A Peacock Husband of Five Princesses by day, a Noble Assassin by Night Chapter 186

That earned another small smile from him—amused, pitying. "But isn’t she a burden to you? That’s what you said, rember?"

His tone was mocking, but the words were hers—the sa ones she’d spoken in that glowing diner six years ago.

Sasha’s voice broke into a scream. "Amy might not have been born from love, but she’s still my daughter! The one I carried, the one I raised, the one who made feel human again!"

Her chest heaved. "She is my life!"

For the first ti, the man’s expression flickered—faint surprise, then quiet disappointnt.

"It doesn’t matter whether you love her or not, milady." He straightened his collar with delicate precision. "You wished for stardom. You were given it. And now, you must make the sacrifice."

He began to fade, his voice echoing as if carried by wind.

"Five days, Miss Rodriguez. Spend them well. Cherish your little burden while you can."

"Wait!" Sasha cried. "Wait—!"

The light shattered.

She gasped and sat upright in bed, heart hamring against her ribs.

Her hair clung to her sweaty skin, and her throat felt raw as if she’d been screaming for hours.

Next to her, Alia stirred. "Mommy?" she mumbled, rubbing her eyes. "You okay?"

Sasha swallowed hard, forcing a shaky smile. "Yeah, baby. I just had a bad dream."

She pulled her daughter into her arms, holding her so tight the little girl squeaked. But she didn’t let go.

The next morning, sunlight spilled over the city like lted gold.

Sasha drove with both hands gripping the wheel, her knuckles white. Alia sat in the backseat, humming softly to a children’s song on her tablet, oblivious to the storm beside her.

Their car stopped before an ancient cathedral—the oldest in the country, St. Louis Cathedral.

Its white spires pierced the sky. Pigeons fluttered across its arches. And for the first ti in years, Sasha felt small.

Inside, cool air wrapped around them. Candles flickered along the pews. The scent of incense lingered thick and sweet.

A man in white robes turned as she approached. His face was kind, though weathered by years of hearing too many confessions.

"Miss Rodriguez," the Bishop said softly. "You asked to see privately."

Sasha clasped her hands tightly. "Father... I need your help." Her voice trembled. "I know this will sound insane, but... I’m being haunted. By a demon."

The Bishop’s brows lifted slightly, but he didn’t interrupt.

"He said he’d co for my daughter. That she’ll die on her seventh birthday. That I made a... a promise." Her voice cracked. "Please, I don’t rember everything, but it feels real. Please, help protect her."

The Bishop studied her carefully. The flickering light cast sharp shadows on his face.

Finally, he nodded. "This is the Lord’s house, my child. He does not abandon His own, no matter the sins or the bargains they’ve made."

Sasha’s eyes filled with tears. "You believe ?"

"I believe that evil hides in many forms," he said gravely. "And if what you say is true, we shall seek His rcy and His strength. But we must act carefully—and quietly. No one outside this church can know."

Sasha exhaled shakily, pressing her palms together. "Thank you, Father. I’ll do anything."

The Bishop placed a hand on her shoulder, eyes gentle but firm.

"Then you must prepare yourself, my child. Demons rarely co uninvited."

Would you like the next Chapter (Chapter 9) to begin with the Bishop performing a private blessing over Sasha and Alia — while strange signs begin to manifest inside the church (like flickering candles, the piano hymn distorting, or Alia staring at sothing unseen)?

Chapter 9: The Price of Salvation

The stone walls of the church were cold even under heavy blankets. Sasha and Amy slept in one of the guest quarters, the soft flicker of candlelight breathing shadows across the walls. Outside, the cathedral bells tolled softly with the wind, each note echoing like a warning.

For the first ti in days, Sasha thought she might actually rest.

Her hand rested protectively over her daughter’s small back. The child’s breathing was steady, innocent. Sasha’s own eyes grew heavy.

And then—silence.

When she opened them again, she was no longer in the guest room.

The air was thick, tinted gold and red, slling faintly of incense and blood. She stood barefoot in the church’s prayer hall. Every candle was lit, their flas unnaturally still.

At the far end of the hall, before the towering statue of the Lord, stood the man.

But this ti, he wasn’t at the piano.

He played a violin.

The lody was heartbreaking—slow, mournful, almost reverent. Yet underneath the beauty, there was venom. The strings wept as if begging for forgiveness.

When Sasha spoke, her voice echoed strangely. "You again..."

He didn’t turn. "Couldn’t sleep, milady?" he said, his tone amused, each note of the violin flowing like liquid sin.

She took a trembling step forward. "Leave alone. Leave her alone."

He stopped playing. The bow froze mid-air.

Then he turned, slowly, gracefully, his golden eyes catching the candlelight. "The Church won’t help you either." He smiled, polite but cruel. "Four days left, milady. You’d better accept your destiny."

Sasha fell to her knees before him, her hands clasped in desperation.

"Please," she whispered. "Don’t hurt my daughter. Take everything else—my fa, my money, my life, I don’t care. I’ll give it all up."

The man’s expression softened for a fleeting mont. Then he sighed and lowered the violin.

"You humans always bargain with what you understand," he said gently. "Money. Glory. Comfort."

He crouched before her, their faces inches apart. His voice dropped to a silken whisper.

"You can gain money by killing soone, but can you resurrect the dead by paying for it? No."

He tilted his head, studying her eyes. "In the sa way, money can be bought with life... but life cannot be bought with material gains."

He straightened, resting the violin on his shoulder again.

"If you are to negotiate, then you must put fair terms on the table."

A single note hung in the air, vibrating like a warning.