If only she had memorized all the character names… or better yet, not been dragged into a horror game at all. She should have ended up in a bright, cheerful romantic comedy.
“…Rachel. Rachel Winston.”
She grabbed the first name that sounded vaguely familiar from an old movie. Her real name, Seo Hye-won, didn’t fit this golden hair at all.
“Interesting. Why do I have no memory of you?”
“You… don’t remember?”
She already knew he had amnesia, which gave her room to lie. But by acting as if she were completely unaware of his condition, he seemed to be testing her. Knowing the stakes, she wept all the more convincingly, tears streaming down her face at the terrifying realization that she could die at any moment.
“It’s okay… because I remember for both of us.”
Though terrified to the point of screaming, she forced her voice into a pitiful, trembling cadence, playing the tragic heroine—a lover finally reunited with her soulmate after years apart. Showing even a flicker of deceit would be fatal around a man like him.
“My family registry didn’t list anyone.”
“Huh?”
“If you’re truly my wife, your name should be registered alongside mine.”
This meticulous monster had actually checked his family records after losing his memory. But she couldn’t back down now. Her survival depended on it.
“W-Well, that’s because we hadn’t officially filed the papers yet.”
“Why?”
“Because you vanished right before the wedding!”
With that line, she preemptively shut down any demands for marriage certificates or wedding photos. If he asked for pictures, she would just claim he hated being photographed. All that mattered was surviving the next five minutes. She would worry about tomorrow if she lived to see it.
“……”
Silas fell silent, contemplating her words, while she continued to ramble in a desperate bid to convince him.
“You don't remember our time together… how you always loved the meals I made you. I even bought those red roses you liked for every anniversary…”
Clink.
The man who had been watching her in cold silence unlocked the cage's padlock. A flicker of hope ignited in her chest. He was going to let her out.
Instead, he crouched directly in front of her, trapping her in his gaze. She wanted to look away from those unreadable gray eyes, but her sheer will to survive forced her to hold his contact. She even managed to squeeze out a frail smile.
“Prove it. Prove you’re my wife.”
Breaking the heavy silence, Silas’s lips curved into a frigid smile. His eyes remained dangerous, but the immediate intent to kill had receded. Now, he looked at her like a predator intrigued by a novel, unexpected toy.
“P-Please… how?”
Silas brought the blade closer. Rachel froze, but instead of plunging it into her chest, he sliced through the heavy ropes binding her wrists and ankles. She let out a ragged breath. He wasn't going to murder her just yet.
“By doing what only a married couple can do.”
Is this really happening?
Leaving the basement was a relief, but following him upstairs into the second-floor master bedroom was a nightmare of a different kind. Being brought here with the command to "prove you're my wife" left zero doubt about what he expected.
“And what about you?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
“I washed before coming downstairs. I didn’t want to leave any evidence behind.”
She wanted to ask what kind of evidence he meant, but remembered that excessive curiosity around a serial killer usually resulted in a shorter lifespan.
Her desperate scheme to pretend to shower and slip out through the bathroom window had failed spectacularly. By leading her directly into the en-suite bathroom of his own bedroom, he had blocked her only escape route.
She had no memory of actually washing herself; her mind had gone entirely blank under the spray. Afterward, she couldn't risk putting her clothes back on, fearing that maintaining physical distance would arouse his suspicion. Walking out naked was unthinkable, so she settled on a plush white bathrobe.
If I step out there… he’s going to expect it, isn't he? If I refuse, the lie collapses, and he'll slit my throat on the spot.
She tied the robe's belt as tightly as she could and stared at her reflection. Water dripped from her golden hair onto her collarbone, but she didn't even bother to wipe it away. Her thoughts were entirely consumed by the man waiting on the other side of the door.
He wouldn't just change his mind and stab me the second I walk out, right?
Taking a deep, steadying breath, she clutched the edge of her sleeves to hide her trembling hands and stepped slowly into the bedroom. While Rachel felt on the verge of a complete nervous breakdown, Silas was sitting at the edge of the mattress, legs crossed, looking entirely at ease.
“Come here.”
The low, velvet command made her heart drop into her stomach. Rachel crossed the room with agonizing slowness and perched on the very edge of the bed beside him. Silas’s gaze was razor-sharp, carrying a mix of dark curiosity and something entirely unreadable.
“You claim you’re my wife?”
“Yes.”
She tried her best to hide her terror, but her voice cracked on the single syllable. She braced for him to call her bluff, but Silas merely curled his lips into a faint, mocking smile.
He reached out, his icy fingertips brushing against her cheek. His touch sent a jolt of pure panic and unexpected heat straight down her spine.
“You’re shaking like a leaf. Why is that?”
Rachel held her breath as those cold fingers traced a deliberate path down the side of her neck, pausing right over her racing pulse as if measuring the rhythm of her lie.
“It’s… because I can’t believe I’m holding you again. I thought I’d lost you forever. No—I always believed we’d find our way back to each other!”
“Find our way back, hm…”
He murmured the words under his breath, letting out a short, quiet laugh. He paused, his sharp eyes locked onto hers. Rachel felt the air leave her lungs, torn between the sheer terror of exposure and the unnatural warmth where his skin met hers.