Her eyes trembled in shock as images from her dream flooded her mind, making her dizzy. She immediately grabbed the table for support and looked into the mirror again—only to see a man with an unclear face standing behind her.
Stunned, she quickly turned around, but there was no one there. Her heart pounded furiously as she turned back to the mirror, yet the mysterious figure had disappeared.
"I'm going crazy," she thought, trying her best to calm her racing heart. After several deep breaths, she finally succeeded and sank back into the chair. "Why is my life so much like hell?" she murmured, tilting her head back and closing her eyes in exhaustion.
As she did, she felt someone gently combing her hair. The touch was familiar, and instead of feeling tense, she found herself strangely at ease.
She assumed she was dreaming again, yet how could she have known that someone was actually combing her hair in reality? Not only that, but they went as far as styling it into an intricate, rare design that made her look even more stunning and refined.
After a long while, Zaiyila slowly opened her tired eyes and looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair was elegantly styled, but the strangest part was that her hands were resting on her head—as if she had done the style herself.
She let out a sigh, her gaze falling upon the snake tattoo on her shoulder. "I'll just go and have it removed. It's simple, no need to be scared," she thought. Rising from the chair, she opened her wardrobe and pulled out a round-neck sweater and a pair of long pants.
After dressing up, she stepped out of her room.
The living room was lively, filled with people bustling back and forth. The place was beautifully decorated, and it seemed like a grand event was taking place.
Pausing her steps, Zaiyila took in the sight. "I almost forgot that today is my pre wedding day," she muttered, her eyes cold and emotionless. Normally, she should have been crying, yet for some reason, she wasn't sad to the point of tears. Instead, an inexplicable feeling of excitement stirred within her not because of the wedding but because of something else that even she didn't understand.
"What's wrong with me? I clearly don't want to marry him," she mused, looking at the crowd with disgust. "Tsk, how about I take this opportunity to run away while everyone is busy?" Her gaze shifted toward the wide-open entrance, and just as she was about to take a step forward, a thunderous slap landed across her face.
The impact sent her reeling, and she stumbled backward, hitting her head against the tiled wall. Blood trickled from the wound.
Zaiyila clenched her brows in pain, struggling to regain her balance. As she steadied herself, her gaze shifted to the person who had struck her.
A beautiful middle-aged woman stood before her, heavy makeup accentuating her features. Her long green hair cascaded down her back, matching her striking green eyes and elegant emerald gown.
The woman glared at Zaiyila with burning fury, her expression deadly. "You've got some nerve, haven't you?! This was your plan all along, wasn't it? You wanted to humiliate our family! Planning to run away, huh?" she seethed, her voice low and menacing as she stepped forward.
Zaiyila took a deep breath. "I don't dare, Mother," she stammered. "I… I just thought the preparations were still ongoing and wanted to take a look around," she choked out.
The woman smirked coldly. "Do you take me for a fool? You dressed like this—weren't you trying to sneak away?"
Zaiyila clenched her fists tightly. "Coincidence always works against me. I dressed like this in the first place just to cover the tattoo, but now it looks like I planned this from the start. This is insane," she thought.
"Do what's best for you—go back to your room and get dressed. Or else… you know what will happen," the middle-aged woman hissed before turning and walking away.
Zaiyila watched the woman's retreating figure. "Marry just to marry. This will all be over after the wedding. Yes… I will meet my end after the marriage, and then I will finally be free. Free from this world, I guess," she thought, turning back toward her room.
As soon as she disappeared, the small stain of blood she had left on the tiled wall began to bubble. It lasted only for a brief moment before vanishing completely.
With that single drop of Zaiyila's blood, destiny had been sealed—it would be a day of blood.
Now dressed in her wedding gown, Zaiyila sat before the mirror, staring at her reflection with an empty gaze. The dress was a Cinderella-style gown, elegantly designed but revealing almost the entirety of the snake tattoo on her shoulder.
"This tattoo is definitely another source of trouble for me. If only the words he told me in my dream were true… I don't want to marry this man. I'd rather marry the pervert in my dream," she thought bitterly.
As soon as the thought crossed her mind, the head of the snake tattoo lifted ever so slightly before resting back against her collarbone. The movement was so swift that even though Zaiyila was staring directly at the mirror, she failed to notice it. Or perhaps she was too lost in thought to witness it.
A knock on the door interrupted her musings. "Miss Zaiyila, please come downstairs," a maid's voice called from outside.
Zaiyila sighed before rising to her feet. She stepped outside and looked at the maid. "Let's go," she murmured.
The maid's gaze swept over her, lingering for a moment before she nodded and led the way.
Zaiyila hesitated briefly, glancing at her shoulder. "Didn't she see it?" she wondered. But she quickly dismissed the thought. No one in this house cared about her. Even if the maid had seen the tattoo, she was likely planning to report it to the middle-aged woman just to get her in trouble again.
Sighing softly, she whispered to herself, "It will be over soon. Just a little longer, and everything will end." With that, she followed the maid downstairs.
The moment she appeared, all eyes turned toward her. She was breathtakingly beautiful, even without makeup. As she descended the stairs, each step she took sent a ripple through the crowd. The men felt their hearts race in rhythm with the sound of her heels, while the women gazed at her with a mix of envy and resentment.
Well, she was about to be married and become someone's wife. That thought alone was enough to dampen their grudges against her—if only slightly.
"Everyone, please welcome my precious daughter, Zaiyila!" the middle-aged woman announced, her voice filled with forced affection. "Today is her wedding day, and as a mother, I am naturally reluctant to part with her." Her voice broke as she shed a few tears.