“Now, you will taste the bitterness of losing a loved one!” The woman laughed and shouted, “You scheme and flatter! She will never love you, because you are not human! Not only does she not love you, she wants to kill you! She wishes she could tear you to pieces! How ridiculous, pitiful, and sad! The dark hand of your conspiracy has personally buried your humble love!…”
He did not finish listening to her words, for his slender black figure had already merged into the crimson sea of flames…
She trembled uncontrollably, her body soaked in cold water, the black long coat wrapped around her was also drenched, heavy and burdensome. She covered her mouth with her hands, still coughing incessantly.
“This is not a fire; it is arson. That beautiful maid is not a servant; she is a spy. Carol and Ross are aliases; her real name is Amanda. However, this cunning Persian cat cannot escape the sharp eyes of the mountain eagle. I think you know all of this very well.” He looked down at her, and she stopped coughing, still shivering, her dark eyes somewhat hollow, her pale lips seemingly frozen with a layer of ice.
“How does it feel, my angel? Is it pleasant to be betrayed?” His tone was low, as if saying this made him uncomfortable.
She finally broke her silence, quickly blinking her black eyes, lowering her head to say, “I do not blame her; she… had no choice but to do this.”
“You are truly magnanimous, kind to everyone but cruel to me,” he gently brushed his fingers through her matted black hair stuck to her forehead, pushing the messy strands aside, a hint of disdain in his smile. “I know you wish for my death. In fact, even if you truly poisoned my cup, I would understand.” He still smiled, but could no longer hide the sorrow and pain in his words.
His words were like a rusty dull knife, grinding against her heart. She could not endure this torturous torment, a series of counterattacks erupted from her like a volcano, “Why did you save me?! Why not let me burn to death in the basement! Yes, I did not poison your cup; I deliberately shattered that bottle of wine, but it was not out of sympathy for you or anything else! I just didn’t want to have blood on my hands, to become a devil like you! … I watched her plot against you; in fact, I always knew, always knew! But I just watched you die…”
“Enough! I told you, your life is mine; only I have the right to end it.” He said coldly, his gaze suddenly deepening, staring directly at her. This time, she did not look away from his gaze, nor did she evade his touch. Her dark eyes met his directly, and for a moment, her world was filled only with those ice-blue eyes. The distant house still flickered with red flames, her gaze pierced through the transparent air separating them, reaching directly into the depths of his clear eyes.
His tone was slow and solemn, each word pronounced clearly, “However, I also want to know, if I really die, will you shed a tear for me?” His thumb brushed against her warm cheek, the tear stains beneath her beautiful eyes still wet.
She could feel the warmth of his fingers, suddenly realizing that she was just a girl, an ordinary girl. The man before her, aside from his god-like beauty and unfathomable heart, was essentially just a man, a man who usually stood high above but at this moment was humbly yearning for a response, knowing she betrayed and cursed him, yet still would risk everything to save her.
The defenses in her heart crumbled rapidly, allowing the surging emotions to flood over her reason like a torrent. At the same time, hot tears burst from her eyes, falling onto his fingers. He carefully withdrew his hand from her face, watching the crystalline tears that clung to his fingertips.
“Alright, enough, this is too much.” He chuckled softly, clenched his fist, and turned to walk away step by step.
Watching his retreating figure, Khanyi bit her lip tightly, a metallic sweetness gradually filling her mouth. Her lower lip was bitten open by her own teeth, and she could not bring herself to say those words—I’m not crying for you.
People were busy extinguishing the fire, and by dawn, the flames were finally under control. Khanyi, curled up on the grass with a mat and wrapped in a cotton quilt, was awakened by an officer and taken to the car.
Before long, he entered the driver’s cabin, wearing a black uniform coat over a black cloak, which was covered in dust, clearly a sign of his frantic efforts to command the firefighting efforts, making him appear somewhat disheveled, a stark contrast to his usual neatness.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked.
He glanced at her and whispered, “To a place I’ve long wanted to take you.” With that, he inserted the key into the ignition with his left hand, started the engine, and with some effort, turned the steering wheel with one hand. She caught a glimpse of him in the rearview mirror; he was steering with one hand, while his right arm was wrapped in a blood-soaked bandage. She guessed the injury was serious, as his right arm could barely move. It must have been sustained last night when he broke through the iron gate to save her. Yet, he insisted on driving himself, which suggested there was something he wasn’t telling her.
“We’ll be on mountain roads from here,” he said, parking the car in a clearing by the woods before getting out.
