surfaced was the weight of a man, pounding on top of me. My road to recovery stretched before me, long and arduous. A voice from the doorway cut through the painful silence.

"Are you awake?"

Finally, I managed to sit up, but movement was agony. My right arm was tightly wrapped. At least it wasn't broken. I needed to apologize to Tina, though for what, I wasn't sure. My face was a throbbing, swollen mask. My distorted lips struggled to form words, but I forced a whisper. "This man... did a number on me."

I looked up and met Tina's gaze. Her expression wasn't one of pity, but of cold, hard anger.

"Yes, Aunty. I can explain," I whispered, the words slurred.

"Explain what?" Her voice was like a whip c***k. "Do you know what you have done?"

I was dumbfounded. Her question was a blade that twisted in a wound I didn't create. Her tone made it clear: in her eyes, I was to blame. I didn't understand the logic of her judgement, but I knew better than to challenge a storm. I remained silent.

My mind raced. How did I get here? My body was clean, dressed in a fresh nightgown. Someone had scrubbed the violence from my skin. I desperately wanted to ask Tina for the details, but her foul mood was a wall I couldn't breach. Knowing her, our neighbor Adeline had likely been the one to actually care for me. Then came the blow that hurt more than any physical injury.

"Do you know how difficult it will be to get you a husband now?"

The air left my lungs. Was this woman right in her head? How could she even utter the word "husband" when I had been r***d and nearly beaten to death?

"Is that what's important right now?" I mumbled, the words a painful, inaudible protest as I tried to divorce my mind from the agony.

"Do you think that's not important?" she shot back, her voice rising. "Do you know who found you?"

The implication was a final, crushing weight. I understood. My life, in her eyes, was truly ruined. I later learned it was Adeline who found me unconscious in the yard, just steps from the kitchen. My body had been dumped like trash. In that moment, something became clear to me. My life had been forever changed, but I refused to let this cruelty, or Tina's coldness, define me. Finding a husband would never be my priority. Survival was. And I was just beginning to learn how to fight.

My unwavering gratitude toward Adeline was forever engraved on my heart. In the face of tragedy, Tina had been useless. I didn't need to be told I owed my life to Adeline; she was the one who knew what to do when I found Jonas. She was a good woman. My only regret wat not having her as Jonas’s wife therefore my stepmom. "Paulette was the only woman who will ever occupy my heart, live in my mind and know my body," he had said. He didn't dislike Adeline, he acknowledged her caring nature, despite her flaws; but he could never let another woman touch him. And true to his word, he remained celibate until his death.

Of course, Adeline was also the village gossip. She wasn't malicious, but secrets simply couldn't survive in her possession. That evening, she had come to borrow salt, assuming I was home. She always cooked late, preferring to go to sleep on a full stomach. When I didn't answer, she summoned Tina.

From the way Tina told the story, her voice sharp with resentment, Adeline had been furious. She had yelled at Tina for her negligence, insisting that it was unlike me to be so late and that Tina needed to get off her lazy backside and go find me immediately.

I could hear the lingering humiliation in Tina's voice. She hated being told what to do, especially by Adeline.

"So, what you're saying is," I cut in, my voice still weak but clear, "if it wasn't for Adeline, I would be found dead. Right?"

I couldn't help it. I wanted the guilt to sting.