Stolen Body, Shattered Heart

"Don’t put on an act to win sympathy and don’t even think about destroying this body. If you die, make sure you die whole because if you don’t, my Portia will never come back!"

"I didn’t..."

Kyrie’s voice came through gritted teeth, each word laced with venom. Dorothy stared into his dark, endless eyes and tears flowed freely down her cheeks.

Once, they had been this close, their breaths mingling, their noses brushing together as they gazed into one another’s souls.

Back then, Kyrie was just eighteen and she was the center of his world.

His love for her had been fierce, unguarded. He had always promised, "Dorothy, we’ll be together forever."

But fate had been cruel.

A car crash had allowed Portia Sandoval to take control of Dorothy’s body.

Kyrie knew instantly. He had cried, screamed and even in his darkest hours, thought of ending it all.

"Give me back my Dorothy!" he had begged, his voice breaking with desperation.

But day after day, under Portia’s influence, Kyrie was drawn to her, his love for Dorothy slowly dying until he married Portia and built a life with her.

Now that Portia had completed her mission and vanished without a trace, Kyrie had lost himself completely.

His new obsession became a chant, an endless cry, "Give me back my Portia!"

Their once unbreakable love had withered and crumbled into nothing over the past six years.

"Speak!"

Kyrie’s cold voice yanked Dorothy from her thoughts. She choked back a sob, her words trembling. "Kyrie, what if I told you I was sick? That I’m going to die?"

Kyrie’s grip tightened. "Then die! Make room for my Portia!"

That single sentence dragged Dorothy into the darkest depths.

A coldness crept through her, numbing her body and leaving her heart empty. Her face drained of color and she couldn’t find the strength to speak, her tears falling freely.

"Dorothy, your tears are disgusting! Don’t think for a second I’ll feel sorry for you!"

His words, sharp as daggers, finally made him release her.

Dorothy collapsed into the seat, her body folding in on itself as she sobbed quietly, the pain too deep to bear.

When they reached home and stepped into the living room, a delicate figure rushed into Kyrie’s arms without hesitation.

A sweet, melodic voice broke the silence. "Kyrie! Where did you go? You promised to stay with me while I slept but vanished!"

Kyrie’s expression softened instantly. He scooped the girl up in his arms. "The floor’s cold. Why aren’t you wearing shoes?"

Though his words carried a scolding tone, his voice was impossibly tender, his gaze filled with nothing but affection.

The girl clung to his neck, pouting with playful mischief. "Because I knew you’d carry me!"

"Troublemaker." Kyrie chuckled, the sound rich and warm. He carried her over to the sofa, tapping her nose with a teasing grin.

The girl’s laughter rang out like chimes in the wind, light and joyful.

Watching them, Dorothy felt a sharp, aching pain slice through her chest, like a blade cutting through the heart of everything she once held dear.

This girl was Kyrie’s stand-in for Portia, a replacement in appearance and spirit. She had the same temperament, even the same name.

Kyrie spent every moment of his day with her as though she were the only thing that mattered.

"Kyrie, my feet are suddenly cold," the girl murmured just as Dorothy was about to leave.

Her lips brushed the hollow of Kyrie’s throat, making his body tense.

His voice dropped, hoarse and strained. "I’ll get you some socks."

"I want her to kneel and put them on for me."

Portia’s eyes lifted, locking with Dorothy’s in a gaze that shimmered with challenge, a spark of unspoken provocation.

Dorothy’s fingers curled into fists, her nails biting into her palms.

From the moment this girl had stepped into their home, her presence had been nothing but a thorn in Dorothy’s side.

Perhaps it was because Dorothy still wore the title of "wife," the title Kyrie refused to release.

"Dorothy, come here. Kneel and put Portia’s socks on," Kyrie’s command rang out, sharp and unyielding. His gaze held no trace of warmth, just the coldness that had settled between them long ago.