---
After the discharge papers were signed, Mia returned home.
Marvin, ever the polite gentleman, dropped her off and left without lingering—exactly how Mia liked it. She barely spared him a wave before turning to the nurse and saying, "Pick a room. Any room. I'm going exploring."
The house was… small. Three bedrooms, cramped hallways, and somehow outrageously expensive for what it offered. She wandered through it with the expression of someone forced to shop in the clearance aisle.
"This is so small. How do people survive in here?" Mia muttered as she entered the kitchen. "Three bedrooms. And for this price? Robbery. Pure robbery."
"So, what now?" Dumplings asked, appearing beside the fruit basket like a suspiciously cute ornament.
"What do you think?" Mia said, grabbing an apple and taking a bite. "I'm going to take all I can—then leave."
Her voice was sweet, almost dreamy. But Dumplings wasn't fooled.
"You're scared."
"Of course I am not , idiot." Mia rolled her eyes and pinched his chubby cheek. "Haven't you heard? 'She who runs today lives to scam another thousand years.' I'm a fragile woman now, remember? Weak heart, questionable reputation, and worst of all—living under the second male lead's nose."
Her tone lowered, calm and cold. "And Marvin? He's a billionaire with a god complex. In the original story, once he found out Maria wasn't the one who saved him, he had her gang-raped and tossed off a building. If you think I'm staying for that scene, you're crazy but it doesn't mean that Marvin try anything funny now I will stay quiet nope If I go down I'm dragging his whole generation down to hell where I'm the queen."
She smiled and sliced the apple with a knife, elegantly offering herself a piece like a queen dining on a battlefield.
Maria's ghost floated silently behind her, watching.
Mia turned. "Why are you looking at me like that? I know I'm hot. But I didn't know ghosts had taste."
She batted her lashes, cupping her face. "Sins of being too pretty, I guess."
"When will you save Mike?" the ghost asked coldly. "You're Maria now. Mike is your son. He could be in danger."
Mia raised a brow, unimpressed. "Chill. Dumplings already hexed the kidnappers. They won't hurt him—though they won't treat him like a prince either."
"You what?" Maria's ghost blinked.
"I'm not saving him yet. He ran off on his own, like a toddler with a death wish." Mia sighed dramatically, flopping into a kitchen chair. "He's a grown man in a child's body and still acts like a brat. Honestly, minus points for both of you. You died. He ran. And now I'm stuck here cleaning up the mess?"
She stood up with a yawn and walked toward her room.
"You didn't care before. When did you ask Dumplings to protect him?"
Mia stopped at the doorway. "The moment he went missing. I'm lazy, not heartless."
With that, she began sprinkling powder around the doorframe. Maria's ghost floated closer—only to slam into an invisible barrier.
"What did you do?!" she shrieked, trying to pass through.
"Do I look like someone who enjoys starting her mornings with a ghost hovering over her bed?" Mia clutched her chest with mock horror. "My poor heart can't take that kind of drama. Ghosts bring bad luck, didn't you know? Bye-bye now."
She closed the door and locked it with a loud click.
Then she tossed herself onto the bed, arms sprawled, eyes on the ceiling. "Another day, another bad script."
From outside the room, Dumplings whispered to Maria's ghost, "She's like a heroine in a low-budget film... and she's proud of it."
Maria's ghost stared blankly at the locked door. If she could bury herself in shame, she would've done it ten times over.
-------------
The next afternoon, Mia leaned back in a faded yellow taxi, sunglasses on, humming a tune as the driver cruised down the half-abandoned road near the port. When they arrived at the edge of a worn-down fence hidden by wild grass and brush, she handed him a crumpled note with a sweet "Keep the change," and stepped out like she was arriving at a red carpet event—except it was a patch of overgrown bushland.
She took a breath and started singing softly to herself, skipping like a child with secrets.
"Little beauty, where are you?
I'm here, can't you see?
Little beauty, why the bush?
'Cause this beauty's looking for gold!"
She giggled at her own rhyme and ducked into the foliage, uncaring of the thorns that dared graze her. Her movement was light, precise, her posture too graceful for someone crawling through leaves and dirt.
"What are you doing?" Maria's ghost appeared, floating behind her in disbelief. "You're actually insane. What next—explore a cave?"
Mia, unbothered, tossed her a look over her shoulder. "It's not like you can feel bugs or heat, so why complain? You're a ghost. Float and be quiet."
She pressed forward until the bush parted, revealing the backside of the worn-out warehouse. Standing, she dusted the twigs off her jacket with flair and adjusted her sleeves like she was preparing for a runway shoot instead of a break-in.
The metal wall of the warehouse loomed in front of her.
"That wall is way too big, there's no way you're—"
Maria didn't even finish.
Because Mia was already running.
She sprinted with wild speed, then just before hitting the wall, planted one foot against it and launched herself upward. Her body twisted mid-air, fluid and sharp—a flawless backflip to steady her momentum. Her fingers brushed the old zinc panel, her shoes made no more noise than a passing breeze.
Like a shadow with feathers for feet, she landed on a narrow ledge and slid silently across the metal like a dancer trained in silence. One wrong move, one misplaced breath—and she would've alerted the guards. But not Mia. She moved like air.
Two men stood at the open window, cigarettes in hand, lost in conversation and smoke.
They didn't even see her coming.
Mia slipped inside in one swift motion, her limbs coiled with deadly elegance. She delivered a spinning kick to the first man's neck—so fast, so quiet, he dropped without a sound. The second barely turned his head before her palm slammed against the side of his neck with surgical precision, knocking him out cold.
She stepped back, shook her hands with a satisfied sigh, and then—catwalked across the concrete floor like she hadn't just taken down two grown men with ease.
"Amateurs," she whispered, smirking.
Maria's ghost hovered in the window, gaping.
Mia flicked her hair and whispered to no one in particular, "I told you. Beauty and skills. I'm a one-woman army."
She vanished deeper into the warehouse, every footstep lighter than breath.
---
Inside the warehouse, dim light seeped through the cracks in the zinc walls. The air was thick with mildew and despair.
Mike sat on the cold floor, his wrists aching against the coarse rope binding him to another boy—Neo, quiet and observant. Around them, children whimpered in exhaustion, their faces dirty and tear-streaked. One child sobbed softly in the corner while another lay curled up, too numb to cry anymore.
It had been three days.
Three days since Mike was taken.
Three days since he dared to hope someone would come for him.
marvin to save him very stupid cause it was this same Marvin that blinded him and sold him out in his past life to protect Jake his precious son it was fun if he thought this life he can make Marvin choose him and his mom but it seems the plot never works like that and his mom where is she does she not care about him or is she still trying to win Marvin .
He bit the inside of his cheek, eyes narrowing. He was such an idiot. Even after everything—after being left behind, after watching her die in the last life—some part of him had still hoped. Even knowing she had planned to die with that woman and her son, leaving him behind… he still waited.
Still wished.
But no one came.
Not then. Not now.
He used to think it was Marvin who truly destroyed him—who tore his world apart. But now, sitting in this hellhole, he couldn't help but feel the anger twist toward her again. Toward Maria.
She left him behind.
He was a child. Her child. And she chose to die with someone else that stupid FL Oliver and her son Jake he hate them all
Mike stared at the dusty floorboards, jaw clenched.
He wasn't crying. Not anymore.
He had cried once, and it got him nowhere.
Now, he was planning.
Neo shifted slightly next to him, and Mike glanced at the tiny glint of metal just beside his fingers.
The key. Their stolen chance.
If the guards left again—just once—they'd make their move.
He wouldn't wait to be rescued. Not this time. Not ever again.
When the warehouse doors slammed shut and the sound of boots faded into silence, Mike's eyes snapped open.
"They're gone," he whispered, voice hoarse.
Neo nodded against his back. "Now or never."
With fumbling fingers, Mike reached toward the hidden tile where Neo had stashed the key. His heart pounded—he could almost hear the blood rushing in his ears. Every second felt too loud, too long. He found the key, jammed it into the rusted lock at his wrists. It didn't fit. He flipped it. Twisted. A sharp click.
They were free.
Mike didn't waste a second. He pulled Neo up, their legs shaky from days of sitting. They hurried through the room, untying the other kids—some crying, others too stunned to move.
"We're getting out," Mike whispered, again and again, trying to ignite some spark of hope.
One little girl clung to his hand like he was a lifeline. Another boy, taller, stronger, took charge of helping a limping child. By the time they got to the back exit—the rickety side door Mike had eyed yesterday—they had a small group of five.
Then—gunfire.
A shout. Boots.
"RUN!" Mike yelled, shoving the door open.
Panic exploded.
Children scattered into the open field behind the warehouse, barefoot feet pounding into the dirt. The gunshots didn't stop. The kidnappers were back—and furious.
Mike, Neo, the two girls, and the tall boy took off into the overgrown bushes. For a moment, they had hope. The bushes provided cover. The shouts were behind them.
Then, something felt wrong.
Mike glanced at the tall boy—older, maybe ten. Too calm. Too confident.
He wasn't running like someone desperate for freedom. He was... leading.
"Where are you taking us?" Mike asked, slowing.
The boy didn't look back. "Shut up and follow me. I know where to go."
Mike stopped completely. "You're leading us back."
The older boy froze. His voice dropped. "I said shut up."
Neo hesitated beside Mike. The two girls kept running after the tall boy, but Mike pulled Neo's wrist. "No. We're going the other way."
They turned.
But it was too late.
Six kidnappers burst from the trees behind them. Laughing.
"Well, well, aren't you two clever," one sneered.
The butt of a rifle smashed into Neo's side. Mike tried to run, but a foot kicked his legs out from under him. He crashed to the dirt. Hands dragged him back by the hair.
Inside the warehouse again. Screams, cries. One of the little girls was bleeding from her cheek. Another kid was unconscious.
Mike gritted his teeth as the oldest kid—the betrayer—stepped forward.
One of the men clapped him on the back. "Time to prove yourself, boy."
He hesitated, then walked toward Mike.
"I don't want to be a beggar," he muttered. "They laughed at me, beat me when I first told them... but I proved I could be useful."
---
[FLASHBACK]
The boy had been crouched outside the crates when he overheard Mike and Neo planning.
"I stole the key," Neo whispered. "Tomorrow, we run."
The boy didn't think. He'd been a street rat his whole life. Loyalty? That was for the rich. The safe.
That night, he approached one of the kidnappers. "I know something."
The response? A fist to the gut. Laughter. "You think snitching makes you one of us?"
"Let me prove it," he gasped. "I'll lead them into a trap. I can help."
They watched him. Calculating.
"Fine," the leader said. "Prove it. Next time they run—you lead them back."
---
[BACK TO PRESENT]
Mike looked up, eyes blazing.
"You're crazy! We could've gone home!"
The boy didn't flinch. "You have a home. A family. I have nothing. You? You get second chances. But me? I get power only by surviving. And to survive, I need them."
He stepped on Mike's hand.
CRACK.
Pain shot up Mike's arm like lightning. He screamed.
One of the kidnappers laughed. "Next, his tongue."
The boy flinched. Just a little.
But he didn't stop them.
And Mike, bleeding and betrayed, stared at the cracked ceiling.
He didn't cry.
He was done crying.