Platform Seven

At my father’s funeral, my childhood friend Larry drove his SUV straight through my father’s portrait, screaming, “Your father deserved to die!”

A week later, I smashed his mother’s urn on the docks and told him, “So did yours.”

He stole the money meant to save my mother’s life. I blinded his sister in one eye.

For nine long years, we tore into each other, clawing and ripping until nothing was left but exhaustion.

In the end, he fled to Northern Myanmar. I stayed behind as the city’s top bounty hunter—codename “Moon Goddess.”

…

The day of my father’s funeral, Larry roared up in a black SUV like a madman.

He plowed through rows of white funeral wreaths, shattered my father’s black-and-white portrait, and finally—amid the screams—slammed hard into the coffin.

The heavy casket lurched with a sickening scrape.

My mother fainted on the spot.

Standing in the wreckage in my black mourning clothes, I watched coldly as the red-eyed boy behind the wheel rolled down his window and gave me a cruel smile. “Ellie,” he spat. “Your father deserved to die.”

I didn’t speak. I just stood there, calm, as his bodyguards dragged him out and pinned him to the ground, where he thrashed and roared like a trapped animal.

A week later, his mother’s ashes were to be interred.

I went to the docks alone.

When no one was looking, I snatched the rosewood urn. Under Larry’s furious, wide-eyed stare, I ran to the windiest spot on the pier and hurled it down.

*Crash.*

Gray-white powder scattered, caught by the sea wind, vanishing instantly into the murky water.

I looked straight at him and said, slow and clear, “Larry. So did yours.”

That day, he tried to kill me.

If his father’s men hadn’t held him back, I’d be fish food at the bottom of the sea.

And so began our nine-year war.

I’d denied his mother peace in death.

In revenge, when my mother lay critically ill and desperate for money, he pulled the rug out from under us—stealing every last cent that could have saved her.

I blinded his half-sister in one eye.

So he arranged a car accident that put my mother in a wheelchair for life.

We were like wild beasts, tearing into each other with the sharpest claws, leaving nothing but ruin and blood behind.

Nine years.

The war only paused when I was twenty-eight—the year he fled to Southeast Asia.

I stayed in Seaport City and became its top shadow operator: the bounty hunter called “Moon Goddess.”

On the surface, I ran a little dessert shop named Moonlight.

And Larry? Once the golden boy of Seaport City, he remade himself as the most ruthless arms dealer in the gunfire and chaos of Southeast Asia.

I thought we’d never see each other again.

Until the Seaport City news reported that the infamous Mr. Larry—the man who’d raised hell across Southeast Asia—was coming home in style, fiancée in tow.