"Don’t be afraid. Even without the Soul Ember Stone, I can protect you for the rest of my life. I won’t let anything hurt you—ever!"
How ironic. The person who claimed to shield me from harm is the one who hurts me the most now.
My tears fell silently, turning into crystal-clear stones as they hit the ground.
"Elysia, don’t cry. It breaks my heart to see you like this! If you’re upset, yell at me, hit me—do anything—but don’t hurt yourself!"
I looked at the man before me, his face painted with concern. He said he loved me, yet faint marks of another woman’s touch clung to his neck, betraying his words.
During his attempt to comfort me, my pajamas were tugged loose, revealing the scars etched across my back. For a fleeting moment, disgust flickered in his eyes—so quick it could have been imagined, but my heart saw it clearly.
His fingers brushed lightly over the marks, his tone soft but hollow: "Elysia, I know you treasure your beauty. I’ll find a magic remedy to restore you—just as you were before."
I gestured to him, signing: If you catch the murderer, how will you handle it?
He froze momentarily, then patted my shoulder with feigned reassurance. "It’s been so long since it happened. Whoever did it must have already escaped the underworld by now! Elysia, let’s move forward—don’t linger in the past. I swear, no one will ever hurt you again!"
His words did nothing to ease the suffocating sorrow in my chest. "What will you do if one day, I disappear?" I asked, my voice trembling with emotion.
His arms tightened around me, panic flashing across his face. "Elysia, did someone tell you something?"
"What would I have heard?" I countered, narrowing my eyes. "What are you hiding from me?"
Victor’s earlier confidence dissolved, replaced by unease. He clasped my hands tightly, letting out a long, weary sigh. "Elysia, I love you—only you. If you’re ever lost, even in the depths of the underworld, I’ll find you and bring you back."
But his declaration felt like ash in the wind, a promise made from a place I could no longer reach.
On the day of our contract, we vowed never to lie. If either of us grew weary or fell for someone else, we swore to be honest. Yet here he was, breaking the bond forged over ten thousand years, shattering it with his betrayal.
The next morning, he cheerfully dragged me toward the dining hall. "Today is your birthday! I’ve arranged a special celebration just for you..."
For a moment, his enthusiasm sparked a flicker of hope. I had been counting the days, anticipating his gift, his sincerity.
But as I reached for the door, muffled voices stopped me cold.
"Is Victor mad? Holding onto a mute girl in his heart for ten thousand years?"
"Exactly! Making love without a sound—what’s the difference between that and a lifeless doll? Only Victor could tolerate something like that!"
Victor kicked the door open with a force that echoed through the hall. His voice was sharp and commanding, cutting through the stunned murmurs. "If I hear anyone slandering Elysia like this again, there will be no room for both of us in the underworld!"
The room fell silent.
The dancers, sensing the tension, hesitated briefly before stepping forward to lighten the mood. They moved in graceful sync, their veils fluttering, filling the air with a sensual rhythm.
Leading them was a woman clad in revealing garments, her waist undulating like a water snake. Her burning gaze locked onto us as we approached. Her movements were deliberate, her eyes daring, and she twisted her way between me and Victor, her body brushing against his as if I didn’t exist.
I stumbled backward, hitting the floor hard. Pain seared through my hand as I braced my fall.
Victor’s reaction was immediate. He shoved the woman aside and rushed to my side, lifting me into his arms as his eyes scanned for injuries. When he saw the burn on my hand, his face twisted with anguish.
"What’s wrong with you? How could you fall like that?" His voice trembled with both panic and frustration.
With a furious wave of his hand, he struck out at the dancer. The force was enough to send her reeling, and the veil covering her face slipped, revealing a familiar visage.
Seraphina.
Victor froze mid-attack, his hand falling to his side.
"Sir, please calm down. I wouldn’t dare..." Seraphina’s voice wavered, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. She sank to her knees, her body arching in a deliberate curve, the swell of her chest teasingly exposed.
I saw it then—the subtle gesture Victor made, his thumb and forefinger twisting together. It was a tell—a sign of his affection, one I knew all too well.
They were flirting. Right in front of me.
His voice softened. "Just focus on your dance. Don’t disturb my wife again."
The words were hollow, his tone betraying the tenderness he couldn’t hide.
Seraphina stood, a flicker of disappointment in her eyes, and tossed aside the red veil that had cloaked her. Her movements were fluid, calculated, as she spun on her heel and fell effortlessly into the arms of one of Victor’s friends.
This man, notorious for his fleeting affairs and endless parade of beauties, welcomed her eagerly. His arms wrapped around her as though she were a prize, and he leaned in, his lips seeking hers without hesitation.
