Kapitel 8: Chapter 8: A Deadly Mistake

Emilia

I can't shake the maid's words from my mind. Her warning echoes in my head as I pack a small bag, my fingers trembling. This house is a cage, and those who enter it rarely leave unscathed. Everything in me is screaming that I need to get out now—before it's too late.

The plan is simple: I'll leave quietly, disappear into the night, find a way back to the only semblance of a life I knew before all this. I haven't planned beyond that. Right now, all I can focus on is putting as much distance as I can between myself and this cursed place.

Just as I reach the back door, my heart pounding with both dread and relief, a voice freezes me in my tracks.

"Where do you think you're going, Emilia?"

Damien's voice is cold, laced with something dark and dangerous. I turn slowly, clutching the bag to my chest, my heart racing as I face him. His face is shadowed, unreadable, his eyes sharp and fixed on me with an intensity that makes me feel as though he's peeling away my every thought, every intention.

"I… I was just—"

"Leaving?" he finishes, stepping closer. His voice is deceptively calm, but his jaw is set, his entire stance radiating fury. "Without a word, in the middle of the night, with no explanation?"

I swallow hard, trying to find my voice, to explain, to somehow convince him of the fear that's gripped me since I found that letter and learned about Seraphina. But as I look at him, the words die on my lips.

"Yes," I manage, my voice barely more than a whisper. "I was leaving. I can't stay here, Damien. There's too much I don't understand, too many secrets… I feel like I'm in danger."

He tilts his head, his expression shifting from fury to something almost… disappointed. "So, you don't trust me." The way he says it, so flat and cold, sends a chill down my spine.

"How can I?" I reply, my voice trembling. "You haven't told me anything. Everything I know, I've learned by accident, through whispers and warnings. If you wanted me to stay, why keep me in the dark?"

Damien's eyes narrow, and in one swift motion, he grabs my wrist, pulling me toward him. "You don't understand the forces at play here, Emilia. I've kept you in the dark for your own good." His voice is low, almost a growl, as though he's struggling to keep his anger in check. "But running away in the dead of night is a dangerous, foolish mistake."

I tug at his grip, but he doesn't let go, his hand like iron around my wrist. "Let me go, Damien," I say, trying to keep my voice steady, though fear is seeping into every word. "If you won't tell me the truth, then at least let me leave."

He stares down at me, his expression hardening. "You are my wife now. You're bound to me, and I don't take kindly to betrayal. You will not disobey me again, Emilia." His voice is sharp, each word carrying an unmistakable threat. "If you try to run again, the consequences will be far worse."

His words send a shiver down my spine. I can see now that there's something dark lurking beneath his controlled facade, something ruthless and unyielding. For a moment, I feel trapped, like I'm staring into the eyes of a stranger rather than the man I thought I was married to.

"Do you understand me?" he demands, his grip tightening ever so slightly.

"Yes," I whisper, barely able to hold back the tremor in my voice. "I understand."

Satisfied, he lets go of my wrist, and I step back, rubbing my wrist as I try to steady myself. There's a silence between us, thick and oppressive, and I realize just how deeply I've misjudged him, this life, this entire situation.

Just as I'm about to say something—anything to ease the tension—a knock sounds at the door. Damien's gaze shifts, his entire demeanor changing in an instant. He strides toward the door, muttering something under his breath.

One of his men hands him an envelope, and he opens it without a word. As he reads the letter, a sudden change comes over him. His face goes pale, his hand tightening around the parchment as his eyes scan the words again and again, as if willing them to change.

For a moment, he looks truly shaken, his eyes wide, his usual mask slipping to reveal a flash of vulnerability, of fear. My own heart skips a beat as I watch him, wondering what could possibly elicit such a reaction.

"What… what is it?" I ask, my voice barely a whisper, the air thick with tension.

He doesn't answer. His jaw clenches, his hands tightening around the letter until the paper crumples, and without another word, he turns on his heel and storms out of the room, leaving me standing there, bewildered and afraid, with a thousand questions that I know he won't answer.

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