Cresthaven’s infamous ‘Reaper’, Jim McAvoy, had one weakness—Nina Reed. I was his light, his redemption. For me, he traded bloodstained clothes for tailored suits, dismantled his empire, became a philanthropist. "Purifying myself for you is a pleasure," he’d say. I believed him. Defied my family, married him. For five years, he worshipped me—the feared crime lord cooked for me, knelt to wash my feet, revered my parents. When my father was accused of manslaughter, Jim hired top lawyers. But at trial, the key witness vanished. Father was convicted. As the sentence was read, Jim stood and applauded. I found the witness. She slapped me: "Your husband threatened my parents! I had no choice!" Jim appeared behind me, calm: "Sylvie’s brother is dead. Someone had to pay. Your father’s sentence is light—let it go." 1. “Your father is only going to prison for a few years. Let’s just leave it at that.” I never thought I would hear those words from Jim McAvoy’s lips. Just last night, he’d held me, murmuring reassurances that justice would prevail. Now, he was the one who had sent my father to prison. I stumbled, whirling around to grab the collar of his shirt. When I spoke, my voice was a raw, broken rasp. “Why? Jim, why would you do this?” He pried my fingers from his shirt, his grip firm but his eyes empty of emotion. “I told you. Your father killed a man. He has to pay for it.” “But you know it was self-defense! If he hadn’t fought back, the one who died would have been…” “That’s not important, Nina. I promised Sylvie I would protect her. Her life can’t have a single stain on it.” I stared up at his handsome, unconcerned face. “So you’re saying my father’s life… isn’t important?” My voice cracked. “You say Sylvie’s life can’t be stained, but what about me? What about my father? How are we supposed to wash away the stain on us?” Jim’s brow furrowed. “You don’t need to. You’re my wife. Who would dare say a word against you? When your father gets out, if he wants, I’ll send him and your mother to live out their days abroad.” A bitter laugh escaped me, followed by a sudden torrent of tears. “So, for the rest of our lives, we’re just supposed to depend on you, live according to your arrangements?” A flicker of annoyance crossed his face. “Nina, you need to learn to be sensible.” “This case is closed.” Sensible? I wrenched my hand from his, my heart filled with scorn. “And if I’m not?” His gaze darkened, becoming a bottomless, black pit. “You know that without a witness, you can appeal a hundred times and the result will be the same.” He leaned in, his lips close to my ear, but his eyes drifted to a point behind me. “And Nina… you wouldn’t want anyone else to die because of you, would you?” My pupils dilated. I spun around. The witness girl stood there, her face ashen, her lower lip bitten raw. I knew. After today, she would never testify for my father again. “You’re a monster, Jim.” All my love curdled into a cold lump of disappointment in my chest. My shoulders slumped, and I dragged my heavy body away. At the end of the courthouse alley, Sylvie Threlfall was waiting, wrapped in Jim’s overcoat. When she saw me, her eyes were like poison-tipped daggers. “You’re just going to leave?” she sneered. “Shouldn’t the murderer’s daughter be at my brother’s memorial, begging for forgiveness on her knees?” I smirked. “Murderer? If my father hadn’t been there, your brother would be a rapist. And you… you’re nothing but a homewrecking…” Before I could finish, a hand clamped over my mouth from behind. It was Jim. “Nina, Sylvie is right,” he said, his voice cold. “Someone from your family needs to beg for forgiveness. If it’s not you, it’ll have to be your mother.” I turned my head to look at him, trying to understand how the man who once swore he loved me could become so hideous. The year I met Jim, I was a college student teaching dance part-time. One night, he was cornered in an alley by his enemies, a lone figure against twenty men. Anyone else would have run or died. But Jim McAvoy wasn't anyone else. He’d earned his title as Cresthaven’s Reaper with his own two hands. He took them all down. When he emerged from the alley, bleeding from a dozen wounds, he simply leaned against a lamppost and lit a cigarette. As he looked up, the warm, yellow light from a second-story window across the street spilled onto the pavement. In that frame of light, a girl was dancing. That girl was me. That, Jim had said, was how I danced my way into his heart and became his eternal guiding light. He said I looked like a fairy, an otherworldly sprite. When he first pursued me, I was terrified. I gave him a thousand reasons to leave me alone. I told him I only liked gentle, refined men, and he was too coarse. So he hired a private tutor, the same one who trained flight attendants, to teach him etiquette. I told him I hated violence and wanted a quiet life. So he dissolved his criminal network, became a legitimate businessman, and dedicated himself to charity. Everyone in Cresthaven said he was madly in love with me. That anything involving Nina Reed was the one thing that could make the Reaper bare his fangs again. And now this man, for another woman, had turned my father into a murderer and was forcing me to kneel before a predator's memory. The car pulled up to the funeral home. A bodyguard dragged me out and threw me inside. When Sylvie’s family saw me, they swarmed, their faces contorted with rage. Jim only frowned slightly. Sylvie saw it and raised an eyebrow at him. “Her father killed my brother. It’s only fair my family gets to let off some steam. Surely Mr. McAvoy won’t mind?” Jim said nothing. He didn’t move. And so I was swallowed by Sylvie’s relatives. They slapped my face, kicked my stomach, tore at my clothes, and yanked my hair. One man’s grimy hands roamed over my body, a vile, invasive touch. I couldn’t bear it. I screamed Jim’s name. “Jim, no matter what, I am still your wife!” He frowned again, but before he could speak, Sylvie cut in smoothly. “Alright, that’s enough. Jim brought her here today to repent to my brother. Let’s show him some respect.” The crowd parted, revealing me in my battered, disheveled state. Sylvie’s eyes glinted with mockery as she pointed to her brother’s open casket. “Nina Reed. I want you to kneel before my brother and admit that you are the daughter of a murderer. And then, I want you to apologize.” I clutched my torn clothes, my voice ice. “In your dreams. I will never admit my father is a murderer.” The words had barely left my mouth when Jim’s tall frame appeared beside me. “Do as she says. Otherwise, I’ll have to call your mother.” My nails dug into my palms. I looked up at him, my eyes red-rimmed. “Jim, do you really have to be so cruel?” He looked down at me, and his next words sent a chill through my entire body. “They’re just words, Nina. It’s not that serious. Sylvie wants to hear them, so you’ll say them for her.” “If you insist on being this stubborn, I’ll have to use… other methods to train you. And you know I have a thousand ways, ten thousand ways, to make you obey.” Yes. How could I forget? He was the Reaper. Even if I refused, he had a million ways to break me. Psychological, physical. It would be one thing if he used them on me. But if he used them on my mother… on my father… I couldn’t bear the thought. I closed my eyes, helpless. After a long, agonizing struggle, I unclenched my bleeding fists and surrendered. “Fine. I’ll say it.” I crawled on my hands and knees to the casket, each word a sob. “I… am the daughter of a murderer. I am here to apologize to Mr. Brandon Threlfall. I am so sorry.” Sylvie, however, was not satisfied. “Miss Reed, don’t you know a proper apology requires a bow to show sincerity? And your voice is far too quiet.” I trembled, humiliation forcing me to grit my teeth. As if punishing myself, I raised my head and slammed my forehead to the ground. “I AM THE DAUGHTER OF A MURDERER. I AM HERE TO APOLOGIZE TO MR. BRANDON THRELFALL. I AM SO SORRY!” Blood bloomed on my forehead, streaming down my face. Jim’s brow twitched almost imperceptibly. I lifted my head and stared straight at Sylvie. “Is that enough?” My reckless abandon seemed to startle her family. They tugged at her sleeve. Sylvie just lifted her chin, her expression arrogant. “Barely.” I scrambled to my feet, unsteady. Jim’s hand shot out to support me, but I slapped it away. “Don’t touch me,” I spat. “You disgust me.” His face darkened with sudden rage. He grabbed my wrist, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “What did you say? Say it again. I dare you.” I met his gaze, my voice clear and deliberate, each word a shard of ice. “I. Said. You. Disgust. Me.” Jim looked as if he’d been struck. He abruptly let go of my wrist. This time, I didn’t look back. I strode out of that funeral home and didn’t stop. I never imagined they would film what happened in that funeral home. Overnight, the video went viral. Tabloid vultures spun their own narratives, claiming my father had knowingly broken the law and was trying to hide behind a self-defense claim. Others whispered that my father and the so-called victim had some illicit relationship—why else would his own daughter be so willing to confess? The shame and anger made my mother collapse. But even if we covered our ears and closed our eyes, we couldn’t escape the deluge of insults. “If your father sees this, how heartbroken will he be?” she worried, her face etched with sorrow after she woke. I couldn't speak. I didn't know how to explain myself. The next day, my father found out anyway. He tried to kill himself in prison. When we got the news, my mother and I raced to the hospital. But when we arrived, the ambulance carrying my father was parked outside, barred from entering. Blood was still seeping from the wound on his neck. I was frantic. “Why isn’t he being taken inside?” I demanded. The paramedic looked at me, his face a mask of helpless frustration. “I heard Mr. McAvoy’s… girlfriend’s cat was in an accident. It’s being treated in the ER. Mr. McAvoy gave the order: until the cat is stable, no other critical patients are to be admitted.” It felt like a fever dream, so absurd, so twisted. “This is a hospital, not a veterinary clinic! How can you let them do this?” No one answered me. Even the prison guard accompanying us sighed. “You’re the family. Maybe you should try another hospital?” The doctor, who was still applying pressure to my father’s wound, shook his head. “The nearest one is ten minutes away. We don’t have that kind of time.” My breath caught. I turned to get out of the ambulance. “I’ll go. I’ll beg Jim to let my father in.” But as I turned, my father’s hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. He gripped it tightly, and the heart monitor beside him began to beep erratically. I scrambled back to his side. “Dad, don’t get agitated. I’ll save you, I promise. Please, just hold on.” My father’s eyes fluttered open. He raised a trembling hand to my cheek. His lips moved behind the oxygen mask, trying desperately to tell me something. The doctor reached over and removed the mask. “He’s not going to make it. If you have anything to say, say it now.” My ears started ringing. The doctor and the guard stepped out of the ambulance, leaving us alone. My mother, her face deathly pale, leaned in close, her voice choked with grief. “What is it, dear? I’m listening.” My father’s voice was faint, as if coming from a great distance, yet every word was crystal clear. “Don’t be sad. And don’t… don’t beg him. This was my choice. I found my own peace.” “Nina, I don’t want you to appeal. I just want you and your mother to be safe. Nothing is more important than the two of you.” “My love,” he said to my mother, “make that call. Take Nina and leave Cresthaven.” “Yes, yes, I will,” my mother sobbed, clutching his hand. “Good. Then I can… I can rest…” A long, piercing beep filled the air. My father’s hand went limp in hers. I snatched it back, holding on for dear life, as if my grip alone could keep him from leaving me. The silence in the ambulance was suffocating. A tidal wave of grief crashed over my mother and me, drowning us completely. After what felt like an eternity, my mother let out a shuddering breath. She took my hand, her trembling voice laced with a newfound strength. “Nina. Let’s take your father home.” The kind ambulance driver took us to a crematorium. After I signed the necessary papers, my mother and I oversaw my father's cremation. When we returned home with the urn, my mother handed me a phone number. “Nina. This is the number for your grandfather’s old commander. You make the call.” I held the slip of paper, the rage in my heart impossible to suppress. My father’s last words… it was clear he had been threatened, coerced into taking his own life. Was I really supposed to just run away? But one look at my mother’s frail shoulders and swollen, red eyes, and I dialed the number. I couldn’t let her be endangered because of me. No matter how much I wanted to fight, I had to get her to safety first. The call was answered immediately by a stern, authoritative voice. After a brief explanation, he told me he would send someone to pick us up the next day. I hung up and sat with my mother before my father’s makeshift memorial all night. At dawn, we took his ashes to choose a burial plot. We had intended to bury him next to my grandmother. But in a cruel twist of fate, the plot next to hers was already occupied. By Brandon Threlfall.
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