I was a mortuary reconstruction specialist.
On the eve of my wedding, I restored the remains of an unidentified woman, only to discover, shockingly, that she was Mike’s long-missing mother.
Before I had a chance to tell him the news, I was kidnapped and dragged into an underground fighting arena.
They disfigured my face, poisoned my voice into silence, drugged me and tied me up onstage to be auctioned off as a human stress toy.
With my eyes swollen to a narrow slit, I saw Mike holding his lover, passionately kissing her amid the rowdy crowd. "Mike, do you think your fiancée’s off fondling corpses again? No wonder you came here to throw your bachelor party with your sweetheart!"
After the kiss, Mike reluctantly let go of the woman in his arms and said nonchalantly,
"Karen likes fondling corpses and I like fondling Jane. We each have our own preferences! I'm getting married tomorrow, so of course I need to make Jane happy tonight!"
As the arena announced the stress-relief method and price, I struggled to wink at Mike, trying to signal him.
But he thought I was flirting with him.
Disgusted, he paid thirty thousand dollars to win the bid for slapping me a hundred times.
Mike was invited up on stage, yet he didn’t even glance at me.
He put on the special gloves handed to him by the host and raised his hand, slapping my face back and forth.
By the twentieth slap, my eardrums were already ringing.
Warm liquid trickled down the corner of my mouth that I couldn't tell if it was saliva or blood.
Mike shook out his wrist, then turned to the audience and gave Jane a doting smile. "Jane, want to come try it? It’s really stress-relieving! These people are just deadbeats who owe gambling debts anyway. It feels damn good to hit them!"
Jane covered her mouth and shook her head, but her eyes sparkled with excitement. "Mike, you go ahead. Watching you hit her is enough for me!"
The thrill and provocation in her eyes made me start to wonder. Did she know who I was?
I tried to widen my swollen eyes, letting out muffled cries through the tape over my mouth.
Jane, however, pointed at me and said, "Mike, she looks like she’s enjoying it. Go on, keep going!"
Jane was a psychologist, so naturally, her words carried weight with Mike. But I didn’t want to be hit anymore—much less die in this hellhole.
As Mike’s next slap came flying, I summoned all my strength and dodged.
The slap missed.
To please Mike, the host grabbed my hair with a mocking grin, forcing my head up. "Looks like our stress-relief toy has a bit of an attitude!"
"Mr. Genevan, as tonight’s top bidder, you get two special bonus rounds on the house."
The host publicly recited all kinds of shameful deeds I had supposedly committed while skirting the edge of legality.
After that, Mike no longer held back.
He tossed aside his bloodstained gloves and his slender fingers slid down the list of "special programs"—each one more brutal than the last, sending chills through me.
Sensing my fear, he deliberately paused at each item, commenting on them one by one.
Just last night, these very hands had tenderly prepared soup for me.
Now, they were soaked in my blood.
His gaze lingered on the line labeled "Rebellion Correction."
He chuckled softly, "This one. Karen loves studying human bones, so do I. Let’s try them while they’re still alive."
The moment electricity surged through my body, Mike raised a hammer and smashed it down, shattering my wrist.
In the throes of agony, I heard myself let out a scream so raw it barely sounded human.
‘Mike, do you even realize that the wrist you just crushed belongs to your fiancée of ten years, the woman who’s been by your side all this time?’
But then again, maybe it no longer mattered. After all, even before the wedding, you’d already cheated and taken on a mistress.
The so-called love felt like nothing more than a cruel joke.
My agonized screams drew thunderous cheers from the audience.
