I crashed my ex-boyfriend’s wedding. As the crowd gathered around the couple to cut the cake, I drifted closer, leaning in to whisper a single sentence in his ear. His head snapped around. In the next instant, he plunged the cake knife into his new bride. Once, twice, three times… He stabbed her eighteen times, a savage frenzy, like an exorcism of demons. Guests scattered, their screams tearing through the festive air. A wedding painted in blood. The media descended like vultures, each reporter desperate to know what had happened. But both Kevin and I remained silent, bound by a secret understanding. After a long investigation, the police found no motive, no evidence of incitement. They could only label it a psychotic break. He was sent to a psychiatric hospital for five years. The day Kevin was released was his parents' 70th birthday. And once again, I appeared, an unwelcome ghost, ready to whisper the same sentence into the ear of a man they called cured. 1 “You and Kevin haven’t spoken in three years,” a voice hissed beside me. “Have you no shame, showing up here to steal the groom?” Dressed in a severe black gown, I was a specter at my ex-boyfriend Kevin’s celebration of new life. His gaze, when it found me, was cold, as if I were a stranger he’d passed on the street. It lingered for a heartbeat before he turned back to his fiancée, murmuring something sweet that made her laugh. Whispers rippled through the guests, their eyes darting between me and the happy couple. Kevin’s parents, their faces hardening into masks of fury, marched over. “I don’t recall sending you an invitation,” his father growled. “If you have any decency, you’ll leave now. Don’t make a scene.” But the bride-to-be, Lily, stepped forward, a picture of grace. “It’s okay,” she said, her voice surprisingly warm. “We all go way back. I’m sure Ava is just here to wish us well.” Seeing their future daughter-in-law so composed, Kevin’s parents could say no more. They grudgingly had me seated at a table in the farthest, darkest corner of the room. The incident was quickly forgotten. Laughter and the clinking of glasses filled the air once more. Then came the cake-cutting. The crowd surged forward, a wave of bodies pressing in around the towering confection. In the shuffle, I found myself pushed right up against Kevin. He had his arm wrapped around Lily’s waist, his face alight with an adoring smile. This was my chance. I leaned in, my lips brushing his ear, and spoke. His smile froze. His eyes, once so full of warmth, became terrifyingly feral, as if his very soul had been struck by lightning. He snatched the ceremonial knife and plunged it deep into Lily’s heart. Her scream was strangled by a gush of blood that blossomed across her white dress like a grotesque rose. Panic erupted. Guests shrieked and scrambled for the exits. Flowers, tablecloths, even the sky itself seemed stained crimson. And through it all, I stood perfectly still, watching him kill. I didn’t try to stop him. I didn’t run. I just watched, until the wail of sirens sliced through the chaos. 2 They put us in separate interrogation rooms. “What the hell did you say to him?” Detective Miller’s voice was a low growl, his knuckles white where he gripped the edge of the table. “Why did he snap and murder his fiancée?” I slowly lifted my gaze to meet his, my expression placid. There was no trace of the horror a witness to such brutality should feel. “I don’t know.” His fist slammed down on the metal table, the sound echoing in the sterile room. “How can you not know? A young woman is dead because of something you said!” He leaned closer, his voice raw with anger. “We’ve checked. Kevin and Lily were happy. They never fought. Nothing was wrong until you showed up.” A cold smile touched my lips. “Are my words magic, Detective? Do you really believe a single sentence from me could make a man murder the woman he loves?” He was silenced by that, his jaw tight. He knew how absurd it sounded. The investigation would have already shown him that Kevin and I hadn't seen or spoken to each other in three years. Not a single text, not a single call. Kevin was the golden boy—brilliant, kind, compassionate. He was the kid who spent his allowance on food for stray cats, the man who had never shown a single violent impulse in his life. The police were grasping at straws, and the only straw they had was the sentence I’d whispered in his ear. “Then just tell us what you said to him. That, at least, you can do.” I met his intense gaze. “If you can prove my words are legally relevant to the crime, I’ll tell you,” I said, my voice even. “Otherwise, I can only report what I witnessed. But you don’t need me for that. You have the security footage.” “You…” Detective Miller’s face flushed with impotent rage. He glared at me, a storm brewing in his eyes, but he eventually spun on his heel and stormed out. Meanwhile, in the room next door, Kevin was faring much worse. He sat slumped in his chair, his eyes vacant, an empty shell where a person used to be. No matter how much they questioned him, he said nothing. It was as if the ability to speak had been carved out of him. 3 The moment I stepped out of the police station, I was swarmed. Kevin’s and Lily’s parents descended on me like a flock of enraged vultures. “Ava! What did you say to our son?” Kevin’s mother shrieked, her hand flying up to strike me across the face. The slap echoed in the tense silence. “I always knew you were poison! I knew you weren't good enough for him! Why couldn’t you just let him go? Why did you have to ruin his life?” Even though her son was the killer, all her venom was directed at me. Lily’s mother, her face pale and streaked with tears, grabbed the front of my dress. “My Lily was the kindest soul,” she sobbed, her voice breaking. “She never did anything to you. Why did you tell Kevin to kill her?” Her husband stood beside her, his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. “He broke up with you on his own. It had nothing to do with my daughter. Why did you take it out on her?” They screamed, they cried, they cursed me with the most vile words imaginable. I just stood there, impassive, a statue carved from ice. In the weeks that followed, reporters camped outside my door, hungry for a statement. A bizarre rumor even started that my words held some kind of dark power, and an eccentric billionaire offered a fortune just to know what I’d said. But whether they threatened or bribed, I remained silent. Six months passed. The police still had no motive for Kevin’s actions and no concrete evidence that I had incited him. In the end, they had no choice but to accept the insanity defense. The Collins family saw their opening. They poured every penny they had into Kevin's case, hiring the best lawyers and pulling every string they could. After a protracted legal battle, they managed to get him committed to a private psychiatric facility instead of prison. To oversee his treatment, Mr. and Mrs. Collins gave up their careers. They sold their home and rented a cramped one-bedroom apartment near the hospital, dedicating their lives to his recovery. For five years, they refused my every attempt to visit. My only communication with Kevin remained that single, devastating sentence at his wedding. And then, after five years of their tireless effort, Kevin was deemed cured and released. It just so happened that the day of his release was his parents' 70th birthday. A dual celebration. Though their fortune was gone, the Collins family decided to throw a grand party, a gala to announce their son’s return to the world. 4 I arrived at the banquet hall wearing the same black dress. An unwelcome ghost from a past they had tried so desperately to bury. The lively chatter in the hall died instantly. A strange, suffocating silence fell over the room. The smile on Mrs. Collins’s face froze, then crumbled. She rushed toward me, grabbing my arm in a surprisingly strong grip, trying to physically drag me out. “You cursed thing!” she spat, her voice a venomous whisper. “Why do you keep haunting us? Get out! Get out before I have you thrown out!” The Collins family may have lost their wealth, but they were desperate to rebuild their social standing and prove that Kevin was no longer a threat. They had gone into debt to host this party, inviting influential people from every corner of the city. It was supposed to be a declaration of his recovery, a fresh start. My appearance shattered that illusion in an instant. “Mrs. Collins, please,” I said, my voice calm, a slight smile playing on my lips as I held out a gift-wrapped box. “I’m just here to celebrate with you and Kevin.” She flinched as if the box were venomous, slapping it out of my hands. It hit the polished floor with a dull thud. “We don’t want your charity! Who knows what kind of twisted games you’re playing now!” she shrieked. “Take your things and get out of here!” The reporters in the room, smelling blood, began to circle. One of them, a man with a smirk, called out, “You seem awfully scared of her, Mrs. Collins. Are you sure Kevin is really cured? Or are you afraid he’ll start stabbing people again if she so much as looks at him?” Mrs. Collins’s face paled, but she forced a tight smile. “Of course he’s cured. The doctors have assured us he’s perfectly stable, not a threat to anyone.” She shot me a hateful glare. “But this woman… she’s a manipulator. Who knows what she might say to provoke him!” The reporter laughed coldly. “If a few ‘provoking’ words can make him kill, he belongs in a prison or an asylum, not at a party.” His words struck her like a physical blow, and she couldn't find a response. I bent down, picked up the gift, and dusted it off, offering it to her again. This time, her hand trembling, she took it. Her thank you was a low, menacing growl. 5 Just like before, Mrs. Collins seated me at the back of the room. She and her husband hovered around Kevin like guard dogs, their eyes constantly flicking toward me, ensuring I couldn’t get close. But as the toasts began, a river of well-wishers flowed toward the head table. Caught up in the congratulations and laughter, Mr. and Mrs. Collins started to relax. A few glasses of champagne loosened their vigilance. They didn't even notice as I picked up my own glass and slowly, deliberately, made my way toward Kevin. When it was my turn to offer a toast, I leaned in close, just as I had five years ago. And I whispered the exact same words. The change was instantaneous. The color drained from his face. His eyes widened in horror. He snatched a large carving knife from a nearby serving trolley. Before anyone could react, he lunged and plunged it deep into his mother's stomach. Blood sprayed across the white tablecloth. Mrs. Collins stared at her son, her eyes wide with disbelief, before her body crumpled to the floor. “He’s killing again!” someone screamed. The banquet hall exploded into chaos. Chairs toppled, glasses shattered. No one dared to intervene. Mr. Collins, finally snapping out of his shock, rushed forward. “Kevin, no! Son, stop!” But Kevin was a machine of pure violence. He swung the knife wildly, slashing his father across the arms and legs. Mr. Collins collapsed, bleeding and pleading. “Son… it’s me… it’s your father…” Hearing his voice, Kevin paused, then brought the knife down in one clean, final stroke across his father’s throat. With his father dead, Kevin calmly walked back to his mother’s body. Just as he had with Lily, he began to stab her methodically, over and over, until he reached the eighteenth strike. By then, the police had arrived, sirens screaming. The scene was quickly secured. Kevin offered no resistance. He dropped the bloody knife and allowed the officers to cuff him. But this time, the family and guests didn't just stand by. They turned on me, a furious mob. “Why aren’t you arresting her?” a cousin screamed, pointing a trembling finger at me. “She’s the one who did this! We all saw it! She whispered something to him, and he went insane!” “Yes!” others chimed in. “It was the same five years ago! She made him kill his wife!” “She’s the real murderer!” Detective Miller, who had responded to the call, recognized me instantly. He stormed over, his face a mask of cold fury. “What did you say to him?” he demanded, his voice shaking with rage. Just like five years ago, I said nothing about the words. “That’s three people dead!” he roared. “Are you still not going to talk?” Just then, a small boy pushed through the crowd, holding up a small digital camera with a proud, innocent smile. “I recorded what the lady said!” he announced. “I got it all on video!” 6 “You recorded it, buddy? Are you sure?” Detective Miller’s voice was laced with urgency as he crouched down to the boy’s level. The child, maybe five or six, blinked, clutching the camera to his chest. He seemed oblivious to the carnage around him, focused only on his achievement. “My camera was pointed right at the lady’s face,” he said, puffing out his chest. “You can see for yourself.” The crowd surged toward the boy, a wave of morbid curiosity. Miller, frowning, quickly took the camera from the child’s hands. He stared at the small screen, his eyes widening. He played the short clip back. Once. Twice. A third time. He looked up at me, his face a mixture of shock and utter disbelief. His voice trembled slightly. “You… you just said that?” he stammered. “And he killed for it?” I held his gaze, the faint, infuriating smile still on my lips. “You saw the video.” Miller’s face turned ashen. He lunged forward, grabbing the collar of my dress. “No,” he hissed, his voice dangerously low. “That can’t be it. It’s a code. There’s a hidden meaning. Tell me what you really meant!” His knuckles were white, his grip like iron. I tried to push him away but couldn’t break his hold. Finally, I sighed and let my hands fall to my sides, meeting his furious eyes without flinching. “There’s no hidden meaning. It means exactly what it sounds like. The rest is up to you to figure out.” Kevin’s remaining relatives were utterly bewildered. “What did she say?” one of them pleaded. “What were the words?” Detective Miller slowly released me, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He turned to the stunned crowd. “She only said four words,” he announced, his voice heavy with disbelief. “‘Just be yourself.’”
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