"Get down!"
Before the words even settled in the air, Kyrie shoved Dorothy into the cold water.
With a harsh splash, Dorothy gasped, choking on mouthfuls of water. The frigid sensation engulfed her and the sharp pain in her abdomen intensified. Her face drained of color as she looked at Kyrie, her eyes silently begging for mercy.
But he was unmoved, his expression as cold as the water around her, his gaze hollow and unfeeling.
At that moment, Dorothy felt herself sinking, not just into the water, but into the depths of despair. It was clear now: she and Kyrie could never go back. He was no longer the man she had loved; he had become something unrecognizable, like a stranger or a madman.
"Keep an eye on her. Don’t let her come up until she admits her mistake. Only when she does that can you pull her out!"
Kyrie’s command was chilling. Without another glance, he turned and walked away, Portia clinging to his side.
The servants watched, their faces etched with sympathy. One of them whispered, "Madam, just apologize."
None of them could have predicted how the once inseparable, loving couple had shattered into this cruel, cold reality.
Before, Kyrie had treated Dorothy like fragile porcelain, holding her close, fearing she might break. Now, he had become the very thing that threatened to destroy her.
But now, he was tormenting his wife for another woman…
The servants could hardly comprehend the whirlwind of confusion swirling in Kyrie’s mind. The woman who had captured his attention wasn’t even as beautiful as Dorothy.
In that moment, Dorothy’s vision began to blur, her face draining of all color as the words of the servant echoed in her ears. She fought the urge to bite her lip, but instead, she simply shook her head in disbelief.
It wasn’t until Kyrie’s figure disappeared from view that she finally gave in to the darkness, fainting from the weight of it all.
As she slipped into unconsciousness, nightmares gripped her like cold hands. The memories of her past with Kyrie surged forward, overwhelming her in a crushing wave. She found herself adrift on a vast, pitch-black ocean, utterly alone, desperately searching for something to cling to, her strength slipping away as she neared the brink of drowning.
Back then, Kyrie had been pure, like a delicate mix of ice and water, in a fragile porcelain bowl. The simplest touch, a hand-held, a fleeting kiss, was enough to make him blush, his innocence and affection evident in every gesture.
He used to say, "I really like you, Dorothy; no matter what happens, let's never be apart, okay?"
Dorothy smiled at him, her heart fluttering, but before she could respond with a simple "like," the dream shifted violently.
The man in his twenties had shed the innocence of youth and now his cold presence felt like a blade slicing through Dorothy’s soul.
Without warning, he seized her neck in a ruthless grip. "Why did you come back? Give me my Portia back!"
Dorothy jolted awake, drenched in a cold sweat, her chest heaving. Dazed, she felt the tender touch of someone carefully tending to the wounds on her body, applying a soothing medicinal liquid.
The touch was so familiar, so gentle that it made her shiver. Her eyes snapped open and there, hovering above her, was Kyrie.
His gaze was soft, filled with an unfamiliar pity, as though she were a delicate treasure he was afraid of losing.
"You..."
Dorothy’s eyes widened, her mind struggling to grasp the reality of the moment. She couldn’t believe what she saw, her thoughts spinning in disbelief. Was this still a dream?
However, Kyrie’s tender gaze vanished in an instant. His expression shifted as though a storm had overtaken him.
"Dorothy, who gave you the right to hurt yourself? Where did these scars come from?"
He seized Dorothy’s arm, lifting it roughly. The sleeve slid down, revealing the dark marks etched into her skin like a map of suffering.
Dorothy bit her lip, her silence echoing in the space between them. Kyrie’s gaze darkened, his voice turning as cold as the winter wind.
"I’ll tell you this: you’ll die completely, even if you die!"
Dorothy’s heart was numb from the weight of his words. Her eyes burned and with a bitter smile, she looked up at him.
"But aren’t you also hurting me?"
Kyrie fell silent for a moment, his thoughts a storm raging behind his eyes. Then, with a sneer, he spoke.
"Don’t expect me to feel sorry for you. You made me lose Portia. I wish you were dead."
With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Dorothy to face the crushing silence.
