Rosalia — POV
At first, when Cassel grabbed and said he wanted to talk, I thought he was rely uncomfortable—uneasy because I had hidden too many things from him, because I knew Matthew, because I had scread Matthew’s na earlier without thinking.
I assud that was all.
I assud he wanted to question again, to press about how I knew Matthew, to demand answers I was already exhausted from avoiding.
But I was wrong.
So terribly wrong.
One mo. After all, trapped between desire and love, my body burning where Cassel’s arms held , his grip tight and possessive, pulling flush against him as though afraid I might disappear if he loosened his hold even slightly.
And the very next mont—
I was dragged into a frozen world of piercing cold and suffocating fear.
All because of one question.
A single sentence from Cassel’s lips was enough to shatter everything.
I wanted to act foolishly.
I wanted to pretend I didn’t understand what he ant.
I wanted to laugh it off, to twist his words into sothing harmless.
I wanted to escape from his embrace, which no longer felt warm, but crushing—like iron bars closing around , like a cage with no door, no rcy.
But all of those thoughts vanished the instant I saw his face.
The instant I felt his body tremble beneath my hands.
The instant I saw the devastation carved into his expression—so broken, so raw, so painfully sorrowful that it felt as though my chest had been torn open.
And then—
A single tear slipped from his beautiful black eyes.
That was when I broke.
I couldn’t endure it anymore.
I no longer had the strength to remain standing.
It felt as though my entire world was collapsing right in front of , crumbling piece by piece, turning to dust before I could reach out and stop it.
"Cassel..." My voice shook violently. "What’s wrong? What happened? Please don’t scare . Please—talk to . Cae—"
I was crying for him.
Crying desperately, clinging to him, trying to force him to speak, to tell what kind of pain could reduce him to this state. My words ca out fractured, drowned in sobs I couldn’t control.
Maybe crying itself isn’t frightening.
But when the one crying is Cassel—
Everything changes.
Cassel—the man I knew, who had endured countless tragedies and brutal hardships since childhood.
Cae—the boy who had been deceived, betrayed, and abandoned by those who should have protected him.
Cae—the child who had once been thrown into a pit crawling with zombies and left there to die.
This Cae had lived his entire life tasting bitterness without ever knowing sweetness, and yet he still carried himself with composure.
Cassel, who had borne everything alone.
Cassel, who had never been comforted, never been held, never had anyone wipe away his pain.
He learned how to hide his suffering.
He learned how to bury his sorrow.
He learned how to seal his tears behind an unbreakable mask.
The Cassel I knew did not cry.
I had never seen him cry.
I had never even read that he cried on the day his mother died.
...His mother.
How could I forget?
The thought struck like lightning.
Could it be that he rembered her?
But... was today the anniversary of her death?
I couldn’t rember the exact date.
I didn’t think.
I didn’t hesitate.
Because at that mont, my world consisted of nothing but Cassel.
And so I spoke—too fast, too recklessly—blurting out the vow buried deep inside my heart.
I swore I would avenge her.
I swore I would avenge her death.
I swore I would punish her killers.
The instant those words left my mouth—
Cassel looked at with a sharp, calculating gaze.
It was over.
The mont was gone.
Like spilled milk that could never be gathered again, my words soaked into the ground between us, irreversible. I didn’t even have ti to cry over them before Cassel grabbed my hand.
And then—
Word by word, each ti he opened his mouth, my heart clenched tighter, faster, until it felt like it would shatter completely.
"How do you know?"
"How do you know about my mother’s death—a secret no one knows?"
"I—I just... I just—"
"Just what?" he snapped sharply. "Are you going to say you heard it sowhere? There isn’t a single living soul who knows the details of that incident except ."
His gaze burned into .
Then, suddenly, his eyes dropped—to my hand.
I was so stunned that I forgot my original intention to escape.
And then he spoke again, his voice deep, cold, heavy with a aning that sent chills down my spine.
"Unless..."
His fingers tightened.
"...you’re working with my father. And Cecile."
"What?" I whispered, disbelief crashing over .
Shocked—not only by his suspicion, but by the fact that he could even imagine such a thing.
That I, Rosalia, would ever join hands with those murderous bastards.
With the very people I wanted nothing more than to see destroyed.
"Are you—" My lips trembled violently. "Do you suspect ? Of being a spy sent by your father?"
"Then what else?" he replied coldly. "You know everything about —what I love, what I hate, how I think, even the aning behind my glances. You know things you shouldn’t know. Things no one else knows."
"If you think about it carefully," he continued, voice sharp, "doesn’t that an you studied in secret?"
"Is that why you got close to from the beginning?"
"Because of your plan?"
"Stop."
"Don’t say anymore."
I shouted emotionally, pushing against his solid chest, striking him weakly—but it was useless.
He grabbed my wrists and pinned them behind my back, trapping completely, staring down at with a gaze filled with pain, suspicion, and emotions I couldn’t comprehend.
"So this is why you pretended to love ?"
That was when I cried for myself.
For my feelings.
Because I felt trampled on.
Mocked.
Discarded like sothing fake and worthless.
Because it felt as though my madly devoted heart had been thrown away and labeled a lie.
For , everything is acceptable—
Except when my favorite villain is insulted.
Anything is fine... except touching my one and only red line.
Hit .
Curse .
Destroy if you must.
But don’t belittle my love for my one and only villain.
I rembered a hateful critic from my previous world—soone who constantly insulted the novel and its characters, calling them shallow, stupid, brainless.
A so-called "dark fan" who mocked Cassel, calling him insane, claiming that anyone who loved him must be blind and crazy.
I attacked him rcilessly.
I stalked his comnts.
Analyzed his words.
Insulted him.
Tore apart everything he said.
Whenever he appeared in a discussion, I wrote long, ruthless responses, dismantling his arguntclaidstroying him sentence by sentence.
In the real world, I was weak and shy.
But online—
My tongue was unstoppable.
That critic eventually ssaged , apologizing, begging for forgiveness, saying he was sorry—even though he couldn’t even specify when or how he had offended . He was terrified after I followed him relentlessly for three entire months.
And now—
When the man I loved...
When the man I was willing to lose everything for...
When he doubted my feelings—
I couldn’t think clearly.
I couldn’t breathe properly.
My mouth no longer followed my mind.
It followed my heart.
And that was why—
The mont I saw doubt and rejection in Cassel’s eyes,
The mont I heard his words—
I couldn’t stop myself.
Yes.
I exploded.
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