𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐎𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬 - 𝑩𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒇𝒇 (𝑨𝑴𝑩𝑾)

47: Revealed

Chan's POV

I woke up to a pounding headache and the worst taste in my mouth, like I'd chugged a bottle of regret. My body felt like it had been welded to the bed. Groaning, I blinked a few times, trying to focus. This wasn’t my room—or anywhere I recognized.

The bed beneath me was massive, draped in satin sheets that felt way too fancy for someone like me. A plush white comforter made it feel like I’d collapsed in a cloud. The walls were painted a soft pastel pink, trimmed in gleaming gold like something out of a princess movie. Shelves lined one side of the room, overflowing with ornate trinkets, perfume bottles, and what could only be designer handbags. Across the room, a vanity table practically groaned under the weight of high-end makeup and glittering jewelry.

Everything about the room oozed luxury, but it was undeniably feminine—soft pinks, gold accents, delicate trinkets. It didn’t add up.

I pushed myself upright, instantly regretting it as my head spun like I’d just stepped off a rollercoaster. My arms trembled under my weight, and a dull ache throbbed where I remembered being pricked. Whatever drug they’d pumped into me was still doing its thing, leaving me weak and disoriented.

I scanned the room, desperate for something—anything—that could tell me where I was. That’s when I saw them.

Pictures.

Pictures of me.

My face was everywhere—on the walls, the shelves, even the mirror. Some were polished and professional, likely from recent photoshoots or events. Others looked like they’d been ripped straight from my old social media posts, frozen moments I’d long forgotten.

An icy chill crawled down my spine as I took it all in. This wasn’t admiration—it was obsession. My photos covered every inch of the room like some twisted shrine.

Then, I heard the soft click of a door. My gaze snapped toward the ensuite.

A figure emerged, tying a silk robe around herself with practiced elegance.

Hana.

I knew her instantly, though she looked...different. Her hair was perfectly styled, her makeup pristine, her whole presence effortlessly fitting into the opulence surrounding her. She looked like she belonged here.

Hana. Liliana’s old friend—or at least, she used to be. The same Hana who had dragged Liliana into this mess in the first place.

Though, to be fair, none of this would’ve happened if it weren’t for me. Still, Hana was the spark that lit the match.

She smiled when she saw I was awake, but it wasn’t a warm smile—it didn’t reach her eyes. “Good morning, Chanie,” she said, her voice dripping with mock affection.

My head pounded, but my instincts kicked in. I narrowed my eyes, my throat dry as sandpaper. “Where am I?” I croaked, trying to keep my voice steady.

Hana tilted her head, her lips quirking like I’d just asked the most naïve question in the world. “You’re safe,” she replied smoothly. “That’s all that matters.”

But the way she said it sent a chill crawling down my spine. Safe? No, I wasn’t safe. Not even close.

I couldn’t look away as her smile curled into something sweet on the surface but laced with a sinister undertone. Her eyes gleamed with something unreadable, something that made my stomach twist into knots.

With an unsettling grace, Hana glided to the vanity, her silk robe flowing behind her like she had all the time in the world. She moved with precision, picking up a small glass, her movements slow and deliberate. The soft clink of glass against the countertop echoed unnervingly as she reached for a banana milk bottle.