Jenny's Revenge

Present Day

The air was soft and heavy with the warmth of a South African spring night. A velvet breeze stirred through the trees, carrying with it the mingled perfume of wild jasmine, damp earth, and the faint tang of salt from the ocean a few kilometers away. Above the villa, the sky was clear and infinite, scattered with stars that winked like scattered diamonds across black silk.

Jenny sat poolside, her silhouette reflected in the dark, glassy water. The soft lamplight from the villa windows spilled over her like honey, catching the shimmer of her dress. Red velvet clung to her figure and trailed over the stone tiles, pooling around her ankles in rich folds. In her hand, a crystal wine glass glimmered, its deep red contents shifting as she tipped it slightly against her lips.

It was the quietest moment she would have all evening. Soon the villa would be alive with sound—laughter, the hum of conversation, the splash of champagne into crystal flutes, and the low thrum of violins from the hired quartet. The annual charity ball was one of her proudest undertakings, and tonight promised to be the grandest yet.

But for now, there was silence.

She closed her eyes, listening to the music of the night. Cicadas sang from the trees, their metallic chirps weaving into the croak of distant frogs and the occasional hoot of an owl sweeping low across the valley. The water in the pool lapped gently against its tiled edges, stirred by the soft night air. For a fleeting second, Jenny let her shoulders relax, savoring the illusion of peace.

It’s going to be perfect, she told herself. This night will mark a new chapter.

Her manicured fingers tightened around the stem of her glass as she lifted it again, sipping slowly. The velvet wine burned warmly down her throat, lingering with a sweetness that promised confidence.

And then—

A sound.

Soft. Quick. Subtle.

The faint rustle of leaves carried to her from the far end of the garden.

Jenny froze. Her eyes opened, sweeping toward the shadows behind the hedges. The night seemed to still around her. The breeze quieted. Even the cicadas fell silent, as though holding their breath.

A chill spread over her arms, raising goosebumps across her skin despite the warmth of the evening. Her instincts flared to life. She knew that sound. Not the scuttle of a gecko or the scrape of a rodent. This was heavier. A deliberate shift of weight pressed into earth and grass.

Someone was there.

Her heartbeat spiked. For a moment she sat unmoving, her glass hovering halfway between the pool and her lips.

Don’t be foolish, Jenny, she tried to reason with herself. It’s nothing. You’re safe. Everyone who ever wanted to hurt you… they’re gone.

Still, she could not shake the prickling awareness crawling over her neck. Slowly, she set the glass down on the edge of the pool, the crystal making the softest clink against the stone.

She rose.

Her heels clicked softly against the tiles as she stepped forward, her eyes locked on the shifting darkness beyond the poolside lights. The breeze stirred again, brushing the long waves of her hair against her bare shoulders.

She took a cautious step toward the hedges, her senses sharpening with each movement. “Probably just a stray cat,” she murmured to herself. The sound of her own voice comforted her, even if she didn’t believe it.

But as she drew closer, the shadows deepened, and something inside her stomach twisted tight.

The figure waiting there was too tall. Too still. Too deliberate.

Her pulse thundered in her ears.

For a second, Jenny’s body forgot how to move. Her chest tightened, breath refusing to fill her lungs. Her legs locked in place, heavy as stone.

Then instinct snapped her free.

She gasped and spun toward the villa, the wine glass slipping from her hand. It hit the tiles with a crystalline shatter, spraying scarlet droplets across the pale stone.

She ran.

The velvet folds of her dress gripped around her thighs like shackles, the hem tugging at her ankles. She tried to gather the fabric in her fists as she moved, but the long train betrayed her, tangling beneath her heels.

Her foot snagged the seam.

She stumbled, the world lurching sideways, and hit the ground hard. The sharp scrape of stone tore at the skin of her elbow as her dress ripped open at the knee. Pain sparked, but adrenaline drove her onward.

She pushed herself up, hair clinging wetly to her cheek where a tear of blood trailed from her arm. Her head snapped back toward the hedges.

He was there.

The man.

No longer a shadow, but a figure striding from the dark like something summoned from her worst dreams. His height cast him into silhouette, broad shoulders framed against the lamplight from the villa. A black wool mask concealed his face, but his eyes—God, his eyes—shone from the holes, fixed and unrelenting.

Jenny’s breath caught. For a heartbeat, she couldn’t move, couldn’t think. The mask made him faceless, inhuman, and that cold inhumanity struck deeper than any weapon.

She lurched forward again, but her torn dress tangled her steps. Her heel landed on loose fabric.

She went down a second time, this time pitching sideways. Her hip hit the stone painfully before her body slid across the edge of the pool.

And then she was in the water.

The shock of it stole her breath. The world went liquid and muffled, red velvet swirling around her legs like blood in the clear blue.

Jenny fought her way upward, lungs burning.

Her head broke the surface with a gasp, a ragged cry tearing out of her throat. She inhaled desperately, choking on air, water, and fear all at once.

And still—

He was there.

The masked man moved with terrible calm, following her along the pool’s edge. His steps matched hers as she flailed through the water, his presence a shadow that would not be shaken.

Jenny’s soaked dress dragged at her body like chains, growing heavier with each desperate stroke. Her arms burned, her lungs screamed. She was swimming not for elegance but survival, and even that fight was failing her.

She thrashed toward the shallow end, toward the carved stone steps. Every movement felt like drowning in tar.

At last—her hands reached for the edge.

Her fingers scraped against cool stone, clinging desperately as she tried to haul herself upward. But the effort forced her under again, her mouth and nose dipping below the water’s surface. Bubbles surged upward as panic seized her chest.

She burst back up with a sharp gasp, her vision clouding with water. Her hair stuck to her face, her mascara bleeding into black streaks down her cheeks.

And then—

Her hand landed on something solid.

Not stone.

Leather.

A shoe.

Her eyes lifted in horror.

He was standing over her.

The masked man had crouched low, his presence looming as though he had been waiting for this moment.

He bent, his hand striking like a viper into her hair. Fingers tangled cruelly into her wet locks. He wrenched upward, and Jenny screamed as fire streaked across her scalp. Her body lifted from the water as if she weighed nothing, water streaming from her like a broken fountain.

Her scream carried across the garden, but the night swallowed it whole.

The villa remained silent.

Maria and Suzanne, her loyal staff, had retreated to their cottages half an hour earlier to change for the ball. They would not return until guests began to arrive. Jenny was utterly, terrifyingly alone.

The masked man dropped her suddenly, and the wet velvet of her dress dragged her down with brutal weight. She hit the stones in a heap, gasping, the air ripped from her lungs.

But she couldn’t stop. She scrambled to her feet again, bloodied elbow stinging, knees shaking, chest heaving with raw terror.

The villa was only a dozen steps away. Salvation only a door handle away.

She tried to run.

But his hand was faster.

His grip clamped around her arm with terrifying precision, fingers digging deep into her skin. The force of it jolted her whole body, halting her in mid-step as though she’d been yanked back by an iron chain.

Jenny cried out, twisting, thrashing against him, but the masked man’s hold was unyielding. The strength in him was inhuman—her every attempt to tear free was met with a calm, crushing counter.

“No! Let me go!” she screamed, her voice cracking with desperation. The words tore into the night, but they were swallowed by silence.

Slowly, almost deliberately, he drew her closer.

Jenny’s eyes searched for an escape, darting frantically toward the villa. The back door glimmered only a few meters away. Safety had never felt so impossibly far. Her heart hammered in her chest, her mind screaming one truth over and over—this is it, this is the end.

And then, she saw them.

His eyes.

Behind the wool mask, through the small, harsh cutouts, his gaze met hers. And in that instant, recognition stabbed through her heart with more violence than any blade.

They weren’t the eyes of a stranger.

They were familiar. Once cherished.

Once loved.

Her knees weakened. Her chest tightened with disbelief. The world tilted as her voice broke the silence, a whisper trembling with horror and sorrow.

“…Ed?”

The name clung to her lips, freezing them in place.

Before she could breathe another word, pain exploded in her abdomen.

A violent, searing agony that tore through her body like fire. Her breath hitched, then shattered into a sob as she staggered backward, staring down in disbelief.

A knife.

Its metal gleamed cruelly in the lamplight, its handle protruding from her stomach. Warmth spilled down her hands as she clutched at the wound, scarlet staining her palms, sticky and thick.

Her mind reeled. Her body screamed.

“Ed…” The name left her in fragments, barely audible. Her lips trembled, her voice failing as tears blurred her vision. “Why?”

Her legs buckled. She staggered back, her heel catching on the uneven tile. Her body collapsed, hitting the stone with a sickening thud. The back of her skull struck hard, pain flashing white-hot before the world around her dimmed.

The knife clattered beside her, slick with her blood.

Jenny writhed weakly, her hands trembling as she pressed them over her wound, trying in vain to stem the flow. Her chest heaved, breath shallow and ragged. Tears mingled with the water dripping from her hair, streaking down her face in rivers.

Above her, he moved closer.

Ed.

The man she once trusted. The man she once loved.

Now a stranger in a black mask, standing over her with cold finality.

Jenny tried to keep her eyes open, fighting the creeping dark narrowing her vision into a tunnel. She wanted to see what he would do next, wanted to believe there was some explanation, some reason, some chance that he would stop.

But he did not stop.

He crouched, silent as a phantom, and with one slow, deliberate motion, he lifted his right hand to his face.

Jenny’s heart stopped.

Her breath shivered in her throat as his fingers caught the edge of the wool mask.

He peeled it away.

The fabric stretched, lifted—and then was gone.

The mask dangled loosely in his hand before he let it fall. Gravity carried it down until it landed softly against her chest, soaking instantly with the crimson spreading through her dress.

Her tear-filled eyes caught only fragments—sharp cheekbones, the line of his jaw, the unmistakable outline of the man she once adored. Her vision faltered, fading in and out, but her soul recognized him with clarity more painful than any wound.

This was no stranger.

This was Ed.

The man who had once held her close on nights filled with laughter. The man who had kissed away her tears when life felt too heavy. The man whose gaze she once found safety in.

Now, those same eyes looked down at her without mercy.

The betrayal cut deeper than the blade.

Her body grew cold. Her limbs heavy. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven gasps. She wanted to scream again, wanted to beg, to demand answers, but her lips refused to move.

Her consciousness slipped like sand between trembling fingers.

Ed stood, his shadow stretching long and dark across the tiles, consuming her fading world.

He said nothing.

No words of explanation. No apology. No rage. Only silence.

And then he turned.

His footsteps echoed hollowly against the stone, fading slowly as he walked away.

Jenny’s eyes fluttered, fighting to stay open, desperate for one last glimpse of him—even as she wished she’d never seen him at all.

The night pressed down around her, the stars above dimming.

The mask lay heavy on her chest, its black fabric rising and falling with her weakening breaths.

Her blood seeped into velvet, into stone, into the earth itself.

The villa stood quiet and oblivious, the party still thirty minutes from beginning.

No one would find her yet.

And so Jenny lay there, alone in the silence, slipping further into the dark.

The last image her fading mind held was his face—once the love of her life, now her executioner.

And then everything went black.