Meesha's eyes flew open as she felt a searing pain. She looked up at Xanqer, her eyes watering with tears.

  Xanqer's eyes locked onto hers, his expression indifferent. But as he looked at her crying face, he felt a pang of… something. Like a pang of guilt for hurting her.

  He had killed thousands of people without batting an eyelid, but now he felt a twinge of remorse.

  He looked down at Meesha's bleeding wrist, his mind reeling with confusion. Why did he feel guilty now? He had never felt this way before.

  Meesha cried profusely, her tears streaming down her face. "Xanqer, there's so much blood. I'm scared."

  Xanqer's expression changed slightly, and he said, "Wait, I'll go get the first aid kit." He swiftly departed and returned with a compact first aid box.

  He gently cleaned the blood off Meesha's wrist with a sterile gauze pad, his touch surprisingly tender. As he examined the wound, he breathed a silent sigh of relief, noticing that he hadn't sliced deep enough to cut her vein.

  He felt a pang of confusion. What was wrong with him? Why was he helping her? Wasn't he supposed to kill her? But even still, he couldn't stop; he continued to tend to her wound.

  Meesha winced as he applied antiseptic to her wound, the stinging sensation making her flinch. "Stay still," Xanqer instructed.

  After treating her wound, he wrapped a crisp white bandage around her wrist. Meesha's tears had subsided, and she looked more stable. She gazed at her bandaged arm, a pout on her face.

  "So it's true," she said, her voice filled with conviction.

  "That what?" Xanqer asked, his eyebrow raised.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  "That the murderer and victim game is haunted!" She exclaimed. "Someone once told me that if you play the game, the pretend knife switches to a real one. It's done by a ghost who died during the game."

  Xanqer was stunned, but for only a moment. He asked, "And you believe that?"

  Meesha nodded, her eyes wide with sincerity. "Yes. There's no other explanation anyway."

  Xanqer's gaze lingered on her, his eyes filled with wonder. He knew the truth, of course – he had switched the knife himself, intending to kill her. But Meesha's trust in him was almost... palpable.

  As Xanqer stood up to leave, Meesha called out. "Goodnight."

  He walked away without responding, leaving Meesha to gaze down at her bandaged wrist. A soft smile spread across her face as she thought about how Xanqer had tended for her wound. She felt a strange sense of gratitude toward the ghost she believed had intervened, wishing that she could get hurt every time so that Xanqer would tend to her over and over again.

  [THE NEXT MORNING]

  Xanqer stood in the living room, his hands tucked into his pockets, glancing at his watch. He was waiting for Meesha to arrive before leaving for the office.

  Meesha descended the stairs, her eyes shining with happiness. "I thought you had left for the office," she said, smiling at him.

  Xanqer walked forward, his expression unreadable. He grasped Meesha's wrist, examining it with a critical eye. "Does it still hurt?" he asked.

  Meesha's smile never wavered. "Yes."

  Xanqer's instructions were crisp. "Apply more antiseptic and change the bandage later."

  Meesha nodded, still smiling. "Okay."

  Xanqer turned to leave, but Meesha followed him out the door. He noticed her trailing behind him and turned back, raising an eyebrow.

  Meesha's eyes sparkled hopefully. "Can you give me a ride?"

  Xanqer's expression remained indifferent. "No."

  Meesha added, her voice persuasive, "My industry is on the way to your office. Please."

  "No."

  She batted her eyelashes cutely, putting on a charming puppy face. "Please, Xanqer."

  Xanqer's eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze lingering on her face.

  ********

  Meesha settled into the backseat of Xanqer's car, gazing out the window with a smile. She glanced at Xanqer, who sat stoically, his eyes fixed on his phone.

  Xanqer caught her gaze in the rearview mirror and looked away the next second. Davis, the driver, watched the exchange through the mirror, still looking perplexed.

  As they approached Meesha's industry, she exclaimed, "Stop here!"

  Davis halted the car, and Meesha opened the door, looking at Xanqer, who remained impassive.

  "Thanks for the ride," she said, smiling, before exiting the car. Before she could wave goodbye, the car sped off, leaving Meesha coughing in the dust.

  In the car…

  Xanqer sat in the car, his expression a mask of indifference. Davis, however, was taken aback by the unexpected turn of events. He couldn't believe that Xanqer, known for his ruthlessness, had actually given Meesha a ride.

  Davis cleared his throat, attempting to compose himself. "Sir, Miss Dasilva is still alive," he stated, his tone laced with a hint of incredulity.

  Xanqer's gaze remained fixed on the road ahead, his voice devoid of emotion. "So?"

  Davis was taken aback by Xanqer's nonchalant response. "But, Sir, you said you would kill her yesterday. Why is she still alive?"

  Xanqer's expression hardened. "I couldn't do it yesterday, but I'll surely kill her tonight," he declared, his voice cold and deadly.

  The air in the car seemed to grow thick with tension as Davis glanced at Xanqer, his eyes widening in alarm. He knew better than to question Xanqer's motives, but he couldn't shake off the feeling that something was amiss.