BLOODSTAINED VOWS

“Father… get out of the water! Suicide is not a solution for anything!”

My voice cracked so badly I sounded like a dying seagull, but whatever—my mascara was already crying for help anyway.

“I won’t… live anymore… this life is too hard!”

The man in the river wailed dramatically, thrashing like he was auditioning for a discount Titanic remake.

A crowd started gathering on the bridge behind me—tourists, locals, gossip-hungry aunties, everyone. They didn’t even know the full story, but they were already whispering like they’d unlocked the universe.

I wiped my tears, inhaled, and yelled,

“If you die, then what about me? Who else do I have? Don’t be an asshole!”

The crowd gasped.

Oops. Wrong choice of words for live tragedy.

Great. Cameras were arriving too. Reporters. Videos. My misery had an audience. Just what I needed.

“My little baby… I’m sorry for being a failure of a father… live well.”

Then the idiot gave one last dramatic sob and disappeared underwater.

The screaming around me felt like an explosion. People rushed toward the edge, calling for help. A woman fainted. A guy started livestreaming. The police arrived.

And I…

I stood there wondering why I didn’t just choose a normal degree. Maybe accounting.

I was still processing the chaos when a very familiar voice floated up from the water:

“Ivy… isn’t it enough? How long do I have to stay in this freezing water? It’s been almost an hour!”

…

I swear every soul on that bridge froze.

We all turned to stare at the man casually floating like he was chilling in a vacation pool.

“Did those idiots really believe it? We needed a hot news story, right?”

He cackled.

That was the moment my soul left my body.

Everyone slowly turned to me.

I took one step back. Cleared my throat.

“Well… Mr. Grant, save yourself!”

Then I ran like a criminal.

I sprinted into our office building, lungs burning, and dropped into my chair like gravity hated me personally. My colleagues stared.

“Ivy… are you okay?” someone dared to ask.

I forced a smile that could traumatize children.

“So… I’m Ivy Sinclair. A news reporter. Not exactly a successful one.”

Daily Mess—that’s where I work. And trust me, the name isn’t a joke. The channel is one sneeze away from bankruptcy. Apparently, I’m the sneeze.

According to my boss, Thomas Grant, I attract disasters.

He might be right.

Speaking of disasters—

that man in the water?

Yeah. Our Managing Director.

The suicide stunt?

A “dramatic mental health awareness piece.”

Except the idiot forgot he was supposed to be dead and started complaining about the water temperature.

“Ivy… the MD was taken into police custody,” Tina said gently.

My smile died. “W-what?”

“Sara bailed him out. He’s coming back now.”

Oh no.

“Well, Tina, I’m not feeling well. Tell the MD I’m taking a half-da—”

“Why not take a full day off?”

A deep voice thundered behind me.

I stiffened. Slowly turned.

“M-Mr. T—Thomas! Hahaha… pleasure to see you!”

He glared like Satan got promoted.

“My office. Now.”

My feet carried me to my doom.

I knocked.

“Sit.”

He pushed an envelope toward me.

I opened it.

My heart fell through the floor.

“You can’t fire me!” I yelled, clutching the paper like a lifeline.

He slammed his hands on the desk.

“Ivy, I’ve had enough! In all my years, I’ve never been arrested—until today! Humiliated! Because of YOUR idiotic stunt!”

“Hey! My idea wasn’t stupid! You’re the idiot who climbed out of the water too early! before we cover up the background”

His eyes almost popped out.

“You ungrateful little—GET OUT!”

I stood my ground. “Sir, one chance. Just one more. I’ll bring you a huge story. No trouble. No arrests. I swear I need this job.”

He rubbed his temples like he wanted to teleport to another universe.

“This is the same speech you’ve given every month since you joined.”

“Not this time. I’ll prove it.”

He let out a long, heavy sigh.

“Fine. One last chance. If you mess up—you’re out. And whatever reckless idea you have, you do it alone. Anyone involved pays the price.”

My stomach dropped.

I left the office, dropped into my chair, and stared at my laptop as if it would magically save my life.

“What the hell am I going to do?” I whispered into the void.

I groaned, buried my face in my hands.

“I’m screwed.”

I forced myself upright, opened my laptop, and scrolled through news leads. Everything looked lame. Boring. Repetitive.

I ran a hand through my messy brown hair, catching my reflection in the screen.

Mascara: destroyed.

Face: exhausted.

Eyes: dull.

Perfect. Now I looked exactly how my soul felt.

I kept scrolling.

Scrolling…

And then—

something unusual flashed across the screen.

Something strange.

Dark.

Mysterious.

My heart skipped.

This…

This could be it.

This could change everything.

This is my first attempt writing a story in English. I leaned on Google and a few other tools to help me out, and I’m not sure if every scene matches the picture in my head perfectly—but trust me, I can still hook you in.

At least… I really hope soooo