Wrong Script, Right Love Chapter 56: From Sugar to Fire

[ThorenVald Estate—Morning—Leif’s Office—Leif’s POV]

The cloak was still draped dramatically over my shoulders, the cape of a conqueror about to claim the capital, when my eyes landed on it.

The envelope. The other one. The one I had completely—blissfully—forgotten.

Oh, perfect. Because what’s a grand, glorious plan without a little chaos lurking in the wings?

I picked it up delicately, as though it were a venomous snake disguised as stationery. The paper was thick, smooth, and suspiciously pristine—like it knew it was about to ruin my morning. No na. No seal. Just... ominous anticipation.

I held it in the air. Dramatic pause. Perfectly theatrical. A deep breath. And then...

I ripped it open.

Inside was a single sheet of paper. Short. Sharp. Terrifying in its absolute sweetness:

"Lord Leif... how are you?I heard you left for Frojnholm. I don’t know the reason why... but let remind you, Lord Leif... Saintess Selection Day is near. I hope you didn’t forget your promise and visit us and stand with !...Your dearest friend, Elowen."

. . .

. . .

I blinked. Slowly. Carefully. Then blinked again.

I held the letter in my hands like it was a steaming pile of... dog poop. Mutely, I muttered to myself, "Wow... why do I feel like sugar syrup is literally oozing out of this paper?"

Zephyy, perched on the desk like a tiny, judgntal dragon, hissed softly. "Master? This... doesn’t look dangerous at all."

"Not dangerous?" I whispered, my voice trembling with horror, confusion, and the faint whiff of impending diabetes. "Zephyy... this is far worse. Too much sugar, Zephyy... too much sweetness... it’s poisonous! It will rot the teeth of my very soul! It will corrode my dignity! And eventually... it will give diabetes!"

Zephyy blinked, innocently tilting his head. "What is... diabetes, Master?"

I turned sharply toward him, eyes wide as if the universe itself had conspired against and whispered. "It’s a deadly disease! A vile affliction of the blood, a silent destroyer, a nace to life itself! And we shall not succumb!"

I stord toward the fireplace with all the gravitas of a hero confronting the villain in the final act. The letter trembled in my hands like a sugar-coated criminal caught in the act.

"Be gone, foul concoction of sentintality!" I shouted, tossing the paper into the roaring flas. The fire hissed as if mocking , licking the sugar-coated words into oblivion.

Zephyy wrinkled his snout, flicking his tail. "Master... I think you might be overreacting just a tiny bit."

"Yeah... whatever..." I muttered, waving him off like an exhausted monarch dismissing court.

Nick eyed the burning paper suspiciously. "My lord... whose letter was that?"

I slumped on the couch like a tragic hero after Act Three. "Just a useless letter..." I said, staring at the ceiling as if it might rain rcy on .

Nick nodded politely. "Then, shall I bring so refreshnts?"

I smiled weakly, reaching out to him as though he were a beacon of sanity. "Nick... you’re the best person in this entire world. I love you so—"

"WHAT?!"

I flinched so hard I nearly fell off the couch. Nick froze mid-step. Zephyy’s tail stopped flicking. Even my crimson babies stopped mid-yawn.

And there he was.

Alvar.

Leaning against the doorfra like a predator in a romance novel, arms crossed, eyes glinting dangerously. That smirk—the kind of smirk that promised either passion or murder, possibly both.

"Complete that word," he drawled, voice low and dark, "and see what punishnt you get."

My jaw worked soundlessly. "I—I was just—Nick is—he’s—"

Nick blinked, caught in the blast zone. Zephyy blinked, clearly amused. My crimson babies blinked too, like a Greek chorus enjoying the drama.

Then, very wisely, Nick cleared his throat, gently plucked Zephyy off my shoulder, and said in the politest voice known to man, "I shall... leave, my lord."

Zephyy twisted in his arms, tail swishing like a delighted cat. "Yes, yes, Nick, let’s go. Feed snacks instead of my Master. Less drama, more treats."

And just like that... they were gone. All of them. Leaving alone.

Alone with Alvar.

Who was basically shooting lasers from his eyes.

He stalked closer, slow and deliberate, like a storm rolling over the horizon. His shadow swallowed mine as he stopped just a step away, tilting his head slightly.

"’I love you so...’" he repeated, his voice smooth but razor-sharp. "Interesting choice of words, Leif."

I tried to laugh, but it ca out like a squeak. "Oh, you know, I—I love everyone. In a... general sense. Broad strokes. Big picture love. Totally platonic. Very saint-like."

Alvar leaned down, close enough that I could feel the warmth of his breath on my cheek. "Is that so? Because from where I’m standing..." He smirked, eyes glittering like molten gold. "...it sounded very specific."

My heart hamred. My brain scread. My mouth, ever the traitor, blurted out, "Specific? Who? ? No! I was just complinting Nick’s—uh—tray-carrying skills. Yes. That’s it. The trays."

Alvar’s smirk widened, dark and wolfish. "You think you can sweet-talk your way out of this?" His fingers brushed the back of my hand, deceptively gentle. "Say it again. Say you love him. Out loud."

I froze. "...Do I get to live if I don’t?"

He chuckled lowly, the sound curling around my spine like smoke. "Maybe."

Then, without warning, Alvar’s gaze swept toward the knights outside. His voice, calm but deadly, carried just enough authority to make even the bravest tremble.

"Go away. And do not let anyone wander around this space."

The knights froze, bowed, and retreated with ticulous precision. One by one, the echoes of their boots faded into the distance, leaving only the two of us.

Then... the sharp click of the door. He SHUT it. Locked it from the inside.

I blinked. "...Why... are you locking the door?"

Alvar’s eyes never left mine. Slowly, deliberately, he sheathed his sword and removed his cloak, letting it fall to the floor in a soft whisper. Every movent was deliberate, asured, and commanding. The warmth of his presence seed to press against , filling the entire room.

"We have... business to do." His voice was low, smooth, and edged with sothing unspoken—possessive, magnetic, utterly unyielding.

My heart thumped so violently I could feel it in my throat, like it might betray at any second.

Then—he leaned closer, just enough for my knees to threaten rebellion, and pressed a brief, deliberate peck to my lips.

"Now... shall we decide what punishnt you get?" he murmured, voice low and teasing, brushing against like a challenge.

I flinched and shoved him gently—but not hard enough to break contact. "Wait... are you punishing for saying I love you to Nick?"

He smirked, dark and dangerous, eyes glinting like molten gold. "Fifty percent... yes."

I groaned, collapsing back on the couch. "...And the other fifty percent?"

His smirk softened, almost mischievously, as he leaned closer and pressed a gentle kiss to my cheek. "For missing you."

I blinked, stunned. Then, before I could react, he settled onto the couch and pulled gently against him, my upper body pressing into the curve of his chest. "I missed you so much, Leif... I wish I could keep you here... right beside , forever."

My cheeks burned, but I smirked despite myself. "I guess... my charm made you fall head over heels for , huh?"

His gaze locked onto mine, smoldering with equal parts fire and devotion. "Yes. So much that I could fight gods for you."

I rolled my eyes, trying to sound unimpressed. "...Wow. That’s... ridiculously cheesy."

He chuckled, low and rich, and the sound made my stomach flutter. "Cheesy? Perhaps. But true."

Then, with an effortless movent, he slid his hands around my waist and drew onto his lap. "Now... this," he murmured, his voice a tantalizing mix of command and possession, "is your real seat."

My cheeks flad crimson, and I opened my mouth to protest—but words failed when his hands trailed under my shirt along my spine, gentle but deliberate, tracing patterns that made shiver.

"You’re... too much," he whispered, lips brushing mine again.

I blinked, heat climbing to my ears, but a small, teasing smile escaped. "Oh really? ? Too much? You’re the one smirking like a god in love."

He leaned closer, his thumb brushing softly over my lips, sending a shiver down my spine.

"How... can you be so... beautiful?" His voice was low, rough with emotion, each word deliberate, almost devouring .

My cheeks flushed hotter, and before I could protest, his face inched closer, lips hovering just milliters from mine. Then, slowly, deliberately... his mouth t mine.

Soft at first, testing, teasing, a whisper of warmth against my lips. But beneath it, there was a fire—possessive, demanding, intimate—that made my heart leap and my knees threaten rebellion.

My hands shot up, gripping his shoulders like a lifeline, while he pulled impossibly closer. One hand cradled the small of my back, holding with deliberate intent. The other rested possessively at my waist, anchoring to him. Every movent was a claim, every brush of his lips a promise.

Ti slowed. Each heartbeat thumped in rhythm with the heat of him pressed against , the taste of him, and the scent of his closeness. The world outside the room—the fire, the couch, the distant echoes—lted into nothing.

He deepened the kiss just enough to make my breath hitch—possessive, commanding, but achingly tender. When he finally drew back, his breath mingled with mine, foreheads pressed together, eyes burning into like twin suns.

Then, in that low, husky voice that curled around my spine like velvet and smoke, he whispered:

"Let’s get married, Leif."

My entire body froze. My eyes snapped open wide, staring at him as if he’d just proposed we rob the sun itself.

"WHAT?!"

The word escaped in a strangled squeak sowhere between a gasp and a shriek, echoing through the quiet room.

The fire crackled. The couch creaked. And Alvar just smirked.