The boutique manager stood frozen for a mont, her heart pounding as she watched Celine’s guards struggle to regain control of their limbs. Their movents were sluggish, and uncoordinated, as if their bodies were still reeling from the unseen force that had rendered them helpless monts ago. But even in their disoriented state, they managed to haul Celine upright, her body trembling from a mixture of rage, humiliation, and pain.
Celine’s whimpers echoed through the boutique as she clutched her sore wrist, her pride shattered beyond repair. Her eyes darted frantically toward her guards, seeking so semblance of control, but they refused to et her gaze. Without another word, they turned toward the exit, moving with stiff, robotic precision. It took a few seconds for Celine to realize they were already leaving—and that her phone was still missing.
The boutique manager inhaled sharply and hurried after them. "Excuse , please wait!" she called, rushing to their side.
Celine’s guards hesitated, but she paid them no mind, instead extending the device toward Celine with a polite, impassive expression. "Your phone, Miss Carver."
Celine snatched it from her hand without a word, her grip tight, her nails pressing into the glass screen. The manager stepped back and forced a tight-lipped smile before holding the door open. As soon as they disappeared through it, she let it swing shut and released a long, shaky exhale.
It was over.
For now.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she smoothed down the front of her blouse, still feeling the weight of the tension lingering in the air.
"Ma’am? Are you alright?"
The soft, composed voice snapped her back to reality. She turned to see Ephyra watching her, a faint, knowing smile on her lips.
The manager flushed in embarrassnt and quickly shook her head. "Forgive , I’m alright," she reassured, composing herself. "That was just... unexpected."
Ephyra’s smile didn’t waver. "You handled it well."
The manager swallowed, feeling an odd mix of relief and apprehension at the complint. "Thank you, Miss Ephyra." She straightened her shoulders. "Would you like to continue selecting gowns, or shall we move on to another section?"
Ephyra glanced at the remaining dresses, then at Jania, who stood by her side, smirking in quiet amusent.
"Let’s move on," Ephyra said smoothly.
The manager nodded and quickly guided them toward the next section, eager to return to normalcy.
The air in the car was thick with an unspoken understanding as Ephyra and Jania settled into their seats. The driver pulled away from the boutique without a word.
Jania was the first to break the silence, leaning back against the plush seat with a chuckle. "You asked to learn about Marianna’s state, right?"
Ephyra turned her head slightly, her gaze sharp. "Yes. Do you have information?"
Jania humd a slow, deliberate sound that hinted at sothing intriguing. "Hmm."
Ephyra arched a brow, waiting.
Jania smirked, reaching into her bag and pulling out a sleek tablet. She tapped the screen a few tis before handing it over. "See for yourself."
Ephyra took the device, her gaze narrowing as the video played.
The scene unfolded in a stark, sterile room illuminated by harsh white lights. A tal table with cuff restraints sat at the center, flanked by two steel chairs. The air in the room seed heavy, suffocating.
Seated at the table was a woman who barely resembled the once-arrogant Marianna. Her wrists were bound in tal cuffs, her posture eerily still, save for the shallow rise and fall of her chest. Her once-pristine appearance had deteriorated—her hair, greasy and unkempt, clung to her gaunt face, and her clothes hung loosely on her frail fra.
She looked like absolute shit.
Ephyra tilted her head, lips curving into a slow, cold smile.
Jania’s voice broke the silence. "The first two days were easy on her. They only questioned her once, standard procedure. But then she ran her mouth and pissed off the wrong officers." Jania chuckled, shaking her head. "After that, they stopped treating her like a suspect and started treating her like a criminal who had already confessed. No special treatnt, no patience."
Ephyra’s gaze flickered back to the screen as the video continued. Marianna didn’t move. Not even a flinch.
"She tried to hold out," Jania continued, her tone laced with amusent. "But by the third day, the cracks started to show. Sleep deprivation, the constant questioning, ntal strain, isolation—it wore her down fast. You know how she is—vain, pampered, entitled. She wasn’t built to endure this kind of pressure."
Ephyra let out a quiet hum of agreent, her fingers lightly tapping against the tablet.
Jania leaned back against the seat, crossing her legs. "They haven’t even started the real punishnt yet. She’s barely at the beginning."
Ephyra’s smile deepened. "Good."
Jania’s smirk widened as she continued, her tone dripping with satisfaction. "Just before the end of one of her worst interrogations, she finally broke. She scread, cursed, and thrashed against her restraints, spewing every confession they wanted—and then so. But out of everything, cursing you was what she did most. She spat your na like a curse, swearing she’d see you dead."
Ephyra let out a soft, mocking laugh. "How predictable."
Jania chuckled. "Pathetic. She lasted barely a week." She crossed one leg over the other, tapping her nails against the leather seat. "Her confession has already been submitted to the court. In two days, they’ll hold a hearing, but with the evidence we provided—especially her involvent in the child trafficking ring at her forr orphanage—she’s done for. Life imprisonnt is the best outco she could hope for."
Ephyra’s gaze darkened, her smile turning razor-sharp. "Perfect." She handed the tablet back to Jania. "We’ll pay her a visit once she’s sentenced and transferred."
Jania’s smirk mirrored hers. "Looking forward to it."
Right. What are you planning to do about the old man?" Jania asked, tilting her head with a smirk. "He sounded furious over the phone."
Ephyra leaned back, her expression indifferent. "Nothing. Let’s see what he does to ’avenge his spoilt granddaughter.’" Her voice dripped with mockery.
Jania chuckled, shaking her head. "Cold as ever. Anyway, Rylie Carver will want to set up a eting with you soon. You did say we should let him find out you’re Master Lyle’s wife."
Ephyra humd, a sly smile playing on her lips. "I expected him to reach out by now. Don’t you think he’s taking too long?"
Jania rolled her eyes. "What I think is that you’re insane, and whatever you’re scheming is bound to be a headache for everyone else and it better go according to your plan because Master Lyle will be furious if he finds out.."
Ephyra grinned. "I know. But don’t worry—it’ll all go according to the nonexistent plan I have." She laughed, the sound rich with amusent.
Jania pursed her lips, trying—and failing—to suppress her smile. "You’re such an ass."
Ephyra smirked. "And yet, you adore ."
Jania groaned. "Please don’t say it like that."
Ephyra laughed again, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Relax. The only person I want is my devilishly handso husband, the most powerful businessman in the world. I have no interest in won, thank you very much."
Jania snorted. "You’re ridiculous."
"And yet, you’re still here."
Jania sighed, shaking her head with a smirk. "Unfortunately."
———
At the north of a large private island, water lapped gently against the jagged cliffs, the rhythm of the waves indifferent to the storm brewing in the hearts of n. The dense forest stretched inland, a labyrinth of towering trees and twisting roots that had stood undisturbed for centuries. But tonight, sothing unnatural lay among them.
A body.
Beneath the shifting shadows of moonlight filtering through the canopy, a male corpse in a torn patient uniform lay in the undergrowth at the edge of the forest, his body eerily still, untouched by scavengers or decay. The preservation techniques had done their work well—pale skin unmarred by ti, his features frozen in an expression of vacant stillness. A deep gash ran along his temple, the only visible wound, though the true cause of his death lay hidden beneath the surface.
The night air carried the distant cry of a seabird, a lonely sound against the quiet hush of rustling leaves. A breeze stirred the branches overhead, scattering moonlight across the lifeless form like a fractured spotlight. Sowhere in the darkness, a pair of unseen eyes watched.
Minutes passed. Then, a flicker of movent.
From the depths of the forest, the first sign of discovery arrived—a patrol unit, their boots crunching against damp earth. Flashlights cut through the gloomy beams sweeping through the undergrowth until they landed on the still figure.
Silence.
Then the sharp intake of breath.
"God above..." one of the n muttered, stepping forward cautiously. He crouched beside the body, gloved fingers reaching out to brush against the cold wrist. A second man, older, battle-hardened, exhaled through his nose.
"It’s him," he confird grimly.
"Who?" a younger guard asked in confusion.
The middle-aged guard swallowed hard. "Should we—"
"Call it in," the older man interrupted, his voice clipped, knowing what this discovery ant. "Now."
As the younger man fumbled for his communicator, the older guard straightened, his gaze drifting to the distant mansion, where the master of the island still remained blissfully unaware.
Not for long.
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