"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.

Victor stood abruptly, his movement so forceful that the wine table before him crashed to the ground, sending goblets and dishes scattering.

"Dante, Elysia is still here! Show some decency! If you want to cause trouble, take it elsewhere. Don’t disgrace yourself here!"

His fists clenched, and the veins on his neck throbbed with barely restrained anger.

I sneered internally. How ironic. I gestured calmly, my face betraying none of my turmoil.

"It doesn’t matter. If they want to enjoy themselves, let them. I don’t care."

Dante laughed mockingly, his hand sliding brazenly under Seraphina’s dress. "See? She doesn’t care. Why are you so worked up?"

Victor’s voice sharpened, a cold edge slicing through his words. "No! It’s immoral in public. Don’t dirty Elysia’s eyes!"

Dante’s smile faltered, irritation flickering across his face. He scooped Seraphina into his arms and strode toward the next room.

"Fine. Let’s move. We’ll have our fun elsewhere. You stay here and babysit your mute girl!"

Seraphina nestled against him, casting a look over her shoulder—a mix of derision and triumph—before disappearing into the adjoining room.

Victor sat down heavily, his expression distant. He was so preoccupied that he didn’t even notice the wine spilling over the edge of my teacup.

I tapped his hand, my voice sharp in his mind as I gestured, I don’t drink. Have you forgotten?

Before he could respond, a high-pitched moan cut through the walls from the next room.

Victor’s face twisted with rage. In one swift motion, he grabbed the wine pot and hurled it to the ground, the shattering sound punctuating his fury.

"Elysia, it’s your birthday," he said, his tone softening into something almost pleading. "At least have a drink with me. Just one."

I shook my head vehemently, but he ignored my refusal. He poured the wine into my throat, heedless of my protests.

The fire spread instantly, searing my body. The pain and itchiness were unbearable, and I collapsed, unable to fight the effects of the alcohol.

Victor used my condition as an excuse to clear the room, forcing the guests to leave. Once alone, he stormed into the next room, throwing the door open with such force it rattled on its hinges.

Without hesitation, he knocked Dante unconscious with a single blow and dragged a stunned Seraphina into my room.

Victor pressed her against the door, his hand wrapping tightly around her neck. His voice was low, venomous. "I told you—don’t mess with my wife. Are you deaf?"

Seraphina’s lips curled into a defiant smile, her voice trembling with feigned innocence. "I just missed you, that’s all."

She tilted her head, her gaze challenging despite the grip on her throat. "I left, just as you wanted. But then Lord Vic brought me back. What’s the matter, Victor? Aren’t you afraid your beloved wife will feel heartbroken seeing me here?"

Victor’s gaze fell on the red mark adorning Seraphina’s chest, a mixture of irritation and jealousy flickering in his eyes.

"What is our esteemed Lord Vic doing?" Seraphina teased, her voice dripping with mockery. "Talking to me like this in front of your wife…"

She gasped suddenly, her words cut off as Victor tugged at her dress, exposing more of her slender frame.

Seraphina panted, her voice trembling with a mix of excitement and provocation. "Lord Vic, do you like this stone necklace on my neck? These stones—they’re your sweetheart’s tears. I didn’t expect them to be so bright and plump!"

Victor’s expression darkened, his voice low and dismissive. "It looks good. I’ll get you more next time."

I lay there, drunk and wracked by an allergic reaction. Though my body betrayed me, trembling and weak, my mind remained painfully clear. The sharp ache in my chest deepened as I clenched my fists.

My tears… my sorrow… used to please this sea monster.

Their laughter and chaos grew louder, rolling from the doorway to the wine table and then, unbearably, to my side.

"The ground is cold…" Seraphina whispered coquettishly.

"Delicate, aren’t you?" Victor sneered but reached for my cloak—a treasured garment he had painstakingly sewn with feathers gathered over millennia. This cloak had shielded me from the biting winds of the underworld and held the weight of ten thousand years of companionship.

Without hesitation, he spread the cloak beneath Seraphina, his movements devoid of the tenderness he once reserved for me.

Their entangled forms continued to shift, Seraphina’s moans and cries echoing louder and louder.

"Scream," Victor growled. "Scream as loud as you can. I love hearing you beg for mercy."

I stared at the scene, my heart breaking anew. When Victor was with me, he was always measured, restrained. Even on our wedding night, he had cherished me, his every touch careful and deliberate. This unbridled ferocity was something I had never seen before.

At last, they seemed to tire. Seraphina slumped against Victor’s chest, her voice soft and syrupy. "My body feels sticky and uncomfortable… May I borrow your wife’s handkerchief?"

Victor shoved her away, his tone as cold as ice. "With you? Are you even worthy?"

Seraphina pouted, her lips curling into a sulk. "Men are so heartless. You don’t even recognize people after picking up your pants. Fine, I’ll leave—I’m sure someone else will want me."

"You dare!" Victor snapped, his anger flaring again. Yet, instead of leaving her to fend for herself, he reached into my sleeve, pulling out my handkerchief. With a maddening tenderness, he began to clean Seraphina’s skin.

Red, swollen lumps spread across my body, a horrifying sight that made Seraphina recoil in fear.

"What’s wrong with her face? It’s so disgusting!" she exclaimed, stepping back as though my pain were contagious.

Victor’s gaze finally shifted to me, and his expression morphed from confusion to sheer panic. In an instant, he tossed on his clothes and scooped me into his arms.

"Elysia, you’ll be fine," he muttered, his voice trembling with desperation. "I’ll take you to the spiritual healer right now."

Three days passed before I woke again. My body felt weak, but the sight of Victor sitting by my bedside startled me more than my fragile state. His face was pale, his eyes rimmed with exhaustion, and the relief in his expression was heartbreakingly genuine.

"Elysia!" he exclaimed, his voice cracking. "I was scared to death! If you didn’t wake up, I would’ve… I would’ve gone with you!"

His trembling hands grasped mine as though afraid I’d disappear again.

Maxine entered with a tray, her voice soft. "Miss, Lord Vic truly loves you. For three days and nights, he’s copied scriptures with blood and ink, praying for your recovery."

Victor nodded fervently. "As long as Elysia is fine, I’m willing to do anything!"

He took the medicine bowl from Maxine and carefully brought it to my lips, feeding me spoonful by spoonful. The bitter taste lingered in my mouth, but worse was the memory that struck me as he pulled out my handkerchief to wipe my lips.

The same handkerchief they had used.

A wave of nausea surged, and I couldn’t hold it back. I vomited the medicine onto Victor, my stomach churning with anger and disgust.

Victor, who had always been obsessively clean, didn’t even flinch. Instead, he leaned closer, his voice full of concern. "Elysia, where does it hurt? Tell me!"

I gestured weakly. "The room feels stuffy… I want to walk outside."

He immediately helped me up, his movements gentle. When I stepped out, he hurried after me with the cloak he had made.

"Elysia, you shouldn’t go out without your cloak. The cold wind might harm you."

The sight of the cloak—cleaned and pristine—only deepened my revulsion. I stepped back as he tried to drape it around me.

"Be good," he coaxed, his tone soft. "Even if you’re angry with me, there’s no need to harm yourself. Please, put it on."

I snatched the cloak from his hands and threw it to the ground, stomping on it with all the force I could muster.

Victor’s face drained of color as realization dawned. His lips trembled as he whispered, "Elysia… why… why would you do this?"

I met his gaze, my hands trembling with suppressed rage. "I don’t want dirty things."

His body stiffened as though struck.

"Victor," I said, my voice cold and unyielding, "you’re dirty too. I don’t want you anymore."

Victor, the Lord, knelt before me without regard for his position or power, his usually proud demeanor shattered.

"Elysia, what did I do wrong? Tell me… I feel so bad when you ignore me!" His voice trembled, the words heavy with guilt and regret.

He looked so broken, so human in that moment. "It must be my fault that you’re unhappy," he continued, his voice cracking. "I’ll punish myself. Can you calm down?"

With a swift motion, he slapped himself across the face. His skin immediately turned red and swollen, a visible testament to the depth of his self-inflicted pain. The sight of it twisted something sharp in my chest. He was truly suffering, but it wasn’t enough.

I gestured weakly, wanting to get away, to breathe.

"I want to go to the beach," I said, my voice barely a whisper.

Victor’s face turned pale, his eyes wide with panic. "Elysia, are you going to leave me?"

His voice broke, his desperation palpable. "Why? What did I do wrong? I will change! Please, don’t leave me!"

He didn’t hesitate. In his agony, he abused himself further, calling down thunder from the heavens. The strikes left his back covered in blood, yet he endured the suffering, crawling toward me.

"Elysia, are you calmed down now?" he asked, his voice barely audible over the sound of his own pain.

A memory flashed before me: his proposal at the beach, his vows to love me for eternity. The words echoed in my mind, but they felt distant now, hollow.

"Elysia, is it worth it?" my mother had asked, her eyes filled with concern. "If he changes his mind in the future, will you regret what you did today?"

Her words rang true. He had changed his mind. And now, seeing him cry, seeing him beg, only left me feeling bored, detached.

He had fallen in love with someone else, and yet, here he was, pretending, pleading, as if nothing had changed.

"I just want to go to the beach to relax," I murmured, the weight of the past decade settling heavily on my shoulders. "I haven’t seen the sea for ten thousand years."

Victor, despite his bloodied form, smiled through the pain. "Elysia, you miss home. I’ll take you to see the sea now."

As we stood before the endless blue, a faint vortex swirled in the depths, like the eye of a glacier about to open wide. I felt a pull, a connection to something ancient and untouchable.

Victor, ever attentive, picked up small, colorful shells from the shore. He carefully strung them together and draped them around my neck, his hands gentle despite the chaos around us.