A Peacock Husband of Five Princesses by day, a Noble Assassin by Night Chapter 188 188: Raw chapter

phistopheles lounged on a velvet sofa before her, one leg crossed over the other, a glass of Spiritwine resting lazily in his hand. His eyes glead like molten tal.

He smiled when he saw her. "Ah, milady. I was wondering if you'd show up."

Sasha steadied her breath, clutching the book against her chest. "I haven't given up."

"Good," he said. "So… have you decided? Rember, you only have one chance to negotiate. After this, no second offers."

Sasha looked up at him, her fear buried under exhaustion and love. "You said sothing yesterday—that money can be bought with life, but life cannot be bought with material gains."

He raised an eyebrow. "Indeed."

"That's why I have a counterproposal."

The devil's smile twitched, intrigued. "I'm listening."

Sasha took a deep breath, forcing her voice not to crack. "Take my soul instead. As your paynt. Just… give my daughter ti. Let her grow. Let her see life—love, joy, pain, everything a human should see before she dies."

Her voice trembled. "Please, let her live."

For a long mont, phistopheles said nothing.

Then he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, eyes gleaming in the low light. "Interesting. You wish to substitute your soul for hers?"

"Yes."

He chuckled softly. "You're clever, milady. Clever… but I wonder—are you brave enough to bear the consequences of what that truly ans?"

Sasha t his gaze, her heart pounding. "If it ans Amy lives… yes."

His smile widened, cold and beautiful. "Very well, then. I'll consider your proposal."

He raised the glass of Spiritwine to his lips and took a slow sip.

"Tomorrow night," he said, "I'll give you my answer."

The diner lights flickered once—and vanished.

Would you like the next chapter (Chapter 11) to open the following night, when phistopheles returns with his answer—offering her a twisted version of rcy, one that grants Alia life but demands a cruel, unexpected cost?

The world around Sasha shimred again—the air heavy with smoke and gold light. The faint sll of wine and candle wax filled her lungs.

phistopheles was already there, sitting with his legs crossed, the sa gentle, elegant smile on his face. His eyes glead like they carried a whole night sky inside them.

When she appeared before him, he gave a low whistle. "You ca back."

Sasha swallowed hard. "I'm ready to hear your answer."

He leaned back, resting an arm along the sofa's edge. "You know," he said softly, "you continue to surprise , milady. I've dealt with countless mortals over the ages—kings, mothers, thieves, priests. So begged for their own lives, others offered themselves for their children. But you…"

He tilted his head, eyes narrowing in fascination. "You offered your soul not to save your daughter forever, but simply so she could live a little longer. That's… rare."

Sasha stood silent, her hands trembling at her sides.

He sighed, swirling the wine in his glass. "Still, I find sincerity refreshing. So I'll grant your request—but with terms."

Her throat tightened. "Terms?"

He raised a finger. "Twelve years. That's all I can give your child in exchange for your soul, milady. After that—when her ti cos—I'll claim her soul as well. That is the best I can offer."

Her eyes widened. "Twelve years…"

He nodded calmly. "Now, for confirmation—will you proceed with this exchange or not? You have one day to decide. Think carefully."

He paused, letting the silence stretch. "After all," he added, voice smooth as silk, "you are still young. You can always bear another child, can't you?"

Sasha's heart clenched. "No."

The word ca out broken, almost a whisper.

She lifted her chin, tears glinting in her eyes. "I don't want another child. I want her."

phistopheles watched her quietly. No mockery, no laughter this ti.

Finally, he stood and inclined his head slightly, like a gentleman closing a deal. "Very well, milady. You truly are a mother."

Before she could speak, she took a shaky breath and said, "One more thing. Don't take my life right away. I don't want Amy to spend her birthday in despair. Take after her birthday. Please."

phistopheles was silent for a long mont. Then he smiled faintly. "You wish to make her happy before the end."

He raised his hand, and a faint golden seal shimred in the air between them, like ink swirling through light. "I accept your terms, milady. Your soul will be taken two days after your child's upcoming birthday."

Sasha's lips trembled, but she nodded. "Then we have a deal."

The seal pulsed once—then disappeared.

And with it, the light.

When she opened her eyes, the dawn light seeped through the window. The first sound she heard was Amy humming softly in her sleep.

Sasha brushed a strand of hair from her daughter's face and whispered, "I've bought you ti, my angel."

She forced a smile. "Twelve more years."

The next morning, she found the Bishop praying in the small chapel.

"Father," she said softly. "It's done. The nightmare's over."

The Bishop turned to her, hopeful. "You an… he's gone?"

Sasha nodded, the lie steady on her lips. "Yes. It's been resolved."

He closed his eyes in relief. "Thank the Lord."

She smiled faintly, bowing her head. "Yes… thank the Lord."

By afternoon, she had packed their things and left the church.

Back ho, she called her manager, Ava.

"I need you to contact a notary," she said. Her voice was calm—too calm. "I'm finalizing my will."

Ava froze on the other end of the call. "Sasha, are you okay? Why would you—"

"Just do it."

A few hours later, in the quiet of her study, Sasha sat across from the notary and signed her na on the last page.

All property, savings, and intellectual rights—everything she owned—would go to her daughter, Alia Rodriguez.

In the event of her death, custody would pass to her parents, and failing that, to her younger brother.

When the papers were stamped and sealed, she leaned back and exhaled slowly.

It was the sound of a woman who had already made peace with dying.

That night, as she tucked Amy into bed, the little girl looked up sleepily.

"Mommy, why are you crying?"

Sasha smiled through wet lashes. "Because Mommy's happy."

Amy yawned, giggling. "You cry funny when you're happy."

Sasha kissed her forehead. "Maybe. But I'm crying because I have you."

She turned off the light and whispered into the darkness,

"I'll make your birthday perfect, my love."

Outside, the wind carried a faint sound through the night—

the echo of a piano key, soft and distant, like a promise waiting to be collected.

Would you like the next chapter (Chapter 12) to cover Amy's 7th birthday celebration—Sasha's bittersweet attempt to make it perfect, the emotional calm before phisto returns to claim his due?

The world loved a fairy tale, and Sasha's life looked like one.

On the evening of her 30th birthday, the lights of the city glowed brighter than ever before. Reporters, actors, producers, and politicians—all gathered at the Crystal Pavilion, where silver chandeliers glittered like constellations. Caras flashed, and every screen in the country stread the event live:

"Sasha Rodriguez — The Nation's Star Turns 30!"

It wasn't just her birthday, though.

It was also Alia's seventh.

At the center of the grand ballroom, two cakes sat side by side—one white and gold, tall and elegant, the other small and pink, decorated with chocolate stars.

Sasha wore a pearl-white gown, her hair falling in soft curls. She looked radiant, though a faint tremor occasionally passed through her hands. Amy wore a matching dress and clung to her mother's arm with an excitent that made every cara linger on them longer.

The audience clapped as the host announced,

"Tonight, we celebrate not only the brightest star of our generation but also the light of her life—her daughter, little Alia!"

Applause thundered. Sasha laughed gently, holding Amy's hand and helping her blow out the candles. For a fleeting second, her smile looked genuine, untouched by fear.

The night was perfect.

They danced. They laughed.

Sasha made sure Amy t everyone she loved—her grandparents, uncles, her teachers. She stayed with her the whole evening, her arm always around the girl's shoulders.

When the crowd finally dispersed and the stage lights dimd, Sasha carried Amy in her arms back to the car. Her manager offered to drive, but Sasha refused.

"I'll drive tonight," she said softly. "It's our night."

Amy, half-asleep, murmured, "It was the best birthday ever, Mommy."

Sasha smiled through her tears. "I'm glad, baby. I really am."

Two days passed quietly. The dia was still buzzing about the glamorous event. Fans flooded social dia with love and adoration. Sasha's last photos from that night—her laughing with Amy, her eyes shining—trended everywhere.

But behind closed doors, the mansion was silent.

It was past midnight when the clock struck twelve.

Amy slept peacefully in her room, clutching her stuffed rabbit.

Sasha sat by the window, gazing at the moon. She looked calm—too calm. Her makeup was gone, her hair loose. A half-finished letter sat on her desk, folded neatly beside a frad photograph of her and Amy.