The streetlights flickered, casting long shadows across the sidewalk. Not far away, a slender figure stood beneath one, the amber glow illuminating his profile.

He was holding a bag, staring directly at me.


As I walked closer, my heart began to race. I gradually made out his face—it was Thomas.

We stood in awkward silence, the space between us charged with unspoken words.

My relationship with Thomas was entirely the result of careful planning.


I'd known from the beginning that he was Richard Collins' son.

Richard wasn't someone I could approach directly, so I chose a shortcut.


That shortcut was Thomas.

I'd meticulously orchestrated our "chance encounter" two years ago.

I knew he kept several stray cats at school and had built a "hideout" for them behind the artificial hill, where he secretly fed them every day.

I began following him and found that hideout.

Timing it perfectly, I bought some cat treats from the convenience store. When Thomas pushed open the door, what he saw was me crouching down, gently stroking a kitten's head, with a soft smile on my lips.

He let out a surprised "Oh!" and I turned around, "startled," widening my eyes to look at him.

"Um... I saw some cat hair around here... so I... I was curious..." I stammered, a blush rising to my cheeks. "I didn't expect... I'm sorry..."

He stood frozen for a moment, then his face broke into a smile that lit up his entire face. He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "It's cool, no need to apologize. Just don't rat me out."

"I would never," I pointed at the kittens on the ground, tilting my head with a smile. "I love these little furballs. Mind if I help you take care of them?"

"Really?"

His eyes widened with delight, and he nodded eagerly. "Hell yeah! I've been struggling to manage alone."

He extended his hand to me. "I'm Thomas Collins. What's your name?"

I offered my right hand, smiling. "Claire Jenkins."

From that day on, we took turns caring for the stray cats.

Our interactions grew more frequent, more natural.

I only wanted to extract useful information about Richard from him.

But some things exceeded my initial expectations.

I never thought he would be so kind to me.

So kind that I couldn't bring myself to hurt him.

After my mother passed away, my uncle took me in.

I lived as an unwelcome guest in a home that wasn't mine.

They not only coveted the substantial sum of money my mother had left me but also my body.

I was only fourteen then, just beginning to develop, completely naive about sexual matters.

But that didn't stop them.

While showering one evening, I discovered the window had been cracked open, with two pairs of lustful eyes peering in at me—my uncle and his son Derek.

Similar incidents happened many times. I'd find my underwear drawer rearranged, or catch Derek watching me change through a crack in my bedroom door.

I sensed danger and suggested boarding at school during dinner. My uncle immediately slammed his fist on the table, shooting down the idea.

His son, Derek who was only a few years older than me, kept leering at me and also objected.

My protests fell on deaf ears, and their voyeurism grew increasingly brazen.

One night I woke up to find a rough hand inside my underwear. I instinctively grabbed it, my heart pounding in my chest.

Hot breath on my neck, and the hand, far from stopping, grew more aggressive, tugging at my underwear.

I closed my eyes and pulled out the knife I'd hidden under my pillow, driving it into his shoulder with all my strength.

The metallic stench of blood filled the room.

The next day, I was thrown out by my uncle's family.

I survived on the school's meager stipend.

Then I spotted Thomas on the street by chance.

With just one look, I knew he was Richard Collins' son.

I had seen photos of Richard—countless intimate photos—in my mother's wardrobe.

From that moment, I decided to approach Thomas.