The Greta Who Survived Time

No one dared to stop Greta when she walked out of the basement.

Her reputation in the borderlands had long since made its way through Portwick. Everyone knew exactly what kind of monster she had once been.

Ignoring all eyes on her, she returned to the room that had once belonged to her and Ethan.

As she stood there, surrounded by traces of the life they had shared, a sharp, overwhelming pain surged through her all at once.

Whether from the gunshot wound in her shoulder or the one buried deep in her chest, she could no longer tell.

She only knew it hurt, hurt in a way she had never known before, not even during those years when she had wrestled with death itself.

While she stood there, dazed, her phone rang.

A familiar number lit up the screen.

"I heard he hurt you for that woman. Do you want to come stay with me?" the voice said calmly.

Greta refused without hesitation.

She neither wanted nor needed to rely on anyone ever again. All she wanted was to leave this place that had never truly been hers.

But the pain kept spreading, her consciousness slowly slipping.

And somewhere between waking and darkness, she felt herself dragged back to the Red Delta, back to the days before Ethan had come for her.

She was covered in blood then, thrown into an iron cage with starving wolves.

The drug lord told her that if she could survive even this, she would never have to face another trial.

She had been fifteen years old back then. Eighteen pairs of eyes gleamed in the dark, thick with hunger.

She could not defeat them barehanded. All she could do was run, dodge, and keep moving, until her strength failed her completely and she closed her eyes in despair, waiting for death.

But the agony she expected never came. Instead, the scent of meat drew all eighteen wolves to the far side of the cage.

A boy with mismatched eyes stood there, tossing chunks of flesh to the wolves, then casually throwing a knife toward her.

Taking her chance, Greta struck, blade flashing, killing each wolf while they fed.

The boy looked back at her with an innocent face and a brilliant smile.

"Call me Andy," he said lightly. "Stick with me, and I'll make sure you don't die."

Greta laughed, then, as the laughter faded, closed her eyes again in despair.

Somewhere in the haze, she felt someone sit beside her bed.

A hand took hers, fingers interlacing tightly.

Half-conscious, she murmured, "Andy?"

The man stiffened. In the next instant, he flung her hand away.

Rage exploded without warning as he grabbed her by the shoulder and yanked her upright.

When Greta opened her eyes again, the smiling boy was gone.

All that remained were eyes bloodshot with fury, burning red.

"Greta," the man demanded coldly. "Look carefully. Who do you think I am?"

It was Ethan.

He smelled of alcohol, a chill drunkenness clinging to him.

Only then did Greta realize she was in a hospital.

Had Ethan brought her here?

Probably not.

Otherwise, he would not have dragged her so roughly, tearing open the wound in her shoulder.

The freshly stitched flesh was splitting apart once more.

Greta moved with difficulty.

Ignoring the blood flowing freely again, she forced herself to turn over, presenting her back to him, unwilling to meet those cold, hate-filled eyes again.

Yet she still heard him ask through clenched teeth, "I never knew you had someone else in your heart."

He paused. "You're filthy."

Greta's body stiffened violently, trembling as if struck by lightning.

The bullet had pierced her shoulder, yet it felt as though someone had fired straight through her heart, the pain so intense she could barely breathe.

Who was it that claimed her past didn't matter?

And who had ever said that someone could rise from the muck and still be considered pure?

Yet now, he called her filthy.

She heard Ethan give orders outside the door. "Watch her. Don't let her leave the room."

After a brief pause, he added, "And don't let anyone visit her."

"Boss," someone hesitated, "the anniversary of Mr. Kirk is coming up. We'll all be attending. Who's going to keep an eye on her?"

"Find a couple of subordinates," Ethan replied coldly. "I've been remembering some things lately. Once the memorial is over, I'll talk to her properly."

"But I saw her packing earlier," the man continued. "If she really wants to leave, even the subordinates might not dare stop her—"

"Except for the Red Delta, she has nowhere to go. She won't dare leave me," Ethan cut in.

Footsteps faded. Ethan was gone.

Greta slowly turned back, her eyes fixed on the closed door.

Blood still seeped from her shoulder, but she felt nothing anymore.

Her heart was the same.

Ethan had underestimated Greta.

Having been raised in hell, being thrown back into it by him could change nothing.

He had bet she wouldn't leave. She, in turn, bet that he would regret it.