"Love," Abigail’s voice dripped with satisfaction, each syllable like honey concealing poison, "soon you won’t be able to resist . You’ll stop pretending you don’t want my help. You’ll beg for it."
Her words hung heavy in the room, curling through the air with the sa sickly sweetness as the scent Roman could no longer ignore.
She had been about to turn away, her confidence radiant, but then she stopped abruptly.
Sothing dark flickered across her face before she pivoted, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor.
Slowly, deliberately, she turned back to him.
The smirk on her lips widened, reshaping into a look that balanced between taunt and confession.
"I heard you earlier," she said, her voice soft but sharp enough to cut. "You were wondering what’s wrong with you, weren’t you? Then let tell you."
Roman’s breathing grew heavier, his chest rising and falling in uneven rhythms.
He pressed his hand to the wall, steadying himself, his body already betraying signs of weakness.
His jaw clenched, eyes narrowing, his focus locked on her like a predator refusing to give in despite his failing strength.
Abigail lifted her hand and gestured toward the corner of the room where a small, almost inconspicuous device sat half-hidden in the shadows.
A faint mist still hung in the air, like ghostly threads drifting in the dim light.
"You see that air sprayer?" she said, her tone slipping into sothing mockingly tender, as though she were explaining a gift.
"I brought it especially for you, my love. Because you’ve changed. You don’t want to see anymore. You can’t even stand my touch."
She pressed her palm against her chest as though wounded by his rejection. Her features shifted, her smile cracking into sothing that feigned heartbreak.
Her eyes glistened—not with genuine pain, but with a manipulative shine ant to claw at his conscience.
"And it’s all thanks to that woman you’ve taken for yourself." The sweetness drained from her tone, replaced by venom.
Her brows arched sharply, and her lips twisted into a sneer that exposed the true malice beneath her mask.
"You think I’ll allow you a peaceful life? You think you’ll be happy—while I’m not? Never. Not while I’m still breathing."
Her voice cracked like a whip, echoing in the chilling silence.
The hatred in her tone made the air itself feel heavier, pressing down on Roman’s shoulders.
Roman blinked, his vision beginning to blur.
A thin film of darkness edged around his sight, closing in like a storm cloud. Disbelief flashed in his eyes, but he said nothing.
His instincts told him speaking further would only waste the little strength he had left.
Turning, he forced his hand toward the door.
His fingertips brushed the knob, slick with the faint sweat of his weakening grip.
But his hand slipped once, twice, the world spinning in dizzying circles before his eyes.
His vision blackened further. The muscles in his arms refused to obey.
His body grew numb, as though the very life was being drained from his veins.
And then—
Thud.
He collapsed to the floor, his weight hitting the polished wood with a sound that reverberated through the room.
Abigail stood frozen for a mont, then a wicked smile crept back onto her lips.
Triumph glimred in her eyes as she gazed down at the man who had once been untouchable, now fallen at her feet.
*****
It had been almost an hour since Roman left the room, and Julie lay sprawled across the couch, staring blankly at the ceiling.
The silence around her was so thick that she could hear her own breathing, slow and unsteady, blending with the faint ticking of the wall clock.
Her eyelids fluttered, heavy with exhaustion. She was barely holding herself together, fighting the pull of sleep that kept creeping over her like a soft wave.
Every ti her eyes began to close, she would jerk them open again, forcing herself to stay awake. It had happened countless tis now—nine, maybe ten.
She lost count. When she finally opened them again, her tired gaze fell on the clock hanging on the wall, its golden fra glinting under the dim light of the lamp beside her.
The minute hand had moved only a little since she last checked.
Julie sighed, a quiet, restless sound. "Ten minutes more to make it an hour since Roman walked out of this room," she murmured softly, her voice rough and small, nearly swallowed by the stillness. "Didn’t he get to talk to Lisa?"
Her question hung in the air unanswered. The room felt emptier when she said his na out loud.
She turned her head, eyes tracing the faint shadows stretching across the marble floor.
The soft scent of Roman’s cologne still lingered in the air, mixed with the faint aroma of polished wood and the cool night breeze sneaking in through the slightly open window.
It made her heart twist a little, both comforted and uneasy at the sa ti.
Julie leaned back again, pressing her head into the couch cushion and closing her eyes for a mont.
She rembered the way Roman had looked at her before leaving—the firmness in his tone, the warmth hidden behind his sharp eyes.
"Wait for here, okay?" he had said before walking out.
Those words echoed now, stirring sothing gentle and anxious in her chest.
She exhaled slowly, shifting her position to ease the stiffness in her back.
Her slender fingers fiddled with a small price of her gown and crumpled it, as she whispered to herself, "Let wait ten more minutes. If he doesn’t co back, then I’ll look for him outside."
Her voice trailed off into the quiet. The silence wasn’t peaceful anymore—it was heavy.
The faint ticking of the clock now sounded too loud, almost mocking her waiting.
Julie’s body relaxed against the couch, her limbs feeling light and weary.
The golden glow of the lamp washed over her face, highlighting the soft curve of her cheekbones and the faint shadow beneath her eyes.
She could feel her heartbeat slow, then quicken again for no clear reason.
Sothing inside her stirred—a strange uneasiness she couldn’t quite na.
She rubbed her arms lightly as if to chase away an invisible chill. "Why do I feel like this?" she whispered, frowning slightly.
The air in the room suddenly felt thicker, charged with sothing she couldn’t explain.
Her gaze lingered once more on the closed door. "I hope everything’s alright," she said quietly, not realizing how worried her voice sounded.
And yet, even as she spoke, a sense of dread began to bloom deep in her stomach—soft and cold, like a warning that sothing sowhere wasn’t right.
"What’s with this strange feeling..." Julie murmured, furrowing her brows as a small chill ran down her spine.
She pushed herself up from the couch, her movents slow, her body still heavy with exhaustion.
The faint unease that had been whispering at the back of her mind now began to grow stronger—like a quiet alarm she couldn’t ignore.
"I hope everything’s alright," she whispered to herself as she walked toward the door.
Her voice ca out softer than she intended, almost uncertain.
The tallic knob felt cool against her palm as she turned it.
The door gave a soft click before opening, and a faint draft brushed against her face, carrying with it the scent of the polished hallway and sothing else—sothing cold and distant.
Stepping outside, Julie paused.
"Wow... the corridor is so dim," she said under her breath, her voice echoing faintly down the long hallway.
"Why didn’t I notice when Roman and I walked through it earlier?"
The silence that greeted her felt unnatural.
The grand corridor, which usually glowed with golden light and soft chatter from passing staff, was now half-lit and eerily quiet.
The only sound ca from her footsteps, tapping softly against the marble floor and echoing back at her.
She wrapped her arms around herself as the strange heaviness in her stomach grew.
Her heartbeat picked up pace, and she swallowed hard, feeling her throat tighten. Sothing just didn’t feel right.
Then she caught sight of a familiar figure coming toward her from the other end of the corridor.
The tension in her shoulders eased slightly. "Ah, Azazel," she called, relief flooding her voice.
The young man lifted his head, his sharp eyes imdiately softening when he saw her.
"Sis? What are you doing here alone while everyone else is downstairs?" he asked, stopping a few steps away.
But his expression changed quickly—his brows drew together when he noticed the worry on her face.
"Sis... what’s wrong?" he asked again, more gently this ti.
Julie let out a small sigh and tried to smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
"I don’t know, Azazel. I’m just... feeling sothing strange," she admitted, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve.
"Strange?" he repeated, tilting his head slightly. "About what?"
Julie’s frown deepened as she pointed behind her, toward the room she had just co out of.
"Your brother told to wait for him there," she said quietly.
"We went in together, and he said he’d go inform Lisa that we were back and that I should stay put until he returned."
Azazel blinked, confused. "Roman told you to wait in his room?"
Julie nodded. "Yes. But it’s been almost an hour, Azazel. He hasn’t co back.
I thought maybe he got caught up with sothing, but... I don’t know, it doesn’t feel right anymore."
The faint crease between her brows deepened as she continued, her voice shaking slightly.
"Roman isn’t the type to leave soone waiting like that. Especially not without saying sothing first."
Azazel’s playful nature vanished instantly. His jaw tightened as he straightened, his tone firm now.
"Yes... it’s unlike my brother," he said, scanning the hallway instinctively, as if expecting Roman to appear. "Co with , Julie. We’ll confirm with Lisa right now."
Julie hesitated only a mont before nodding, clutching her fingers together nervously. "Okay."
Azazel offered her a reassuring look before turning toward the staircase. "Stay close," he said.
Julie followed beside him, her heart thumping harder with every step they took.
The corridor stretched endlessly ahead of them, the soft glow of chandeliers above flickering as if disturbed by an unseen wind.
The uneasy silence between them spoke louder than words. Both could feel that sothing wasn’t right.
And sowhere behind them, in that dim, quiet hallway, the door to Roman’s room remained closed—its golden handle gleaming faintly under the weak light, hiding the truth that waited inside.
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