The Next DayEarly in the morning, as birds chirped from the treetops and basked their brilliant feathers in the golden rays of the rising sun, Enny Simpson was humming a tune of her own.After stirring the internet into a frenzy with accusations against Mark—and capitalizing on Alice’s sudden disappearance—she had rewarded herself with a long, satisfying night in the company of one of her bedroom boys.It had been a job well done.But this morning, she had business to attend to.She dressed herself in a long black dress that clung tightly to her curves, fastened a million-dollar diamond necklace around her neck, stepped into silver stilettos to match, and let her long blue hair cascade smoothly down her back.Descending the grand staircase, she found her parents already seated at the dining table.“Oh, my goodness. You’re looking beautiful as ever, darling,” her father, Sam Simpson, greeted warmly. “Another date with Brian Clarice?”Enny’s expression soured at the mention of Brian.T

Enny looked at Mark over her shoulder, a knowing smile curling at the edge of her lips. Just as the police reached for her wrists, Mark raised the SFM camera and pressed the button. Click. And in that instant— She was under his control. Or at least he thought. “Oh, poor girl…” Enny muttered softly, her voice dripping with syrupy sympathy as she looked at Alice. “Look at her. She’s terrified. Mark must’ve threatened her.” The officers froze, caught in the sudden shift of the wind. Mark clicked the button again. Click. His forehead creased. Work. Damn it. Why isn’t it working?! [Ding! The SFM camera cannot activate its effects on the selected target.] [Reason: Target’s confidence and ego currently exceed the host’s.] [Hint: You are driven by anger and loathing toward Enny Simpso

WARNING: I accidentally posted Chapter 97 before Chapter 96. Please read the next chapter first. **** Friday Morning Mark yawned himself awake in his new Estate queen-sized bed. It was the best sleep he’d had in days—alone, peaceful, and finally at home. After a quick shower, he wore his black volleyball tracksuit and sneakers before heading downstairs for breakfast. On the way, he happened to pass Rita’s room. She had left her door ajar, almost as if it were on purpose. He couldn’t help but peek in. Rita was standing before her dressing table, completely nude. She caught his eye in the reflection of the mirror, but she didn’t flinch. Instead, she offered him a view of her luscious heart-shaped ass as she swayed her hips, catching him in her allure. It took every ounce of Mark’s willpower to shake his head and keep walking. Behind him, Rita smirked at her reflection. "Let's see how much longer you can resist, brother dearest." ** Downstairs, Mark expected to be welcomed by t

"Oh, hey there, Mark! Where are you running to?"Mark was stopped mid-sprint by a chorus of familiar voices. He skidded to a halt, slowly turning back to see the volleyball team—Zenti, Haruko, Rei, Nesty, and Eric—all decked out in the same black Astras tracksuits."Oh... hey, guys," Mark managed to say, waving a shaky hand."Dude, you’re sweating buckets," Haruko noted, eyebrow raised.Zenti smirked, leaning against the wall. "Don’t tell me you’re nervous. It’s just a game.""Greenville is a powerhouse," Nesty added, trying to be helpful. "We haven't beaten them in three years, but don't sweat it, Mark. Coach has been drilling us all semester. We’ll put up a fight."Mark didn't answer. His face was turning a concerning shade of purple. He leaned forward slightly, a desperate attempt to keep his twisting, lava-filled stomach from exploding."I’m okay," he wheezed. "Really. Don't worry about me."A grou

"Stick to the plan, Williams. Volleyball is a simple sport. Receive, return, and don't let the ball touch the floor."The words rang in Williams’ mind. Though five years had passed, he still remembered Coach Sukasa’s cold voice as if it were yesterday."You're wrong, Coach!" a younger, more arrogant Williams had argued. "Volleyball is a game of tactics and evolution! It’s about more than just surviving the rally! I’ll show you—I’ll master the cross-court technique!"He had poured his soul into proving Sukasa wrong. He had mastered the impossible: twisting his body mid-air to snap spikes into angles that defied physics. He became a star, scouted by the top clubs, leaving Sukasa’s "old-fashioned" methods in the dust.Until the Nationals.It was a perfect game until it wasn't. Williams had soared for a signature cross-court spike, but the landing was unstable. His ankle snapped with a sickening pop. When the doctors told him he’d never play