The rain was a heavy curtain around us, each droplet hammering down like a relentless drum, echoing the chaos I felt within. He held the umbrella, his dark eyes meeting mine with an intensity that seemed to pierce through the layers I had carefully built around myself.
"You're awake," he said, his voice low, deliberate, acknowledging the fact that I had just clawed my way back from the brink of death.
I took a deep, shaky breath, the cold air cutting through me, biting at my lungs and skin. "...Victor, let's stop this." My voice trembled, though I tried to steady it.
He didn't flinch, didn't even blink. "Stop what?"
"All of it. Everything. It's gone way too far." My gaze dropped to the sodden hem of my dress, fingers clutching the fabric as if holding onto a fragile lifeline. The thought of what might come next twisted my stomach in knots.
"So please... you have to stop now." I dared to look back at him, eyes wide with fear and something deeper—hope. "Anyone who became Victor's target always faced danger. If this keeps going, he might actually kill Serena."
The Plea
"Let's just walk away from their lives." My own words felt hollow as they left my lips. I hated myself for sounding weak, for sounding desperate. "I know I don't have the right to say this... but it feels so wrong. I'm begging you."
He offered a slight, unsettling smirk, the scar near his mouth twitching with an unspoken edge of menace. "...That's what you wanted to tell me?" His tone was dismissive, almost mocking, a knife wrapped in silk.
"I thought… you'd say something else." My voice barely rose above the hiss of the rain.
"What is it?" My heart pounded so violently I thought it might betray me.
He leaned in slightly, the umbrella casting a shadow over his face. His gaze bore into me, cold, precise. "Did a brush with death suddenly change your heart?"
Victor's Retort
He pulled back, the umbrella now shading his expression in stark contrast to the rain-soaked world around us. The air between us grew colder, sharper, like shards pressing against my chest.
"The Diah I know," he said, voice steady but laced with a chilling knowledge, "is the one who hardened herself in the Republic."
The words struck me like a physical blow. He was calling out the person I had been, the version of myself I had long tried to bury.
He didn't stop there. "Even planting someone called Shambok near Serena to dig up dirt, wasn't it?"
I could only stare, silent, the sting of truth cutting sharper than any weapon. He was right. That was the Diah I had been. The rain fell harder, relentless, a grim accompaniment to the storm I had brought upon us all.
The Confession
He waited, patient and unwavering, expecting denial, expecting excuses. But there was none left in me.
I looked away, focusing on the rain as it streaked past, blurring the world into a gray smear of cold and water. I remembered the person I had been—the calculating, merciless Diah who could twist circumstances to her will.
His voice came again, low and challenging. "When they divorced, you planned to use it to pay off de Laurent's debt, and crawl your way back into Eiser's favor?"
The bitter truth lodged in my throat, sharp and metallic.
"Yes. That was me." My voice was strained, raw with shame. "Back then, I was so blinded I couldn't see anything else. But now… I regret it all."
The Weight of Guilt
The rain soaked through my thin robe, but I barely felt the cold on my skin. The chill in my heart was far greater.
"Every time I look back, the guilt tears me apart!" I cried, my voice cracking under the weight of the confession. "I am…! I am ashamed of my selfishness, of how immature I was."
I didn't know when the transformation had begun, the moment I started seeing the consequences of my own schemes—the images flashing before me: Victor manipulating every piece, the danger creeping closer, the lives I had endangered. Only then, I realized, had the full scope of my folly become undeniable.
Broken Hearts
A dark, undeniable realization settled over me, suffocating in its clarity.
A plan born from a broken heart… had been twisted from the very start. And in carrying it out, I realized something else too: my own heart had been shattered along the way.
It wasn't just ambition that had failed me; it was my entire sense of self. Every face I had tried to wound—Eiser, Serena—their images haunted the fleeting moments of rest I had left myself.
The image of Serena, wide-eyed and terrified, flashed behind my eyelids, searing into my consciousness. I was the architect of their pain. Now, the weight of that truth pressed down with unbearable force. And I found myself pleading with Victor, silently, desperately, to help stop the catastrophe I had unknowingly unleashed.
---
The faces of everyone I had hurt haunted me, flickering in my mind like shards of broken glass. Eiser, Serena… the pain I had caused them burned sharper than any physical wound. "And even Frederick… all of them suffered because of me," I whispered into the rain, my voice barely audible over the storm.
The weight of my actions pressed down relentlessly. "Worse yet… maybe I was helping turn him into even more of a monster." The thought twisted my stomach. I had been blind, unaware that every step I had taken, every small manipulation I had executed, had given Victor leverage—had sharpened the man who now stood before me, calculating and unyielding.
He finally spoke, his expression unreadable, eyes holding a dangerous calm. "You're right. We crossed the line." His tone was flat, devoid of sympathy.
I let myself hope for a moment, foolishly, until his next words hit me like a hammer to the chest. "And that's why I can't stop, Diah. Because we're already too far past it."
A cold dread settled into my bones. My worst fear had been confirmed—we were beyond the point of no return.
Victor's Final Play
Victor shifted the conversation, twisting my guilt into a weapon, turning the consequences of my own actions against my family.
"That boy entered the Serenity family from the start just to use their power to crush Grayan," he said, his voice precise, cutting through the sound of the rain. My stomach sank as I realized he meant Eiser.
"He knew every secret inside the family," Victor continued, each word like a scalpel, exposing the fragile heart of our defenses. "He targeted the fact that we'd sunk a fortune into that massive Atiazen project."
A sick, heavy weight settled in my chest. Victor had been observing everything, planning, waiting for the perfect moment to strike—not just at Grayan, but at De Laurent as well. Every misstep, every small decision I had made, had been fodder for his machinations.
"By the time I realized he was tightening the noose, it was already too late," he admitted, the faintest shadow of grim determination flickering across his face.
The Inevitable Fall
Victor laid out the consequences with the cold precision of a man orchestrating a war.
"The trial's outcome is clear. The Prime Minister will be thrown out. And if Grayan can't secure the Atiazen business rights, it's finished." He paused, letting the gravity of his words settle like ice over my heart. "Then naturally, De Laurent will go down too."
I stared at him, paralyzed by the enormity of the destruction. I had thought I was hurting Serena—but in truth, I had handed my own family into a trap I had been too blind to see.
His gaze was steady, resolute, almost defiant. "But I won't collapse quietly, playing into Eiser's hands."
He was not stopping. He was escalating. The rain fell around us, drenching the world, but it could not wash away the ruin we were entwined in—or the blood that now stained our hands.
Victor's Temptation
His words echoed through the rain-soaked night. "By the time I realized he was tightening the noose, it was already too late. But I won't collapse quietly, playing into Eiser's hands."
Victor watched my shattered face, a predatory smile curling at the corners of his lips.
"And you'd have me give it all up here?" he challenged, voice low, dangerous. "If I do that, you and I will be left with nothing but a pitiful end."
He stepped closer, shadowing me beneath the shared umbrella. His eyes, sharp and calculating as ever, softened into something almost intimate—but it was a feigned tenderness, a weapon dressed in warmth.
"Could you stomach that ending? No, you couldn't."
His hand rose, cupping my cheek with gentle force. The touch sent a jolt through me, confusion colliding with despair. "I know you too well."
His thumb traced my jawline, deliberate and slow. "You, who did anything and everything for De Laurent… you'd never accept it."
He lowered his voice, drawing me nearer, foreheads almost touching. "I didn't drag you into this hell," he murmured, his gaze locking with mine, intense and unyielding. "Just to leave you with nothing."
The Aftermath
Victor finally turned, withdrawing the umbrella and leaving me exposed to the downpour. He walked away, a rigid silhouette fading into the rain, leaving only the storm and the echo of his words behind.
I stood alone, water streaming down my face, blending seamlessly with the tears I could no longer contain.
Why did your eyes look that way? I thought, staring at the grand closed doors of the manor. You, who always burned so fiercely that people trembled before you… how could your eyes turn so clouded, so dull?
He had seen the flicker of my old self—the fire that had once burned for the De Laurent name—and he had used it to confirm his path. He knew my guilt, my shame, my relentless need to act, would not translate into surrender. Victor walked away, knowing that even in my repentance, I remained bound to the wreckage of my family's legacy.
I was left trembling—not just from the cold, but from the terrifying clarity that salvation was impossible, and the fight was far from over.
A Chilling Deja Vu
I walked slowly across the ornate carpet, each step muffled by the thick pile beneath my bare feet. Thump. Thump. The oppressive silence of the manor pressed in from every direction, heavier after the violent confrontation outside.
I tried to dismiss it as just a feeling, or blame the gloomy weather, but Victor's gaze lingered in my mind. That look—pity, calculation, and above all, the absolute knowledge that he had won—refused to leave me.
It gives me a chilling déjà vu, a voice whispered inside me. Just like the day you came back from your first trip to Santoria Blue.
I remembered that day vividly: the blood on my hands, the terrifying thrill of inflicting pain for the first time. The maid who greeted me then had worn the same worried expression I now saw reflected in every careful observer.
The day you returned after hurting someone for the first time… you wore the same expression.
I stopped abruptly, dread pooling in my stomach. My guilt had always been visible, a mirror for the maid's concern. Nothing happened while I was unconscious, right? I wondered. Either I've already harmed someone and it's weighing on me, or I'm about to… or both.
The Revelation
A quiet cough broke the silence. I turned to see my maid, her face pinched with apprehension, standing near the doorway.
"Um, Lady Diah. There's something I must tell you…" Her voice trembled, barely audible over the distant rumble of thunder.
My heart pounded in my chest. "It's…" I prompted, an icy dread settling over me.
She took a shaky breath. "While you were asleep… Mr. Victor opened the safe."
I recoiled, a gasp catching in my throat. "...What? Which safe?"
"The… hidden one in the office."
"Not even my father knows about it—it's locked!" Panic clawed at me. "How did Victor find it and get inside?!"
The maid wrung her hands, unable to meet my eyes. "I-I don't know. But a few days ago…"
The Stolen Secret
Her voice dropped even lower, confirming the suspicion I had feared.
"After his visit, the black envelope was missing. It seems he took it."
A white-hot wave of fury and terror exploded inside me. My eyes widened as disbelief and betrayal collided.
"...! I told you to burn that long ago, so no one could ever see it!" My scream tore from my throat, raw and ragged.
The black envelope. It contained everything—the dirt I had dug up on Serena back in the Republic, my entire dossier of selfish machinations, the proof of every cruel and calculated step I had taken. Victor hadn't been swayed by my remorse; he had simply secured the final piece of leverage to control me completely. He hadn't wanted a willing partner—he wanted a captive bound to his hell.
The maid flinched back. I ignored her, running a hand through my wet hair. Victor's final act of betrayal was complete: he hadn't just rejected my plea to stop; he had ensured my chains would tighten.
The Critical Mistake
"I told you it meant nothing now! Why keep it all this time?!" I demanded, voice sharp, directed at the trembling maid, though the fault was entirely my own. I should have destroyed that proof the instant I decided to end the manipulation.
The maid bowed lower, hands clasped. "I'm so sorry! There was confusion among us, and we were waiting for you to wake to confirm one last time, but meanwhile, Mr. Victor…"
She didn't need to finish. The damage was done.
"I have no excuse," I murmured, turning away. My mind raced, the gravity of the stolen item settling like lead in my chest. The black envelope held dangerous truths—secrets that should never see the light of day.
"Especially… truths Serena must never know," I whispered to myself, a chill digging deep into my bones.
A Race Against Time
Victor had gone out of his way to steal that envelope. He wasn't interested in fairness, or a clean exit—he was preparing a final, devastating strike, using my own history against me, against Serena.
My small, regretful plea to Victor had been useless. He had played me for a fool. Now, to protect the De Laurent family—the family I had tried so desperately to shield—and to prevent Serena from being exposed to my past manipulations, I had only one option.
I lifted my chin, a dullness in my eyes replaced by frantic, renewed determination. "Quickly… prepare the car."
The maid looked up, confusion and fear mingling in her eyes at the sudden shift in my demeanor.
I strode toward the main hall, discarding my damp robe, bracing myself for the cold outside. My target was clear.
"We have to get to the Serenity Manor, now."
A grim-faced man awaited me at the entrance, dressed sharply in a dark coat. The butler. Eiser's man. He simply gave me a slight nod, his presence formal, chilling. "Welcome back," he said.
Ignoring the courtesy, I spoke with urgency, the storm outside echoing the tempest inside me. "I need to see Eiser."
The next step was clear. If Victor had the envelope, I had to reach Eiser before the leverage in my hands—or rather, in Victor's—could be used to destroy everything I had tried to protect.
The rain pounded relentlessly against the car windows as we sped toward Serenity Manor. Each drop tapped in rhythm with my anxious heartbeat, the windshield wipers slicing the deluge into fleeting glimpses of the world outside. Inside the car, silence pressed in, heavy and suffocating, broken only by the occasional shwaaa of the blades against glass. I felt as though I were plunging into a frozen lake, the icy dread numbing every nerve in my body.
Finally, we arrived at the enormous, imposing structure. The man who had met me at my door—the butler, I assumed—opened the car door and shielded me with an umbrella. I stepped out, the cold rain soaking through my clothes immediately, my heart hammering against my ribs like a frantic drum.
The hallway was opulent, gold and marble glinting in the dim light, but I barely noticed. My eyes searched only for him—Eiser Serenity. He stood near the grand staircase, as composed and cold as ever. Tall, impeccably dressed in a suit and overcoat, his expression remained utterly neutral, impenetrable.
The butler bowed slightly. "Welcome back."
I ignored him, my attention locked entirely on Eiser. My words tumbled out, desperate and hurried. "I need to see Eiser."
The Silent Gaze
Eiser did not move, nor did he speak. His gaze bore into me, heavy and unyielding, a pressure that made my frantic energy stutter.
Why is he looking at me like that? I wondered, fists clenching at my sides. His eyes were distant, cool, carrying an undeniable air of danger.
I suddenly remembered that look—the same piercing, evaluating stillness. The one he had given me the first time he revealed his true motives.
It's the same look… the one he used when he first made his proposition.
The realization hit me with a cold force. I had been a desperate fool then, just as I had been now, and he had always seen through me.
I remembered the words, the casual cruelty in his voice, the ambition glinting in his eyes. He hadn't been speaking of love or partnership; he had been offering a strategic alliance, built on deceit and mutual convenience.
He had told me it was necessary for us to become partners in order to succeed. And I, blinded by desperation, had accepted. I had become his accomplice, his pawn, all to preserve the crumbling pride of the De Laurent name.
Finally, he spoke. His voice was low, dangerously calm, cutting through the grand silence of the room.
"I told you that you were a necessary component in achieving my goals, didn't I, Diah?"
The sound of my name on his lips was a betrayal in itself, confirming the cold, transactional nature of our entire history. Right now, when I desperately needed him to see my regret, he reminded me of every misstep, every manipulated moment I had allowed.
"Why are you here?" he asked, his tone deceptively neutral.
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to stand tall and meet his gaze, though the weight of guilt threatened to crush me. I had to tell him everything—Victor's plans, the stolen envelope, the danger looming over both families.
"I…" My voice faltered, almost drowned by the storm outside. The words I needed to say were trapped somewhere between panic and shame.
The rain had been a relentless torment for days, drumming against the house like a constant accusation. The thunder, the wet chill, the suffocating confinement—it had kept me awake, trapped in a watery prison of my own making.
Finally, the storm seemed to ease, and I may have dozed off briefly. I sat up on the bed, the silence heavy around me, broken only by the sound of my own breathing. I was still confined, still under house arrest, waiting for a chance to clear my name and escape the tangled web I had helped create.
I picked up the hairbrush, attempting to tame my long, dark hair. I didn't want him—Eiser—to see me like this: exhausted, defeated, vulnerable.
Then the news startled me. Eiser was coming today. My chest tightened. I hadn't expected to see him. Visiting hours could be delayed, but seeing his name on the list sent a strange mix of dread and anticipation coursing through me.
I had resolved not to see him until I had cleared my name, until I could face him without my resolve crumbling. After our brief meeting that day, I had believed we silently agreed to keep our distance until it was over.
Yet now, everything had changed. Seeing his name on the visitation list this morning left me unable to refuse.
I wondered why he wanted to see me. Was it about the investigation, the truth, or simply… me?
But more than that—I was just happy. Guiltily, painfully happy. I knew I shouldn't be. I had vowed to remain strong, to protect myself from the inevitable pain his presence would bring. I had told myself I wouldn't see him… but my resolve was weak, and my heart refused to listen.
Now, I waited. Heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs, I braced myself for the encounter. I would see him, and I would try to be strong.
My heart was hammering so violently I could feel it in my throat. Dugeun, dugeun. The frantic drumming reverberated through my chest, making me feel ridiculous, exposed. I had promised myself I would remain composed, that I would be strong, yet here I was, pacing the room like a trapped animal.
After all my noble resolutions to stay away, the moment he announced he would come, every ounce of restraint crumbled. I had made it so obvious how much I had missed him. My hands fidgeted, my hairbrush abandoned on the floor, forgotten in the storm of my own anticipation. When will he get here?
Then, I heard it—the distinct, measured sound of heavy, formal shoes against the marble floor outside. Jjeo-beok.
Oh. That must be him.
A trivial yet urgent thought struck me amidst the storm of anxiety. I have to tell him… I already ate all the candy he sent! My cheeks warmed at the absurdity of it, a small, normal detail clinging to me in the chaos of fear, guilt, and longing. It was the only tiny thing I could control in this overwhelming moment.
I hurried toward the imposing double doors, the heels of my soft shoes making light tak tak sounds on the thick rug. My fingers hovered over the cold, smooth handle, the chill sending a jolt up my arm. I pressed my back against the wood for a moment, taking a shaky, uneven breath, steeling myself for what I knew would come.
The heavy doors began to part, inch by inch, revealing the figure I had both yearned for and feared. My eyes widened slightly, heart leaping into my throat. He was here.
Even a fragment of him—dark, structured fabric, the strong line of his neck, a jaw set with familiar intensity—was enough to make my breath catch. I thought I saw a faint mark near his mouth, a scar I had forgotten, but it only made the moment sharper, more visceral.
I looked up, and our eyes met. My own face betrayed the vulnerability I had tried desperately to hide. Every logical argument I had constructed, every careful resolution to maintain composure, disintegrated the instant I saw him.
The visit had begun.