Chapter 187
Not that she blamed her past self. It was just… heartbreaking. That young Jaha had faced a cruelty far beyond what someone her age should ever have to endure. And so, now, she couldn’t help but imagine the easier path—the one that might have spared her.
But the one who shed tears of blood over that wretched past was none other than Jaha herself.
It was a blessing that she had lost her memories when she returned to Earth.
Had she retained them intact, the twenty-year-old Yoo Jaha would have shattered—gone mad. She would never have had a normal college life, never found a job. She would have become a wreck, or worse, been institutionalized. That was the kind of thing the emperor had done to her.
To him, perhaps, it was nothing more than treating a slave as a slave should be treated… but to Yoo Jaha, who had lived in 21st-century Earth, that very mindset was violence in itself. He might have found her reaction absurd, but she had no reason—none at all—to forgive him.
Realistically, Jaha, with nothing to her name, had no means to punish the emperor of an entire empire. So the best thing was to never entangle herself with him again.
“Right. As long as I don’t get involved…”
Muttering to herself, Jaha carefully slipped out of the thick arms wrapped around her waist.
This man always fell asleep holding her. As if he couldn’t bear to let her go, even for a second.
At first, it had felt stifling—an invasion of her freedom—and it had irritated her. But now, she had grown accustomed to the weight of him, the warmth. This restraint had become a comfort, a source of solace. So much so that if he didn’t hold her, she’d probably feel strangely empty.
Jaha gulped down water from the nightstand, cooling her parched throat. She wiped the cold sweat from her skin and debated whether to shower now or sleep a little longer and wash up later. As her gaze wandered, it snagged—inescapably—on the man whose presence dominated the room.
Lying on the bed, he looked like the incarnation of a god. His exposed torso was smooth as sculpted marble, and his tousled golden hair, bathed in the dim lamplight, shimmered like threads of molten gold.
A breathtaking sight, every single time. It was almost unreal—how could a human being look like this?
The fact that a man like this was obsessed with her filled Jaha with a strange, giddy sense of superiority and satisfaction.
Humans were visual creatures, and Jaha was no exception. No matter how she rationalized things, she couldn’t resist his unreal beauty. Her eyes chased after him before her mind could even form a judgment—drawn helplessly to what pleased them.
How could even a single strand of his hair be so mesmerizing?
Lost in admiration, Jaha stared at him, entranced—until suddenly, something clicked. She froze.
That dazzling golden hair, so radiant it swallowed even the darkness—more brilliant than the empire’s most precious jewels.
The emperor’s—
Her blood ran cold.
Jaha’s hand trembled around the glass. A desperate urge to flee surged through her entire body.
Is this what they mean by “frightened by a snake, then startled by a coiled rope”? Even the faintest reminder of the emperor made her heart plummet, driving her to avoid it at all costs.
All her fantasies of revenge were meaningless in the end—not just practically, but physically impossible. How could she face him when the very thought of sharing the same space, of locking eyes even for a second, made her recoil? The sheer revulsion swallowed everything else whole.
Jaha clenched her shaking hand with the other, gripping hard—as if willpower alone could force the tremor to stop.
‘Rikanan… just who are you?’
The man who had taken her to his estate, as if waiting for her, after she’d been found lost in an unnamed forest under the soldiers’ protection.
Maybe even that had been part of his design. From the moment those soldiers picked her up and took her in—preventing her from falling into the hands of slavers or anyone dangerous, ensuring she never slipped beyond his control.
If his intentions were good, she wouldn’t mind. She knew better than anyone how perilous the world was for a woman with nothing—especially in a place like this, where humanity meant little. But still…
‘Are you Cedric? Or…?’
Her throat burned. She took another sip of water—just as the man, who had been sleeping like the subject of a classical painting, opened his eyes.
“Jaha? Are you there?”
“You’re awake?”
“Yes. Because you weren’t here.”
His voice, still thick with sleep, was unfairly pleasant. How could someone sound this alluring just from waking up?
“I just got some water. Why’d you wake up over something like that?”
“It felt empty.”
The sheer audacity of his reply—as if her being in his arms was the default—made her snort.
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