Chapter 46
Sylaria narrowed her eyes, trying to make out the man’s features. The room was so oppressively dark that she could barely make out the outline of his body.
But one thing was certain.
This man was not Euclid.
Euclid always carried a refreshing yet warm scent, a mix of sandalwood and musk. This stranger smelled faintly of soap and nothing else.
He must’ve washed to erase his natural scent, but that only confirmed Sylaria’s suspicion.
“Stay away!”
As she tried to escape, the man lunged forward and grabbed her. Seizing her wrist, he shoved her down onto the bed. Sylaria struggled, but she couldn’t overpower a man whose physique so vastly outmatched hers.
“Let go!”
“…Syllie.”
“You…!”
The moment that voice slipped from between the man’s clenched teeth, Sylaria’s eyes widened. She’d feared this, and now her suspicions were confirmed. The man pinning her down was—
“Aren…?”
It was Arendtert.
“You’re mine. You have to be mine.”
Arendtert whispered hoarsely. Had he lost his mind to jealousy and obsession? His attempt to force himself on her sent chills down her spine.
“No!”
His thigh wedged between her legs. As she kicked and writhed, his hand rose into the air. And then.
Smack!
He struck her across the face without mercy.
“Be still. Be good, my love.”
Sylaria’s head snapped to the side, hitting the pillow. Her pupils trembled, dazed from the blow.
Perhaps emboldened by the first hit, Arendtert showed no further hesitation. He calmly buried his face in her chest and inhaled deeply.
“Haa…”
Struck across the face, Sylaria remained motionless, her head turned into the pillow. Arendtert, mistaking her shock for submission, spoke leisurely.
“If you’d just listened to me from the start, you wouldn’t have had to get hurt.”
But he was mistaken.
Sylaria, her face still turned away, quietly slid one hand under the pillow. Her fingers began to search for a blade.
In her past life, Arendtert had once complained that Euclid even kept a sword by his bedside while sleeping. He’d mocked him for being so paranoid, saying it bordered on mental illness.
Even in this life, Euclid’s vigilance had not dulled. Thanks to that, Sylaria’s fingers found the dagger hidden beneath the pillow.
While Arendtert pressed his nose into her chest, she gripped the blade. Then, at that moment.
“My love…”
She drove the dagger into his shoulder.
“AAAAGH!”
Arendtert screamed, thrashing wildly. Thick blood began to pour from his right shoulder.
“Damn it! You crazy b***h!”
Like a trapped beast, Arendtert bellowed and cursed. Sylaria quickly slipped behind the bed. His vision clouded with rage, he couldn’t locate her. Darkness had, for once, been on her side.
“I was trying to show you love!”
“……”
“Come out! Where are you!”
“Tch, tch.”
Just as Arendtert shouted and shoved aside a sofa—
The door burst open. A rough breath echoed through the room, followed by a familiar voice.
“Why is my brother in here, instead of my fiancée?”
Euclid strode in and grabbed Arendtert by the collar. Dragging him toward the fireplace, he slowly scanned him from head to toe.
“And why is my dagger in your shoulder? Is this some kind of new fashion trend?”
“Shut up!”
“No, you shut up.”
Euclid spoke coldly, then seized the hilt of the dagger embedded in Arendtert’s shoulder. Without a shred of mercy, he yanked it free. Blood spurted from the wound.
“Gaaaah!”
“You invaded my chamber, took my blade, and tried to steal my fiancée. You’ve got some nerve, Aren.”
“Hhk, gah, ugh…”
“Now, where is my fiancée?”
Euclid asked, looking down at Arendtert, who lay writhing on the floor, gasping for breath. He let out a long sigh as he gazed at his injured half-brother clutching his shoulder.
“I asked you, little brother. Where. Is. My fiancée?”
“No idea, damn— GAAAH!”
Just as Arendtert tried to curse, Euclid pressed his boot firmly into the wound.
“How can you not know? Hm? What did you do with her?”
“AAAAAAAAAGH!”
“Euclid!”
At the moment Euclid drove his foot hard into Arendtert’s shoulder—
Sylaria, who had been watching in secret, stepped forward.
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