Chapter 2: Pain Like Worms
Was this really the world she once believed in?
Frances used to think love was sacred. That life would reward kindness. But life, she now realized, doesn't care how pure your heart is. It hits hard. It hits without warning. And it never asks if you're ready.
She had thought Marcus was her safe place—her home. Instead, he turned out to be the beginning of her ruin.
Where could she even run to now? Her parents' properties had been cunningly taken. Everything they left behind for her—gone. And the betrayal? It ran deeper than just words or actions. It was blood-deep.
She remembered the night it happened.
Marcus had called her, his voice laced with warmth and charm.
"Dress up for me, baby," he had said. "I've got a surprise for us tonight."
Frances had beamed like a child, rushing to shower and pick the prettiest dress from her wardrobe. She remembered the way her heart fluttered. She still thought he loved her then.
When she stepped outside, he was waiting beside his sleek car. Dressed sharply, his cologne trailing on the wind, he looked like something out of a movie.
"Girl, you look breathtaking. That's my baby," he said with that confident smile.
She blushed. "I dressed up for you. I won't let any woman steal you from me."
They both laughed. And just like that, she got into the car, believing—still believing—he was hers.
Minutes later, they pulled into the biggest city mall in Macedonia. The skyline was etched with bright lights, the streets buzzing with expensive cars and camera flashes. Marcus flashed a pass to the guards, and they were let in without question.
He took her first to Midway Restaurant inside the mall. He ordered her favorite dishes—every single one. She remembered laughing, eating with joy, feeling spoiled.
But what surprised her was that he didn't eat. Not a bite.
If only she had paid attention to that.
Later, he led her back to the bar inside the same complex—Castle Lounge. As they settled at a small booth, the bartender brought over a selection of wine and smoothies.
Before she could say much, his phone buzzed.
"It's Charlotte," he said casually.
She nodded, thinking nothing of it. He stepped out to take the call.
When he returned, her drink was already waiting.
She took a sip, not even hesitating. After all, this was Marcus—the man she'd trusted for five long years. The man she was planning a life with.
But what she thought was a little tipsy buzz turned quickly into dizziness. The room blurred. Her thoughts scattered.
She never remembered signing anything.
But she had.
Under the influence of whatever he had slipped into her drink, she had signed over her inheritance. Her home. Her accounts. Her parents' legacy.
When Frances finally woke up to the truth—after Marcus and Charlotte had showed her their true faces—it was too late.
She had been blind.
And now, every minute that passed felt like worms crawling under her skin. Pain that slithered and festered, itching with regret, shame, and helplessness. She sat on the cold floor of her bedroom, staring blankly. The tears had stopped, but not because she was okay—she had simply run out of them.
She didn't even have the strength to scream anymore.
Then came the knock.
Three short taps.
"Who's there?" she croaked, her voice hollow.
A man's voice responded from outside the door. "Good afternoon, ma'am. We're here from the bank. We've been informed the ownership of this house has changed. The new owner asked us to inspect the property and ensure it's cleared."
"What?" Frances stood up abruptly. "This house belongs to me. My parents built it with their sweat and blood. You can't just come in and—"
"We understand, ma'am," the voice interrupted, "but according to our documents, this house is now legally under the name of Mr. Marcus Berish. We were also notified it will soon be transferred to Mrs. Charlotte Berish. It's best you pack up and leave willingly. If not, we'll be forced to remove you."
Frances laughed bitterly. "You think this is some kind of joke? You show up with some fake paperwork and expect me to believe—"
But her voice cracked before she could finish. Deep down, she knew it wasn't a lie.
She had signed something that night.
And now it was all gone.
Everything.
Even her car.
Marcus had convinced her just yesterday to sell it. Promised to get her a better one. Said he wanted her to "look like the queen" she was. She hated spending lavishly, but for him, she'd said yes.
Suddenly, her eyes widened. She reached for her phone and dialed the car dealer they had visited.
"Hello? I'm the lady who came yesterday with a man to sell my car. I haven't received the deposit yet."
"Oh, it was processed last night," the agent replied. "Your husband came back and said you might have put the wrong account number, so he gave us a new one. We sent it there. Didn't he tell you?"
He paused.
"I can forward you the receipt if you want."
Frances stood still.
Mouth slightly open.
Breath stuck in her chest.
"…Yes," she whispered. "Send it."
She hung up and dropped the phone like it burned.
It was true. Every last word. Every single move Marcus had made was part of the setup. The car, the documents, the dates, the charm—all of it was calculated. All of it was a lie.
She looked around at her near-empty house.
No home. No car. No family. No money. No one to call.
Even her so-called friends had disappeared like smoke in the wind.
With trembling hands, she picked up her suitcase and began to pack. Each item she folded into her bag felt like a piece of her life slipping away.
Hours later, under the scorching sun, Frances walked alone—homeless, betrayed, broken.
But something inside her was shifting.
Yes, she was shattered. Yes, her heart felt like it had been eaten alive.
But maybe… just maybe… this was where her story truly began.