The chamber reeked of expensive perfume and barely concealed malice.

Gareth stood with his head bowed so low his chin nearly touched his chest. Sweat dripped from his temples, trailing down his jaw before splattering onto the polished marble floor. His hands trembled at his sides, fists clenched so tight his knuckles had gone white.

Around him, servants moved with practiced efficiency. Trunks lined the walls, half-filled with silks and jewelry that probably cost more than Gareth would see in ten lifetimes. Maids folded dresses with careful precision, their movements sharp and quick, like they were afraid to linger too long in the room.

And at the center of it all, seated on a high-backed chair like some kind of queen, was Lady Elena Hartfield.

She was beautiful.

The kind of beautiful that made men stupid.

Long blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders like spun gold, catching the afternoon light streaming through the windows. Her eyes—pale blue, like ice—were fixed on a letter in her hands, the edges embossed with an elaborate seal.

Her features were delicate, porcelain-perfect, the kind of face that could sell innocence to a courtroom full of judges.

But Gareth knew better.

He'd seen what lay beneath that pretty mask.

Elena's lips curved into a soft smile—the kind that didn't reach her eyes. She didn't look up from the letter as she spoke, her voice smooth, almost musical.

"Repeat what you just said, Gareth."

It wasn't a request.

Gareth's throat constricted. His mouth opened, but for a moment, no sound came out. He swallowed hard, tasting bile, and forced the words through clenched teeth.

"L-Lady Elena... Helena—the maid accompanying Sir Viktor—she... she was killed by that slave."

The room went still.

One of the maids paused mid-fold, her hands hovering over a crimson dress. Another servant, carrying a jewelry box, glanced nervously at Elena before quickly looking away.

Elena didn't move.

For three long seconds, she sat perfectly motionless, her eyes still on the letter. Then, slowly, she leaned back in her chair. Her spine straightened, shoulders rolling back as she stretched like a cat waking from a nap.

And then she laughed.

It wasn't loud. Just a soft, breathy chuckle that sent chills crawling down Gareth's spine.

"Ahh..." Elena sighed, her smile widening. "Don't you think how cruel love is?"

Gareth's head snapped up despite himself.

Elena tilted her head, still smiling, her blue eyes now fixed on him with an intensity that made his stomach turn.

"It forces people to do things they couldn't have done in their dreams," she continued, her tone almost wistful. "Don't you agree?"

The maids around her nodded quickly, their movements synchronized like puppets on strings.

One of them—a sharp-faced woman who seemed to be Elena's assistant—stepped forward, her expression twisted with sympathy.

"It was that man's fault for not understanding your true value, my lady," the assistant said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "He should have treasured you from the beginning."

Elena's smile faltered.

Just for a moment.

Then she shook her head, blonde hair swaying with the motion.

"No," she said softly. "Leave it. I will not ponder about the past now that the engagement has been annulled and cancelled."

She lifted the letter in her hand, holding it up to the light. The seal gleamed—a stylized tower surrounded by stars, the emblem of the Prestigious Academy of the Capital, Eldoria Kingdom.

Her eyes narrowed.

That smile returned—sharper this time.

"This is my last day in this Redwood territory either way," she said, her voice dropping lower, more deliberate. "Since the real heir is now a demonic, worthless man... shouldn't I take responsibility for this county?"

The maids nodded again, murmuring agreement.

"Of course, my lady."

"You would make a far better ruler."

"The county would prosper under your guidance."

Elena's gaze shifted, locking onto her assistant.

"What is the count's state?" she asked.

The assistant's smile widened.

"He seems to have fallen ill," she said carefully. "Due to... grief, perhaps. For losing his child whom he banished."

Elena's eyes met her assistant's.

For a moment, something unspoken passed between them.

A mutual understanding.

A shared secret.

The gift they'd sent to Count Aldric von Redwood—the one laced with slow-acting poison—had finally taken effect. The old man's mind was deteriorating, slipping into a vegetative state where thoughts became fog and decisions became impossible.

His power would crumble.

And Elena's father—Baron Hartfield—would be there to catch the pieces. He'd rally the faction members, consolidate support, and before anyone realized what was happening, the county would belong to the Hartfields.

And eventually, to Elena.

She shrugged, rolling her shoulders as she stood. The letter fluttered to the floor, forgotten.

"Well then," she said, turning toward the door.

And then she stopped.

Her eyes narrowed as she looked back at Gareth.

He was still trembling. His head bowed again, sweat pouring down his face in thick streams. His hands shook so badly he had to clasp them together to keep them still.

"Why are you trembling?" Elena asked, her voice sharp now. "Are you hiding something from me?"

Gareth's entire body went rigid.

His mind raced.

The poison. The pill Viktor had forced down his throat. The one that would kill him if he drank water—or turn him into a mindless idiot if he didn't.

He had seven pills left in the pouch Viktor had given him. Seven antibiotics to delay the effects. Seven chances to stay alive.

But Viktor's orders echoed in his mind like a death sentence.

//"Get the contract. Or die."//

Gareth's mouth opened.

His voice came out strangled, barely audible.

"Actually... that slave didn't die."

Silence.

Elena's expression didn't change. But the air in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.

"What?" Her voice was soft. Too soft.

Gareth flinched.

"She's... she's not dead yet," he stammered, the words tumbling out in a desperate rush. "That nobleman—he captured her. Beat her. Threw her in a room. He might be... taking out his anger on her. Beating her. Or... or maybe he's already killed her by now."

Elena's eyes narrowed further.

Her assistant moved quickly, pulling a folded parchment from a nearby desk. She handed it to Elena with a slight bow.

The slave contract.

Elena unfolded it slowly, her fingers tracing the edges. The magical bindings were still active—glowing faintly along the text, confirming that the slave was still alive.

Gareth's story checked out.

Elena's lips pressed into a thin line.

"What did you tell him?" she asked, her tone icy. "Was he angry?"

Gareth swallowed hard.

"Yes," he said quickly. "He was... crying."

Elena's expression shifted.

A grin—slow and predatory—spread across her face.

She knelt slightly, her hand resting on her thigh as she leaned forward, eyes gleaming with sick delight.

"Oh?" she purred. "He was crying? And what else? Was he begging? Dying there alone in his loneliness?"

Gareth's hands clenched tighter.

"I... I don't know, Lady Elena," he said, his voice shaking. "But he... he seemed to have yielded. He asked me to bring the contract. Said he wanted to make her life a living hell."

Elena chuckled—a low, dark sound that made the maids shift uncomfortably.

"What?" She stood, folding her arms. "Now that's interesting. Don't tell him—he can do whatever he wants to her. She's as good as dead either way."

Gareth's heart sank.

"But..." He hesitated. "He said he wanted to torture her to death."

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