Captian, who had been casually spinning the gun in his hand, suddenly paused. He narrowed his eyes at me, a flicker of surprise in them.
The two kneeling men stared, their faces twisted in rage and disbelief.
"You're a wicked woman!" one of them shouted. "Even in death, we'll haunt you!"
He lunged forward, grabbing my dress. My body was limp, too slow to react, nearly collapsing when a cold, commanding voice rang out:
"That's enough."
It was Captian. His proud gaze fell upon the two groveling men.
"Take care of them."
His voice was soft, yet colder than steel. Instantly, the guards behind him drew their guns.
Bang! Bang!
Two sharp gunshots exploded through the room. The two men collapsed, blood spreading across the floor like red ink.
My eyes flew open. My mouth parted, but no words came out. My entire body froze, struggling to keep a calm expression. Only I knew how soaked my wedding gown was in cold sweat.
But deep down, I whispered to myself: I did the right thing.
No one would save me unless I saved myself.
Captian's lips curved into a slight, mocking smile. He lifted his gun and aimed it directly at me. "You're not afraid?"
"I… I am…" I whispered, lips trembling. The breath of relief I'd barely drawn vanished into smoke. I swallowed hard, trying to steady my voice.
Captian stepped closer, his shadow completely engulfing me. "Then why aren't your legs shaking?"
A normal woman, witnessing what had just happened, would've collapsed much less stayed standing. But me… I wasn't like them.
I looked him in the eye. My gaze was drenched in fear, but I still forced a small, stubborn smile.
"When I was living in the countryside," I began softly but clearly, "there was a fierce golden dog. Every time it saw me, it would chase me. The more I ran, the harder it chased. One day, I stopped, picked up a rock, and threw it at him… and he ran away."
I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms. "That's when I realized fear can't save you." I looked him straight in the eye. "You understand what I mean, don't you, Mr. Anderson?"
"You just compared Mr. Anderson to… a dog?" Ronan roared, face flushing red.
I trembled to my core but kept my smile. I stole a glance at Captian, trying to gauge his reaction.
He didn't reply immediately, but the sharp glint in his eyes made my chest tighten like prey before a predator. The air turned suffocating.
"No… I misspoke," I quickly said, softening my tone. "Mr. Anderson is dignified and generous. I'm sure someone like you wouldn't hold it against someone as insignificant as me."
"You've got some nerve," Ronan hissed. "Toss her in the freezer already!"
"Enough." Captian raised his hand, cutting him off.
I stared at him, terrified and confused. In those frigid eyes… I saw something else. Interest? Curiosity? Whatever it was, it only made the atmosphere heavier.
Finally, he turned to a stern-faced woman nearby, her expression like carved stone.
"Nanny Lenka, take her to the room on the second floor."
I quietly let out a breath of relief, though I didn't dare show it. So… I'd been spared, for now?
Ronan blinked in disbelief and muttered, "He's really letting her go?"
Nanny Lenka stepped forward with cold, measured grace. "Miss Rosy, please follow me."
I quickly followed her, trying to stay composed while scanning the surroundings. Cameras were everywhere, cold and emotionless. There was nowhere to escape.
Once inside the room, I shut the door and leaned against it. Sweat poured from me like a shower. I trembled from head to toe. I stood still for several seconds, letting the reality crash down on me.
The Baileys didn't bring me here out of pity. They brought me here to replace their "precious daughter."
As for Captian? He wasn't human. He was a demon.
I clenched my fists. One day… I would make them all pay.
But right now, I had to survive. If I wasn't careful, I'd end up just like the two men lying in the parlor.
As soon as Nanny Lenka closed the door behind her, I collapsed as if every tendon in my body had snapped. My legs were numb. My heels were so tight my ankles felt like they were on fire. I exhaled, gripping the edge of a chair but too weak to pull myself up. The wedding dress clung to me like a steel net—heavy, damp, the hem soaked in dried blood and dirt. It could hardly be called a wedding gown anymore. It was a ragged patchwork of stains.
I lay back on the cold wooden floor, biting my lip as I tore off the heels crushing my feet. The skin was swollen and red, my pinky toe even oozed blood. These shoes clearly weren't meant for me. They were too small, outdated.
I turned one over in my hand, a dull ache of disgust filling my chest. My father hadn't even bothered to prepare a proper outfit. They must've assumed I wouldn't live through the night. The dress was probably a discarded piece from a bridal shop—unwashed, still smelling of someone else's sweat.
And these shoes? Even if I were to die tonight, couldn't they at least dress me properly? Otherwise I'd come back to haunt them in something truly terrifying. I wouldn't die looking like this. My resentment would double. Just look—old beige heels with rounded tips, gaudy rhinestones dangling like an old woman's crooked teeth. Some had been clumsily glued back with cheap adhesive. My stepmother had a strange habit of saving things that were "not classy enough to use," just in case she needed something "to give away" or donate. I knew her kind of "charity" too well.
I gasped for breath, my whole body sore as if scraped over rough stone. I longed to collapse on the bed, but I couldn't. The dress was filthy, and I didn't want to stain the sheets. After all… this was "his house."
I slumped to the floor, leaning against the cold wall. After a while, when the burning in my feet eased, I forced myself to stand and staggered toward the window.
The courtyard below was full of black-clad guards. Cameras lined every wall—no blind spots. Even if I escaped the house, Captian's power blanketed the entire city. I wouldn't last the night.
I sighed and gave up on escaping for now.
Just then, a knock at the door startled me.
Nanny Lenka entered, carrying a neatly folded white cloth bundle. Under the dim lights, her shadow stretched across the floor, silent like an ancient tree no longer fit to shelter anything.
"There are clean clothes," she said, placing the bundle on a chair by the wall. Then she looked at me. "Take a bath. The master doesn't like the smell of blood."
I looked up at her, puzzled. She wasn't looking at me with pity or contempt—just calm, like someone long used to a house where everything revolved around one man.
"He… doesn't like the smell of blood?" I blurted, unable to hide the sarcasm in my voice.
She didn't answer. She simply pulled back the curtain slightly to let in a bit of light. I heard the bathroom door creak open behind me a final reminder.
"I've drawn a warm bath. Go quickly. It's late."
I stood. The dried blood under my gown cracked, stinging lightly along my thighs. Her words echoed in my mind.
A man like Captian Anderson… disliked the smell of blood?
The same man who orchestrated executions like rituals, who kept me in a mansion like a psychological prison… was sensitive to the scent of blood?
I didn't believe it. I couldn't. Unless… it wasn't the kind of blood he wanted to see.
I stepped into the steam-filled bathroom. The warm yellow light cast a hazy glow over the white tiled walls. In front of me, a large mirror covered nearly half the wall—cold and merciless.
I saw myself—and froze.
The face in the reflection made me stop. My foundation was patchy, dark eyeliner smudged by tears and sweat into long gray streaks like chemical tears. My lipstick was smeared unevenly across my lower lip, like I'd half-licked off ink.
"What the hell…"
I'd stood in front of Mr. Anderson looking like this?
They called this "bridal makeup"?
This was the mask they smeared on me to please a man I didn't even know?
I took a deep breath and composed myself. There was no time for grief or rage. I quietly undressed, layers of gaudy lace falling like a molted shell. My body ached after a day of being forced into that dress. Red marks streaked my shoulders and hips—a reminder of the absurdity I'd been subjected to.
I stepped into the shower and turned on the water. Warm streams cascaded over my skin, almost melting me. I tilted my head back, letting it wash away the last of the makeup. I wanted to scrub it all off—the cheap powder, the plastic perfume, and the shame that clung to me since I'd been dragged here like an object.
One shower. One silent purge.
But I knew—the things that most needed cleansing weren't on my skin.
After bathing, I put on the clean clothes and stepped out, towel in hand.
But the moment I stepped out of the bathroom, I froze—petrified.
I regretted coming out too soon. I wanted to run back inside.
A heavy breath echoed from behind me—too close.
I froze. My skin crawled. My heart thundered.
Someone… was in my room.
I couldn't move, but curiosity got the better of me. Slowly, I turned.
When I saw the man standing there, my breath caught, and the towel slipped from my hand.
"You… Mr. Anderson? What are you doing here?" I stammered, barely able to make a sound.
My eyes locked on him, Captian, standing there as if he'd always belonged. A chill ran down my spine.
I had locked the door, thinking I'd be safe. How naive. He leaned lazily against the doorframe, unbothered.
"Speak," he said calmly, lightly twirling a key between his fingers. His dark eyes pierced into me.
That's when I remembered: he was the master of this house. Of course he had keys to every room. There was nowhere in this mansion beyond his reach.
I stepped back, suddenly aware of my vulnerability. "Do you… need something, Mr. Anderson?" I asked cautiously, trying to sound calm despite my racing heart.
His gaze roamed over me, bold and unfiltered. I felt it scorch through every layer. Droplets of water slid down my neck. The light shimmered against my damp skin. I saw his eyes follow each one.
"You're drying your hair?" he asked, nodding at the towel on the floor. "Then go ahead."
I hesitated, but the weight of his stare gave me no choice. I bent down to pick up the towel, my heart pounding.
I knew he was watching. His eyes burned. As I bent over, exposing my collarbone and the bare skin of my shoulders, his breath subtly shifted.
It felt like being stalked by a predator.
Before I could stand fully upright, the world flipped.
Captian moved fast.
In an instant, I was pinned to the bed.
"Ah!" I cried out, struggling instinctively.
"What are you doing?!" I shouted, heart nearly leaping from my chest. I tried to resist, but his strength was overwhelming.
He leaned down, smirking. "What's wrong? You were calm just a moment ago. Done pretending?"
I bit my lip, unable to answer. His words cut through my fragile defenses like a knife.
His eyes dropped to the neckline of my loose shirt. I reflexively tried to cover myself, but it was too late—he'd already seen.
"You really are… quite alluring," he muttered, voice thick with sarcasm. "The Baileys must've invested a lot."
He grabbed my chin, forcing me to look into his eyes. His grip hurt—my jaw ached, tears welled in my eyes.
"Let me go," I whispered, each word soaked in fear.
He raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Let go? What kind of man do you think I am?"
His gaze landed on the mole beneath my eye. His expression softened, just slightly.
"Nice mole," he murmured, voice lowering colder. "I want to cut it out… and keep it for myself."
I held my breath. His finger brushed over it and then, he leaned in...
His lips touched it.