Cruxius smirked, his dark mind already eagerly savoring the twisted mont.
The sharp increase in Sugar’s hatred, the raw, bleeding emotional turmoil she’d just endured watching him hold another woman—it was all so intimately... delicious.
He reveled in the toxic power dynamic, like an alpha predator savoring its prey’s retreat before the final, fatal leap.
Ytrisia, her heavy breasts still pressed flush against his hard chest, struggled violently to push his dominant body away.
"Y-you, let go!" She was livid now, her soft hands shoving frantically against his solid pecs. Cruxius simply allowed her to squirm against his groin for a highly enjoyable mont before he abruptly yanked his arm away, letting her soft body stumble backward without support.
"H-huh?—Cruxi—!" Ytrisia’s angry words were cut short as her weak legs gave out. She tripped, only to be swiftly caught by Darithi’s athletic arms, the bodyguard appearing exactly at Cruxius’s silent command. Ytrisia’s eyes widened, genuinely shocked that he had actually dropped her so carelessly after holding her so intimately.
"Darithi, take care of her," Cruxius instructed, his deep voice entirely casual as he brushed off his suit jacket. "I’ll return shortly."
With that, he turned his broad back on the two won, moving confidently toward the steps and heading down from the hospital rooftop.
Naturally, from the very start—from the exact mont he had caught Thalia’s soft, falling body off that makeshift rope at the hotel—he was fully aware that the simple act of carrying a beautiful, half-dressed woman around in public would attract the hungry gazes of paparazzi and social dia enthusiasts.
Just as his brilliant mind calculated, they had captured highly compromising images that would soon go viral and reach the strict, watchful eyes of the head of the Blac family.
Knowing his conservative, domineering father, the old man would definitely try to forcefully set him up with a ’proper’ woman of his own choosing to marry him off, and that pri, political choice would undoubtedly be Ytrisia.
So, unlike the emotionally unpredictable Sugar, he didn’t have to care about Volta actively coming after him. She would soon be placed under imnse, unavoidable pressure from her corporate funders to give him free, intimate dates and eventually her body.
He would have more than enough ti to slowly break her resistance and thoroughly impress her in bed.
But with Sugar, it was a completely different ga, especially now that he was aware her mind retained her passionate past-life mories. He knew exactly how deeply and desperately she used to love him.
It was best to violently trigger her jealousy, to make her deeply understand the paralyzing fear of losing him to another woman’s bed, even if her love for him was broken trash.
And he naturally did not use his loyal Darithi for that psychological torture, simply because there was a real risk that Sugar’s jealous rage might make her go after the bodyguard.
It was definitely not the first ti Cruxius had dealt with beautiful psychos in love. In fact, the deranged woman who had brutally murdered Darithi in a past life was also one of those intensely love-obsessed, yandere-like demons.
Volta’s durable, superhuman body was strong enough to at least survive a hit; that’s exactly why he used her thick curves instead of Darithi as a flesh shield, just in case Sugar actually snapped and retaliated—though he mathematically knew she wouldn’t.
The major, underlying factor was simply the undeniable proof that the head of the Blac family was going to act upon soon enough, right after seeing his heir’s openly scandalous, lustful actions live on the news—marrying him off to bind Ytrisia to their na.
"Let’s go," Darithi said, casting a brief, entirely indifferent glance toward Ytrisia’s heaving chest. Her husky voice was firm as she pointed the exhausted hero toward the direction of the dark stairwell.
"Darithi, how did you have this sensitive information already?" Ytrisia asked, her mind finally catching up as she leaned on the bodyguard while moving down the stairs.
As relayed during their earlier urgent call, Darithi had instantly claid the mastermind behind all this was none other than the Dean of this very hospital. It seed highly suspicious, given how Darithi possessed the dark intelligence instantly, without even taking ti to investigate.
"That’s..." Darithi hesitated, her mind flashing back to the subtle, manipulative signals and dark gestures her master had given her earlier. She had only known to send Ytrisia here because he had perfectly orchestrated the entire deadly trap.
Unable to think of any logical lie to cleanly escape this pressing situation, she just blurted out the first excuse she could, keeping a straight face. "Master told imdiately after knowing exactly where your body was so that he could rush to help you.... he loves you, you know."
’!’
"Cough!" Ytrisia violently choked on her own saliva, a furious blush exploding across her face at the sheer absurdity of the bodyguard’s blunt, horrifying statent.
If he was going to lose everything—his position, his wealth, his entire empire—he would at least take this arrogant bastard down with him. His mind blanked into raw, desperate instinct: kill him.
Cruxius didn’t even blink.
The small surgical blade in his large, calloused hand moved—not with brute force, but with a delicate, almost lazy precision that spoke of lethal experience. A subtle flick of his strong wrist, a whisper of dark movent.
Before Alvian’s sweating fist could even land, a thin, perfect red line blood wetly across his wrist.
Alvian’s eyes went wide with sheer horror as his arm suddenly lost all strength, collapsing uselessly to his side. Another effortless flick—and the other hand followed.
The vital cords and thick tendons that gave strength to his fingers and wrists were completely severed with nothing more than a tiny surgical knife.
He collapsed onto the cold marble ground with a choked, wet gasp, his arms falling completely limp, unable to even support his own weight properly.
"Guah—!" he tried to yell, tried to command with his broken pride, but Cruxius was already moving with a predator’s grace.
With smooth, practiced ease, highlighting the hard flex of his broad shoulders beneath his crisp white shirt, he shrugged his expensive suit jacket off his shoulder, wrapping the heavy fabric tightly around Alvian’s face.
"Mmphhh!!—"
The expensive material muffled his panicked screams instantly. Cruxius tied a hard, unforgiving knot at the back of the man’s head, forcing the wadded cloth deep into his mouth. His movents were rciless but elegantly fluid, like a dark tailor fitting a bespoke suit.
He leaned in intimately close, his deep, velvety voice whispering so low it barely carried over the man’s muffled sobs.
"Shh, yell, but at least let open the voice recorder first."
Alvian thrashed weakly on the floor, the muted "mmphh!!" vibrating pathetically against the thick fabric stuffed into his mouth, his furious, tear-filled glares acting like useless daggers.
Cruxius, completely unaffected by the man’s bodily desperation, calmly reached into the tight pocket of his tailored trousers, pulling out his sleek phone and opening the voice recorder app.
He pressed the button.
Beep.
"There we go," Cruxius murmured, his tone almost seductively sweet. He set the phone neatly on the pristine floor beside Alvian, then crouched down, his muscular thighs flexing under his slacks with a calm, almost thoughtful air.
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