A beautiful girl was born into a family of actresses. Her face looked just like an angel's, and since she was only five years old, she already had a career in show business, always getting the roles of a child star. Thanks to her genes, her talent for acting was as remarkable as her beauty.
She became famous worldwide because of her skills and looks. She gained fans all over the world, and everyone knew her name. Cameras followed her wherever she went, flashing lights greeting her at every red carpet and premiere. Her fame burned brightly for years—until it all came crashing down when a scandal spread when she was twenty-six.
Unlike other actresses whose scandals involved secret relationships or leaked affairs, hers was different. A video of her was spread by an anonymous hacker. It was her—calm and unmistakable—disassembling a body part of a living man. She recorded the entire process until that man finally died, wearing nothing but a delighted look on her innocent face.
The video was terrifying. At first, her fans refused to believe it, accusing the person who spread it of lying. They insisted it was probably an AI-generated video meant to slander her, a cruel fabrication designed to destroy her career.
However, the police detectives recognized the man being disassembled and immediately began investigating. Piece by piece, the truth surfaced. Then the shocking news was revealed: the famous Hollywood actress, Lily Hart, had murdered her top fan.
And in court, she did not even deny it. All she said was, "He agreed to it."
That was all—spoken softly, with a smile.
No remorse.
No guilt.
No regret.
Nothing.
From further investigation and a full search of her home and files, they found more clips—just like the first one—but with different people. The footage was carefully stored, labeled, and hidden, as if it were a private collection. The total amounted to 143 videos.
That meant she had murdered 143 people in her lifetime.
And she was only twenty-six years old.
The world was thrown into shock, but her fans still remained by her side, desperately defending her, clinging to the image of the girl they believed in.
The judge sentenced her to death immediately.
Her punishment was to be placed in the electric chair until she died. As she was escorted down the cold, narrow hallway toward her execution, she did not feel fear that her life was about to end. She felt only regret—regret that she had been caught far earlier than she had expected.
She was not born into a controlling family; in fact, her family treasured her. She was showered with love all her life.
But when she turned fifteen, she knew that something was wrong with her. She found life boring. Everything, to her, was boring. The applause, the fame, the luxury—none of it stirred anything inside her.
She accepted an action movie role and performed a dangerous stunt without a double, even though everyone advised against it. The directors she worked with were amazed by her passion and dedication, praising her fearlessness as if it were bravery, unaware that it was something far darker.
She developed countless dangerous hobbies—
wingsuit flying, free solo rock climbing, base jumping, big wave surfing, cave diving, high-altitude mountaineering on peaks like Everest, bull riding, street luge, cliff diving, volcano hiking, skydiving, drift car racing, motorcycle street racing, and urban exploration in abandoned buildings… and many more.
None of them were ever enough.
When she turned twenty, she found even that boring. Then a thought appeared in her mind.
What if I start exploring human bodies?
The thought sent shivers through her whole body and lit excitement across her face.
But who?
She kept thinking about it, and then one day, she attended a fan meeting—one of those private sessions where she met her top fans. People paid enormous amounts of money just to speak to her, just to be in the same room with her.
An evil thought slowly formed in her mind.
"Come in, please." her manager said, calling the first person.
A fat, ugly man came in, holding her new movie CD in his hands. "N-Nice to meet you again, Miss Lily. I'm your biggest fan!" he said shyly. "Can I have your autograph here?"
He held out the CD.
Lily immediately recognized the man—a worthless son of a well-known corporation. She always saw him at every fan meeting.
She smiled brightly, hugging him. "It's you again, Mark!" she said, her tone polite and genuinely appreciative. "I always appreciate your support." Her smile radiated warmth, lighting up the room.
Mark's heart melted at her attitude. This was also why she had never had a scandal—on and off camera, she always treated everyone fairly. Other celebrities might have been disgusted by Mark's appearance, but to Lily, it didn't matter. To her, it was like looking at a Chihuahua: whether it was a husky or a Chihuahua, in her eyes, they were all still dogs. That was also how she viewed humans—equally indifferent to appearances, a mere curiosity to be observed.
"Can I have your number, Mark? You've been supporting me since I was a child, sending donations every time. I want to be close to you too." she said kindly, her tone warm, like that of a friend.
Mark's heart soared. Lily had been his crush since childhood. "I'll do everything for you, Lily." he said eagerly, handing her his contact information.
Lily's eyes glimmered with interest. "Everything?"
Mark immediately nodded, his excitement palpable.
After months of chatting with Mark, she quietly set her plan into motion. Secretly, she purchased a massive property in Thailand, acquiring an entire mountain under a false name. After all, she was wealthy enough to spend money like water, and secrecy was just another luxury she could afford.
There, she meticulously planned her evil scheme.
She had a soundproof underground room built beneath the house. The space was stark and cold, furnished with nothing but a single steel bed. Handcuffs were fixed to every corner, ready for their grim purpose. To avoid raising suspicion, she instructed the builders to disguise it as a "red room," designed for indulgent, sexual fantasies—a subtle trick to make anyone who entered assume it was merely for pleasure.
Once everything was prepared, she lured Mark to the location, of course using her fake identity. She warned him not to tell anyone, claiming that any leak could ruin her career. Mark didn't think it was unusual; after all, Lily was an actress, and secrecy was part of her life.
Inside the underground room, she bound Mark's hands and feet, leaving him completely exposed. Mark assumed this was part of Lily's sexual games and didn't resist. But then she produced a surgical knife, its blade gleaming cold under the dim red lights.
She started slowly, slicing into Mark's stomach—not to open it fully, but carefully, as if she were carving meat from a brisket. His screams of horror echoed through the underground, bouncing off the steel walls, yet to Lily, it was nothing more than a symphony, music to her ears.
The long, oppressive boredom that had haunted her for years vanished instantly. Every nerve in her body electrified with the thrill of the act. She moved deliberately, her motions precise, almost clinical, as she continued to disassemble Mark's body. Each cut, each movement was measured, a dark ritual that awakened a twisted joy she had never felt before.
The red glow of the room flickered across her face, reflecting a smile that was calm, almost innocent—yet impossibly cruel. The world outside didn't exist here. There was only the sound of steel, the scent of iron, and the rush of exhilaration coursing through her veins.
As she worked, Lily's mind wandered freely, detached yet intensely alive. She observed every detail of Mark's reactions—the widening of his eyes, the trembling of his hands, the uneven, panicked breaths. To an ordinary person, it would have been unbearable. To her, it was intoxicating. Each flinch, each gasp, was a note in the melody of her boredom being replaced by something she had long craved.
She noticed the way the dim red light danced on his skin, how his body jerked at each cut, and she felt a peculiar satisfaction in the precision of her movements. There was artistry in it—the way flesh separated cleanly, the cold efficiency of each motion. She was no longer just bored Lily; she was an observer, a conductor, orchestrating a scene that no movie could ever replicate.
A twisted part of her mind even marveled at the contrast: the innocent smile she had shown the world, the adored actress everyone loved, versus the quiet, meticulous predator she had become behind closed doors. The thrill wasn't only in the act itself, but in the absolute secrecy of it, in knowing that this darkness existed and no one would ever suspect her.
Mark's pleas barely registered. Words were meaningless to her, just background noise, until she decided they might entertain her curiosity. She imagined how far she could push him, how long she could sustain this delicate balance of fear and compliance. With each cut, she felt alive in a way the spotlight never gave her. Fame, money, and attention had been dull amusements; this—this absolute control, this raw confrontation with life and death—was exhilarating.
And yet, beneath the surface of excitement, a calm certainty settled over her. She wasn't scared, she wasn't unsure—she was precise. Every motion had purpose. Every decision, cold and deliberate. The boredom that had haunted her for years had vanished completely, replaced with a clarity of thought sharpened by the edge of the knife.
In that underground chamber, the world outside—the fame, the cameras, the applause—ceased to exist. There was only the steel bed, the handcuffs, the scent of iron, the red glow, and the sheer, intoxicating thrill of being fully, utterly alive.