His hands were covered in blood, and his eyes saw nothing but red. There was no regret, no sorrow—only a cold pleasure simmering beneath his calm, ruthless exterior. Since the day he found his wife murdered, her chest torn open, her heart stolen, he no longer saw humans as anything but tools to extinguish his rage—prey waiting their turn to repay his pain.

He stood before his new victim, gazing at her with eyes devoid of empathy. She was tied to the chair, her breaths quick, but she did not scream, did not beg like the others. Something about her defiance intrigued him, but he wasn’t interested in what was going through her mind.

He stepped closer, running the blade slowly under her chin, then smiled—a quiet, merciless smile. "Do you know how many beats a heart makes before it finally stops?" he asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

She lifted her eyes to him, but there was no terror as he expected—there was something else… A steady gaze, as if she saw beyond the monster he had become. Then, she spoke with an eerie calmness: "If you kill me, her heart won’t return."

He paused, not out of shock at her words, but because they piqued his curiosity. Raising an eyebrow, he looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. "Oh… and did you think I was killing to get her back?" He chuckled lightly, then leaned in closer, his voice dripping with mockery. "I simply enjoy it."