Rosalia — POV
Cassel did not loosen his hold on even after I opened my eyes.
His arm was still wrapped tightly around my waist, his palm resting against my back as if he feared that the mont he let go, I might disappear—turn to smoke, or shatter into sothing he could never gather again.
"Are you feeling better now?"
His voice was gentle—soft, careful, almost fragile.
The kind of tone that belonged to soone who had already lost sothing precious once and was terrified of losing it again.
"If you’re hungry," he continued quietly, "tell what you’d like to eat. I’ll prepare it for you."
I looked up at him.
At the man holding on the bed, his embrace possessive yet trembling, his gaze locked onto my face with an intensity that bordered on fear.
His eyes were bloodshot, his lashes still clumped slightly from dried tears.
He looked nothing like the cold, ruthless villain everyone else feared.
He looked like a man who had spent the entire night on the edge of collapse.
I had already cald down a great deal.
---
Last night, after my breakdown—after I had scread, cried, and finally confessed the truth that had been gnawing at my sanity for so long—I felt strangely empty.
Exhausted.
As if all the anger and sorrow had finally burned themselves out.
I had told him everything.
That I was not the real Rosalia from this world.
That my soul ca from another world.
That I had crossed into this body and stolen soone else’s life.
I had been certain that he would hate .
After all, what man could accept such a truth?
What kind of love could survive the knowledge that the person you cherished was never real to begin with?
When the storm of emotions passed and my rage cooled, all that remained was fear.
Cold, suffocating fear.
I lay there trembling, my mind racing through countless possibilities—rejection, disgust, anger, madness.
I imagined Cassel’s face twisting in horror, his hands pushing away, his voice turning cold as he ordered out of his sight.
I was prepared for everything.
Everything except what actually happened.
The mont my sobbing quieted, the mont I curled into myself like a frightened child, Cassel pulled into his arms and laid down on the bed.
He tucked the blanket around with hands that shook slightly, adjusted the pillow beneath my head, and then climbed in beside —careful, hesitant, as though I might break.
He wrapped himself around and refused to let go.
Even when I fell asleep, his arms remained tight.
Even when I stirred, his grip only tightened further, as if my smallest movent terrified him.
He stayed awake the entire night.
I knew that because every ti I shifted, his gaze was already on —watchful, alert, terrified that I might slip away while he wasn’t looking.
His face was still stained with dried tears now, his expression filled with a fear that had not faded with the dawn.
Every thought he had revolved around .
Every breath, every heartbeat.
When I finally understood the depth of his concern, sothing warm and overwhelming flooded my chest.
It was then that I realized—
In this lifeti, no matter what I did...
Cassel would never hate .
That realization was the happiest discovery of my life.
I hesitated for a mont before speaking again, my fingers unconsciously gripping the fabric of his shirt.
I wanted to tell him more.
About my forr world.
About how this place—his life, his pain, his fate—was nothing more than words written in a novel by soone sitting in a quiet room.
I was afraid.
Afraid that once he truly understood the absurdity of it all, once his worldview was shattered, it would hurt him in ways I couldn’t repair.
But the mont I opened my mouth to speak, Cassel leaned down and kissed .
Not gently.
Not hesitantly.
But fiercely—almost desperately—until my thoughts scattered and my words dissolved against his lips.
Every ti I tried again, he did the sa.
As if he were afraid that if I spoke, I would say sothing that would push us past a point of no return.
And so, eventually, I surrendered.
After all, my favorite villain was not weak-minded or foolish.
If the truth truly threatened him, he would have faced it head-on.
The fact that he chose silence ant he had already accepted it in his own way.
There was no need to force him.
---
I studied his face quietly—the sharp line of his chin, the familiar curve of his lips, the bridge of his nose.
When my gaze finally t his eyes, I saw nothing but unwavering love and a terrifying level of devotion.
"Why do you always ask if I want to eat?" I said suddenly, frowning slightly. "Do I look like a pig to you? Eating all day?"
Cassel blinked, caught off guard.
I continued before he could respond, "What kind of food would I even eat at dawn? The sun is about to rise. We’ll have breakfast with the others."
He froze for a second—then laughed softly.
"Alright, alright. My fault," he said indulgently. "We’ll do as you say, my beloved wife."
He lowered his head and rubbed his chin lightly against my hair, just once, like an affectionate little puppy seeking attention.
My heart nearly lted.
I couldn’t stop the smile that spread across my face.
But at that mont, I rembered there is still a big problem called Matthew that is waiting to be solved.
A heavy sigh escaped my lips before I could stop it.
From everything Cassel had said last night, I finally understood sothing important.
His obsession with existed on an entirely different level.
I wasn’t narcissistic enough to believe the world revolved around .
But the way he looked at .
The way his voice turned dark when he spoke of other n.
The way he admitted that he hated the thought of stepping on ground others had walked on.
Hated the idea of smiling at anyone else...
His possessiveness far surpassed mine.
I only hated those who hurt him.
The woman who tried to seduce him in the novel.
The people who used him, betrayed him, or discarded him.
But I wasn’t insane enough to wish death upon every woman in the world just so he wouldn’t look at anyone else.
Cassel, however, seed capable of exactly that.
And because of that, I finally understood his fury—his jealousy toward Matthew, his desire to erase him completely.
He had misunderstood.
He thought Matthew held a special place in my heart.
"What is it?" Cassel asked quietly. "What are you thinking about?"
"Matthew—"
The word slipped out before I could stop myself.
Instantly, Cassel’s expression darkened.
His hand ca up and cupped my face, his grip firm, forcing to look at him.
"Rosalia," he growled, his voice low and dangerous, "are you trying to kill ?"
His eyes burned. "How can you lie in my arms, in my bed, and still think about another man?"
"C-calm down," I said quickly. "It’s not like that."
The pain in his eyes hit harder than his anger.
He looked genuinely hurt.
I sighed, leaned forward, and pressed a light kiss to his lips.
When that wasn’t enough, I kissed him again.
And again.
And again.
I didn’t stop until my lips tingled and ached, until his grip loosened and the sharp edge in his gaze softened.
Holding his face, I whispered, "Are you calm now? If you are, then listen to . Just this once."
Cassel hesitated—but he didn’t interrupt.
He simply nodded, his eyes fixed on mine.
And so, I told him everything.
Matthew’s childhood.
His neglect.
His tragic future.
Every major event he would face.
I omitted only one thing—the part where he would one day kill Cassel.
That truth would never leave my lips.
When I finished, I looked into Cassel’s eyes and said quietly, "Other than you, I truly don’t care about anyone in this world. The reason I care about the people around you is that you care about them. I don’t want you to lose your family or suffer because of them."
I paused, swallowing hard.
"As for Matthew... my concern is selfish."
I forced a bitter smile. "Because he’s like ..."
I told him about my family.
About my mother’s favoritism.
About the novels I read as a teenager—stories of fake heiresses and lost daughters.
"I convinced myself I wasn’t really hers," I said softly.
"That way, it wouldn’t hurt so much when she hit or shouted at ."
Cassel’s arms tightened around .
"I even took hair samples and had them tested," I continued.
"Do you know what the result was?"
He said nothing.
He only pulled closer.
"We were really mother and daughter," I whispered.
"That was the cruelest part."
I closed my eyes.
"Matthew isn’t like ," I said at last.
"He still has a future. He can be loved. He can succeed."
I looked at Cassel, my voice steady despite the ache in my chest.
"That’s why I want to help him. Nothing more."
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