Lower Than A Stray Dog

Just as Serena grabbed the edge of her jacket, preparing to leave the confines of the house and face the grim reality of her unknown fiancé, her phone vibrated against the wooden nightstand. The sudden, sharp buzz shattered the tense silence in her bedroom. She glanced at the screen, and the breath caught in her throat. The caller ID displayed a single name: Magnus Thorne.

Her hands trembled as she picked up the device. Magnus was her master. In her past life, a life filled with betrayal and brutal ends, his voice had been one of the few anchors of genuine care. Hearing from him now, in this miraculous second chance at existence, struck a raw nerve deep within her chest.

"Master," Serena answered, her voice thick with unshed emotion.

"Serena, are you alright now?" Magnus asked. His tone was gentle, carrying a strange, underlying weight that immediately put her on guard.

"I am fine," Serena replied, her brow furrowing in confusion. "Why do you ask?"

"I need you to do something for me," Magnus stated. The softness vanished, replaced by an urgent, commanding edge.

"Of course," Serena said without a second of hesitation. "Tell me what you need."

"I need you to find a man. His name is Declan Mercer. Locate him, assess his condition, and help him."

"Declan?" Serena repeated the name, rolling the syllables over her tongue. She searched her memories, digging through the faces and names of her past life, but found nothing. "I do not know that name. Who is he?"

Magnus paused. The silence stretching across the line felt heavy with unspoken truths. "You will find out when you look him in the eyes. This man has done something monumental for you. A sacrifice you are not yet aware of."

Serena’s confusion deepened into genuine bewilderment. No one named Declan Mercer had ever stepped into her previous life. No one had made monumental sacrifices for her. Before she could voice her doubts, Magnus dropped a bombshell that froze the blood in her veins.

"Serena, I know you have been reborn. I know you have crossed the boundary of life and death."

The phone slipped a fraction of an inch in her sweaty grip. Her heart slammed against her ribs with terrifying force. He knew. The deepest, most impossible secret of her existence—the very foundation of her current reality—was known.

"What?" she stammered, the calm facade she had built crumbling in an instant. "How... what is this all about?"

"Your return to this world is directly connected to him," Magnus said, ignoring her panic, his voice steady and cryptic. "Is that not reason enough to pull him from the dark?"

"Master, please, explain this to me," Serena pleaded, her knuckles turning white around the phone.

"In time, the truth will reveal itself to you. I cannot say more. For now, just follow my instruction. Find Declan Mercer. Complete this task."

Before she could press him further, the line went dead. Serena stood frozen in the middle of her modest bedroom. Her thoughts spun in a chaotic whirlwind. She had convinced herself that her rebirth was an isolated miracle, a solitary burden she would carry alone. The revelation that Magnus not only knew about her second chance but tied it to a stranger’s sacrifice left her breathless. What exactly happened after she died? What price had been paid for her to breathe again?

She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, forcing the rising panic down. She could not afford to lose her focus. She would interrogate Magnus in person the moment she got the chance. For now, she had a mission.

"Serena, we need to leave. The sun is starting to set," Lenora called out, pushing the bedroom door open. The older woman looked exhausted, her face lined with the chronic stress of poverty.

"I am ready," Serena said, shoving her phone into her pocket. She followed her foster mother out the door, stepping into the dusty, fading afternoon light.

As they walked down the uneven dirt path of the village, Lenora wrung her hands. The guilt over the arranged marriage seemed to bubble out of her in a steady stream of nervous chatter.

"He is in a tragic state," Lenora murmured, her eyes fixed on the ground. "Far worse than your father. Desmond can still sit up on good days, but this poor boy... he is bedridden. Trapped. He used to be a young master from a wealthy, powerful family. Now he rots in a broken-down shack at the edge of the village, abandoned by everyone who was supposed to care for him."

Serena listened, her mind operating on two separate tracks: the mystery of her master’s command and the bleak reality of her forced engagement. "Wait," Serena interjected, stopping in the middle of the road. A sudden, jarring thought pierced her mind. "Mom. What did you just say his name was? Tell me his full name."

Lenora blinked, caught off guard by the sharp intensity in Serena’s eyes. "Declan. Declan Mercer. He is the discarded son of the Mercer family."

The name struck Serena like a physical blow. The dusty village road seemed to tilt beneath her feet. Declan Mercer. The man her master had just commanded her to save. The man whose unknown sacrifice was the very reason she was standing here, breathing the twilight air. He was her fiancé.

Her racing mind tried to find the seams in the logic. How could this be real? Her rebirth, her master’s sudden call, the arranged marriage born from her foster family’s desperation—it was all converging on a single, paralyzed man in a squalid village hut. This was not a random hospital mix-up. This was not mere coincidence. It was a heavy, inescapable stroke of fate pulling the strings of her second life.

"Serena? Are you feeling sick?" Lenora asked, reaching out to touch her arm.

Serena shook her head, forcing her rigid muscles to relax. The fear and confusion morphed into a cold, unbreakable resolve. "I am fine, Mom. Keep walking. I need to see him."

Across the village, at the end of a forgotten lane, a decrepit house stood bathed in shadows. Inside the stifling, foul-smelling bedroom, a hoarse, cracked voice broke the silence.

"Water. Brenda... get me some water."

Declan Mercer lay flat on his back, staring at the stained ceiling. His once-powerful frame had withered into a skeletal shadow. Sunken cheeks, hollow eyes, and greasy, unkempt hair made him look more like a corpse than a living man. The stench of his own unwashed body and soiled sheets hung thick in the air, a constant, humiliating reminder of his helplessness.

A stout, middle-aged woman lumbered into the room. Brenda, his paid caretaker, carried a plastic cup in her hand. Her face was twisted in a permanent scowl.

"Unbelievable," Brenda muttered, rolling her eyes as she stood over the bed. "What sin did I commit in my past life to get stuck scraping up after you? You just lie there. You mess the bed like an animal. Can you not hold it in? The smell in this room makes me want to vomit."

Declan glared at her, his dark eyes burning with a fierce, caged fury. "Just give me the water."

Brenda let out a cruel sneer. She did not bother to lift his head or offer a straw. Instead, she tilted the cup high above his face and poured. The icy water splashed directly onto his nose, eyes, and mouth. Declan choked, coughing violently as the cold liquid ran down his neck and soaked into the filthy blanket beneath him.

"How dare you!" Declan growled, his voice vibrating with rage. He tried to thrash, tried to lift his hands to wipe the stinging water from his eyes, but his muscles refused to obey. His arms lay dead at his sides. He was a prisoner locked inside a ruined shell.

"Dare?" Brenda laughed, tossing the empty cup onto a nearby table. "What exactly are you going to do to stop me? You should beg on your knees for that water. You think you are still some high-and-mighty young master? You are nothing. You are worse than a stray dog in an alley. Do not try to act tough with me, cripple."

"Get out!" Declan screamed, the raw sound tearing at his dry throat. "Get out of my sight!"

"Gladly," Brenda snorted, turning on her heel. "If the Mercers ever stopped paying me, I would leave you here to starve. Pathetic."

She strutted out of the suffocating room, marching down the narrow hallway and yanking the front door open. She nearly collided with Serena and Lenora on the rotting porch.

"Who are you looking for?" Brenda snapped, her eyes narrowing as she looked the two women up and down.

Lenora took a cautious step forward. "Ma'am, we are here to see Mr. Mercer."

Brenda crossed her arms, her gaze lingering on Serena’s calm face. The caretaker let out a harsh, pitying scoff. She knew about the engagement. The village gossips never stopped talking about the poor Montell girl sold off to the crippled heir. "Suit yourself," Brenda said indifferently, waving a hand toward the dark hallway. "Go on in. Try not to gag."

As Serena and Lenora crossed the threshold, an invisible wall of stench hit them. The overwhelming smell of decay, urine, and stale sweat filled the stagnant air. Lenora slapped a hand over her nose and mouth, her eyes watering.

"God in heaven, why does it smell like rot?" Lenora gasped, horrified. She took care of a paralyzed husband every single day, and her home never smelled like this. This was the scent of sheer, malicious neglect.

From the depths of the bedroom, Declan heard the heavy footsteps approaching. Assuming his tormentor had returned to mock him further, his anger erupted. "Get out! I told you to leave me alone!"

Lenora flinched at the sheer volume of his roar. She stopped at the edge of the doorway, intimidated by the feral rage in his voice. "He sounds dangerous," she whispered, tugging at Serena’s sleeve.

Serena did not stop. She ignored the stench and the shouts, stepping straight into the gloom of the bedroom. The dying light of the setting sun poured through the grime-caked window behind her, catching the dust motes in the air and casting a golden halo around her silhouette.

Declan lay panting on the soaked mattress. As Serena stepped into his line of sight, his vision blurred. For a split second, bathed in the ethereal evening light, she looked like an angel descending directly into his personal hell. He stopped breathing. The raw, jagged anger caught in his throat.

"Who are you?" he demanded, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. He blinked, trying to clear the hallucination, but the girl remained standing over him, her expression an unreadable mask of calm.

Lenora hurried into the room behind her daughter, anxious to smooth over the tension. "Mr. Mercer, please calm down. This is my daughter, Serena. She is your true fiancée."

The momentary awe vanished from Declan’s face, instantly replaced by a wall of icy suspicion. He remembered the last time a fiancée had walked into this room. A year ago, Bianca had stood in that exact spot. She had looked at his wasted body with unvarnished disgust, cursing him, wishing for his death, and laughing at his delusion that anyone would ever marry a cripple. That venomous encounter was burned into his memory.

"Do not play games with me," Declan spat, his jaw clenching. "Your daughter was here a year ago. She made her feelings perfectly clear."

"That was not Serena," Lenora explained quickly, her voice trembling. "There was a terrible mix-up at the hospital when the girls were born. That girl was Bianca. She was a fake, and she has gone back to her wealthy biological family. Serena is our real daughter. The engagement contract belongs to her now."

Declan stared at the ceiling, his dark eyes hollow and unforgiving. He had zero interest in their family melodrama. Rich girl, poor girl—it made no difference to him. They were all the same. They all looked at him with the same mixture of pity and revulsion.

He shifted his glaring gaze back to Serena. "What do you want, then? Did you come here to warn me? To tell me to back off and stop having delusions about this arranged marriage? Say your piece and get out."

Serena met his fierce, defensive stare without flinching. She did not offer pity. She did not offer apologies for the smell or the state of his life. She stood at the edge of his ruined bed and delivered her answer with absolute, unwavering certainty.

"I am here to save you."

Declan froze. His exhausted mind scrambled to process the sheer audacity of her words. "Save me?" he echoed, a bitter, disbelieving laugh scraping his throat.

Before he could form another insult, Serena closed the final gap between them. She reached out, grabbed the edge of the filthy, soaked blanket covering his lower half, and decisively lifted it off his body.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Declan bellowed, his face flushing crimson with a mixture of outrage and deep, paralyzing shame at the invasion of his nonexistent privacy.

Serena did not blink. She stared down at his wasted, motionless legs, her voice remaining matter-of-fact in the face of his screaming fury.

"Saving you. How can I help you if I don't take a look?"