BECOMING THE ANTAGONIST'S FIANCÉE

Year 2007 Thunder rumbled across the night sky, each deafening roar vibrating through the very bones of the earth. What had begun as a light drizzle gradually transformed into a relentless curtain of rain, pouring down with nature's unrestrained fury. Lightning split the heavens again and again, illuminating the dark courtyard with blinding flashes of white, as though the sky itself wished to expose a cruel and long-buried truth. Not far from an old mansion that stood majestic yet eerily silent, a horrifying scene unfolded. Amid the rain-soaked cobblestone path, a woman lay motionless. Her body was drenched, her long hair clinging to her pale face, now completely drained of life. Fresh blood streamed from countless wounds, flowing slowly before being swept away by the merciless rain. Crimson droplets scattered across the stones, forming thin trails that disappeared into the gaps between the cobblestones. Every drop dissolved into the storm, yet each left behind a faint, haunting stain—a mark of tragedy that no rainstorm could ever wash away. [Plot Twist Part] --- Year 2025 In the middle of a bustling city that should have been overflowing with light and life, a young man named Archen lay helpless on the cold, rain-soaked asphalt. His body was covered in blood, pouring relentlessly from a stab wound far too deep to survive. The streetlights reflected against the crimson pool surrounding him, their glow blending with the rainwater collecting on the pavement. Archen stared at the dark night sky, as though even the heavens refused to grant him one final glimpse of light. His eyes welled with tears. Warm streams rolled down his cheeks, only to be chilled instantly by the cold night wind. He still couldn't believe what had just happened. Was this truly how his life—already filled with hardship—was destined to end? Stabbed without warning... By a complete stranger... In the middle of a crowded street that should have offered safety. Why? The question echoed endlessly inside his fading mind. He had never harmed anyone. He had never insulted, betrayed, or stolen from another soul. He wasn't a sinner. He wasn't a criminal. He was simply an ordinary young man who wished for nothing more than a peaceful life. Then why had fate chosen to be so cruel? Why did this unbearable pain have to be the last thing he would ever feel? His eyelids grew heavier with every passing second, as if an invisible force were pulling them shut forever. No matter how desperately he fought to stay awake, his vision blurred more and more, the world slowly slipping beyond his reach. The knife had pierced his abdomen, striking a vital organ. Warm blood continued to pour from the wound, soaking through his clothes and staining the asphalt beneath him. The searing pain gradually faded...Only to be replaced by numbness. Somehow, that frightened him even more. Archen tried to move. Just one finger. Just a slight turn of his head. Just one deeper breath. Nothing. His body refused to obey. His muscles ignored every desperate command. Even opening his mouth to cry for help felt impossible. Meanwhile, people continued passing by. Blurry silhouettes drifted across the edge of his fading vision. Hurried footsteps. Cars speeding past. Fragments of casual conversations. Life continued around him... Yet not a single person stopped. Not one pair of eyes turned toward him. He prayed that at least one stranger would notice. See his body. See the blood. See the life slowly slipping away before them. But that hope gradually dissolved like mist beneath the rain. As his consciousness weakened, Archen continued fighting—even though he no longer possessed the strength to truly resist. His breathing became shallow and uneven. His chest rose and fell in broken rhythms. The world dimmed like a dying light. Inside his heart, he screamed for help. But no sound escaped his lips. And no one heard him. .... Archen was a man who belonged nowhere. After leaving the orphanage during his teenage years, his life changed completely. He had no home to return to. No family waiting for him. No friends willing to lend a hand. From that day forward, his life became painfully ordinary—lonely, exhausting, yet filled with relentless struggle. With no destination and no money, he was forced to survive on the streets. He accepted every job he could find simply to stay alive. As the years passed, hardship shaped him into a remarkably handsome young man whose mature eyes reflected countless painful experiences. He worked as a construction laborer beneath the scorching sun. At a small mining site. Delivering newspapers before dawn. Cleaning city streets. Even butchering meat in a barbecue restaurant. Every occupation left tiny scars upon his hands... Yet every scar bought him another few days of survival. Every job strengthened his body. Every day strengthened his determination. Although life remained cruel and far from comfortable, Archen eventually learned to embrace that routine. He accepted reality. Because he believed there was only one way to move forward. Keep walking. Deep within his heart, he clung to one simple belief: One day... I will become someone. My hard work will not be in vain. That fragile hope kept his spirit alive...until everything was stolen from him on that fateful night. That evening, Archen had just finished his final task before going home. He carried several bags of kitchen waste toward the dumpster behind the restaurant. The alley was narrow and dimly lit, illuminated only by a flickering yellow lamp that looked ready to burn out at any moment. To him, it was nothing unusual. Until... A strange sound echoed from the far end of the alley. Something heavy scraping against the ground. Something wet. Something he couldn't quite identify. Curiosity overpowered caution. He took several slow steps toward the source. The moment he reached the corner... His breath caught in his throat. A man lay motionless on the ground, his body drenched in blood. Several men surrounded him in the darkness. Each held a blade still dripping with dark crimson. Archen froze. He immediately realized he wasn't supposed to be there. Those men weren't the kind of people who listened to explanations. His heart pounded violently. At last, survival instinct took over. He slowly stepped backward... Then turned and ran. He wanted help. He wanted to report what he had seen. He wanted nothing more than to escape before sharing the same fate. Unfortunately... He was already too late. One of them saw him. A shout erupted behind him. Footsteps thundered across the concrete. Archen sprinted with everything he had, racing through the narrow alley toward the brightly lit main road. Several pedestrians walked nearby. A security post stood only a short distance away. For one fleeting moment... He believed he had escaped. Then— Something cold pierced his abdomen. Without warning. Without a sound. A stranger stood beside him, gripping the handle of the knife now buried deep inside his stomach. The man's eyes were completely empty. As though stabbing another human being meant absolutely nothing. Within seconds, unbearable heat and agony spread through Archen's body. Time itself seemed to stop. He stared blankly at the blood pouring from his wound, soaking through his gray T-shirt. The moment the blade was pulled free... His knees gave out. The crowded street that had seemed so lively only moments before suddenly emptied. People scattered. No one wanted to become involved. No one wanted trouble. And there... In the middle of a city that never slept... Archen collapsed. End of Flashback Archen's vision gradually faded into darkness. Yet his hearing remained. Just before everything disappeared, he heard a man's voice mention someone's name— A name Archen had never heard before. Then... Darkness consumed him completely. --- Elsewhere Rows of black luxury vehicles lined the road leading to an upscale apartment complex, standing like an honor guard awaiting their master. The grand entrance slowly opened. A man dressed in an immaculate black suit stepped outside. Tall. Elegant. Commanding. His mere presence compelled everyone nearby to lower their heads in respectful greeting. Several bodyguards followed behind him, maintaining a careful distance while remaining constantly alert. After exchanging brief handshakes and farewells with several business associates, the man finally approached the vehicle waiting for him. He entered a black Toyota Fortuner that stood out even among the other expensive cars. Seated in the rear passenger seat, he leaned against the window in silence. One elbow rested casually on the armrest. One leg crossed over the other. Every movement reflected the effortless confidence of a young billionaire who had long grown accustomed to the world's attention. Calm. Cold. Untouchable. In the front passenger seat sat a sharply dressed man wearing thin-rimmed glasses. His black suit was immaculate. His neatly combed hair matched his flawless professionalism. Like an elite personal secretary, he occasionally checked reports on his tablet while ensuring every detail of the day's schedule remained perfectly organized. "We've located a facility conducting research on those drugs," the bespectacled man reported calmly, never taking his eyes off the tablet. His fingers moved swiftly across the screen as he reviewed one report after another. The young man in the back remained silent. His gaze never left the city skyline beyond the tinted window. From the side, his expression appeared peaceful... Almost frighteningly so. "Continue the investigation." His voice was short. Cold. Absolute. Without turning around, the secretary tapped his tablet, recording the new order as though it were law itself. Suddenly— The vehicle came to an abrupt stop. The young man was thrown slightly forward, nearly striking the front seat. A low growl escaped his throat—not from pain, but from irritation. His icy gaze shot toward the driver. A single look powerful enough to make anyone fear for their life. "M-My apologies, Sir..." The driver's voice trembled violently. His hands tightened around the steering wheel. "I... I saw someone lying in the middle of the road." Fear forced him to swallow hard. Everyone knew that serving this man meant living beside death itself. One mistake... Could easily become your last. "I'll check." Lucas de' Voca, the man's personal secretary, stepped out of the SUV. Elegant. Composed. Sharp as a freshly honed blade. He approached the motionless body without the slightest hint of disgust. Using the polished tip of his leather shoe, he casually rolled the young man onto his back. The moment Archen's face came into view, Lucas frowned. Something felt... unusual. Not because of the wounds. But because of who he appeared to be. Without wasting another second, Lucas turned toward his employer and silently gestured for him to come. The rear passenger door opened. The young man stepped out with slow, measured movements. Every stride carried overwhelming authority. His expression remained calm. Yet beneath those emotionless eyes lurked a storm beyond human understanding. He stopped beside the dying young man. Then... His eyes froze on something hanging around Archen's neck. A necklace. An old silver necklace, worn with age. Simple in design. Yet impossible to mistake. it was his mother's necklace. The very necklace that should have vanished forever...Buried alongside a past he had destroyed with his own hands years ago. His entire body stiffened. His pupils contracted. The very air around him seemed to freeze. "Sir...?" Lucas whispered, witnessing an expression he had almost never seen on his master's face.