Chapter 4

Wrapped in the blanket, Regina leaned into Dexter's chest, her voice soft and calculated. "Laura probably just walked by, saw us being close, and got upset." She glanced at Laura, her eyes gleaming with provocation. "Dexter's in his nighttime personality now. The one that loves me. So, stop showing up at night begging for his attention—it's pathetic." Dexter quickly caught on and tightened his arm around Regina's waist. His voice was cold. "You should go. Don't interrupt us again." Laura stared at him, her eyes locked on the raw desire still lingering in his gaze. It was laughable. "Don't worry. I won't ruin your moment," she replied, turning away. "Wait!" Regina suddenly called after her as she was about to leave. She pouted, tugging Dexter's arm like a spoiled child. "Are we just letting her leave like that? Since she likes spying on us so much, let's show it to her. Let her see just how much you love me." Dexter didn't hesitate to decline Regina's suggestion. He said flatly, "I only care about you. I don't want others to witness us doing something that private." "Others?" Laura's nails dug into her palm. That word hit her like a slap—sharp, humiliating, and final. She was his legal wife, yet he called that. It was as if she were nothing more than that. "That's not enough," Regina whined. "She already saw everything. Shouldn't she be punished?" Dexter sighed. "What do you want to do?" "Lock her in the morgue." She sounded sweet, but her eyes gleamed with cruelty. "That is to keep her from sneaking around again." Laura's head snapped up. She looked at Dexter in stunned disbelief. Dexter stayed quiet for a moment. Then, he faintly waved over two bodyguards waiting by the door. "Take her to the resting room." "The morgue," Regina corrected with a syrupy tone. Glancing at her, he finally compromised. Dexter glanced at her, then finally gave in with an indulgent compromise. "...Alright. The morgue." … The morgue was freezing. Laura curled up in the corner, her body trembling uncontrollably. The air felt sharp, like it was slicing through her skin. Suddenly, her phone vibrated. It was a message from Regina. It was a video of her and Dexter in bed. The sheets were a mess, their bodies tangled together, and Dexter's low, breathless moans filled the room. "I set the temperature to the lowest. Enjoy it, castoff." Laura stared at the screen until her vision blurred. Her chest tightened with an ache so deep it felt beyond pain. It was more like numbness. The cold seeped deeper, stealing her breath. Her mind drifted into a haze, and before long, she fell into unconscious dreams. … In her dream, it was the 17-year-old Dexter standing under a blooming cherry tree, looking at her with bright eyes. He promised, "Laur, I'll treat you well for the rest of my life." Then, it was Dexter at 25 years old, down on one knee with a ring in his hand. "Laura, will you marry me?" Then, he was 28 years old, holding her frail, feverish body through the night. His eyes were bloodshot from exhaustion as he murmured, "You can't leave me… You have to be okay." However, in the blink of an eye, those memories twisted. Dexter's arms were suddenly around Regina. His voice, once full of love, turned cold and mechanical. "Draw her blood." And then—without a flicker of hesitation—he was the one ordering her to be locked in the morgue. "Why…" she whispered in her sleep, the words breaking into soft sobs. "Why did you lie to me…" Her body shivered uncontrollably as she drifted deeper into the dark. Somewhere in the haze, a voice echoed—distant at first, then desperate, calling her name again and again. "Laura!" When she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was Dexter's panicked face leaning over her. "Laura!" He clutched her hand tightly, his voice shaky. "Did you just say… I lied to you?"