A life stained in blood
The warmth was overwhelming.
His mother’s arms wrapped around him tightly, her body trembling as she sobbed into his shoulder. He stiffened at the unfamiliar sensation—comfort, safety, love. He had never been held like this before, never been someone’s everything. And yet, here she was, crying over him like losing him would’ve shattered her world.
“Yes, honey, you’re alive,” she whispered between choked sobs, her grip tightening as if she was afraid he would slip away again.
Lucien—Sunoo—wasn't sure how to respond. His body reacted on its own, his arms hesitantly moving to embrace her. He didn’t push her away.
A shadow loomed over them. He looked up and met the gaze of a man who stood beside his mother. His father.
His expression was usually unreadable—cold, composed—but now? There was nothing but raw emotion in his eyes. Worry. Relief. Love. The man’s fingers trembled slightly as he reached out, brushing Sunoo’s hair back before pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead.
“Please… don’t scare us like that again.” His father’s voice was hoarse, like he had been suppressing his emotions for too long.
Something inside him cracked.
Tears welled in Sunoo’s eyes before he even realized it.
Why?
Why was he crying?
He had never shed a tear in his past life—not when he was beaten, not when he was forced to kill, not even when he realized that the people who were supposed to care for him only saw him as a tool.
But now, sitting in a room full of strangers who loved him, who cherished him, the tears fell freely.
They love me.
Not for his power. Not for what he could do for them. Not as a tool or a weapon.
They loved him.
Or at least, they loved the owner of this body.
His grip on his mother tightened as his vision blurred with more tears. The memories of his past life resurfaced like a slow, suffocating wave.
He had grown up with no one. An orphan, tossed around from one foster home to another, until he was finally adopted at nine. He had thought—naively—that it would be his chance at happiness. A home. A family. Love.
God, how wrong he had been.
The couple who adopted him were kind at first. They fed him, clothed him, spent time with him. For a brief moment, he had let himself believe in the fairytale of a loving family.
But it had all been a lie.
Their kindness was a mask, and once they were sure he was theirs, they stripped it away, revealing the monsters underneath.
They lived in the underworld—where money came from blood and power was won through crime. At first, they kept him in the dark, shielding him from the horrors of their world. But that illusion didn’t last long.
One night, they brought someone home.
A man, bound and gagged, thrown to the floor like a piece of trash.
Sunoo had watched in silent horror as his ‘parents’ tortured the man in front of him. They made sure he saw everything.
He had been terrified.
But fear was a weakness. And weakness was not tolerated.
“If you don’t obey us,” his mother had whispered to him that night, stroking his hair, “then you’ll be the one on the floor next.”
And just like that, his fate was sealed.
He learned quickly. How to kill. How to command. How to survive.
His name became a legend in the underworld. A ghost that no one could see, but everyone feared.
His face was never known. That was the one thing his mother had drilled into his mind—"Never let the world see your face. Beauty is a weakness. People will use it against you. They will destroy you if they can."
So he obeyed.
And that was his life.
Until a bullet to the back tore it all away.
Until he woke up here.
Lucien’s fingers curled into the fabric of his mother’s dress as he breathed in the warmth surrounding him. The scent of perfume, the feel of steady heartbeats against his cheek, the way they held him like he was precious.
It was foreign.
And yet… for the first time, he didn’t feel alone.
As the golden rays of the morning sun spilled into the room, bathing him in warmth, Lucien let a small, almost hesitant smile cross his lips.
"I'm alive."
As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of deep purple and navy, the once-lively manor quieted. The celebration of his awakening had lasted hours—his parents, the servants, even the guards had expressed their joy, laughing, crying, and thanking the heavens.
Lucien—Sunoo—had said little. He hadn't needed to.
The people around him provided all the information he required.
They spoke of an accident. A terrible fall from his horse while riding through the estate. The shock and grief his family endured as he lay unconscious for days. The fear that he might never wake again.
And most importantly—his identity.
Lucien Baldovery.
The only and youngest son of the wealthiest family in the kingdom.
Sunoo absorbed every detail, filing the information away as he remained silent, nodding when necessary.
But now, the night had fallen. And he was alone.
The flickering candlelight cast shadows across the grand bedroom—larger than anything he had ever owned in his past life. The silk sheets beneath his fingers, the delicate embroidery of the nightgown he now wore, the faint scent of lavender and wealth lingering in the air—it was surreal.
Slowly, he swung his legs over the bed, standing on unsteady feet. His body still felt unfamiliar, but it obeyed him.
His gaze landed on the mirror across the room.
His reflection stared back at him.
The same face. The same delicate, ethereal beauty that he had despised in his past life. But there was something different.
His eyes.
Before, they had been sharp, cold, void of warmth. Now, they held something foreign—affection, softness. A depth he had never known.
It made him sick.
He turned away, exhaling sharply.
This world was different. But the rules of survival remained the same.
He could not afford to be weak.
He could not afford to be seen as vulnerable.
Lucien Baldovery, beloved son of the wealthiest family, had everything Sunoo never did. Power. Status. People who loved him.
But love had never been enough to keep him safe before.
His fists clenched.
"I have to survive."