A small smile. Confident.
“I knew.”
Her eyes fly wide open, her voice exploding instantly:
“WHAAAT?!”
He continues as if she never interrupted him, his tone calm to the point of provocation:
“From the moment I grabbed your ankle.
There is only one maid in this entire palace
thin enough for the wind to carry her away.”
“Hey! Stop bullying me, you scheming bastard!”
She jabs a slender finger at him, furious, almost shaking.
“Then why did you play the idiot?!”
He smiles again—sweet, almost innocent.
“I just wanted to see…
how far you’d go with your lies.”
Then—
he finally releases her ankle.
She yanks her foot back at once, clutching it like a feral cat.
Her thick black hair spills down both sides of her face,
eyes burning.
“You lied,”
she snaps.
“You said we’d start over.”
She doesn’t give him a chance to reply.
“And why do you even care about the words of a maid
who said you were a killer?
Did it really affect you that much…
enough to push me out of a window?”
She lets out a short laugh—empty, joyless.
“And the moment I looked at you with that frightened expression…
you decided it must be true?
No— you damn, despicable bastard.”
Her voice rises, bitterness breaking loose:
“You proved it yourself.
That you’re a killer.
What you did to me is proof enough.
And the greatest proof of all—”
She stops.
Then says it—like a knife driven in:
“Nelmin’s disappearance.
I’m the only one who remembers her.”
She turns her face away.
Falls silent.
The night swallows her words.
Adrian remains seated in front of her.
He doesn’t move closer.
He doesn’t move away.
He opens his mouth slowly—
as if he’s about to speak.
Then closes it.
His Adam’s apple shifts.
His eyes never leave the side of her face.
And for the first time—
he has no ready answer.
A suffocating silence settled in.
The kind that presses against the chest, where thoughts collide without making a sound.
Elizabeth waited.
Waited for him to laugh.
To threaten her.
To say something—anything.
But after a long silence, he spoke quietly:
“I never meant to push you.”
Her hand froze around her ankle.
She lifted her head slowly, stunned into silence.
He continued, his voice lower:
“I only meant to scare you.”
“…You expect me to believe that?”
The words slipped out sharp, immediate.
He finally raised his head and looked at her.
His eyes were clear.
No mockery. No manipulation.
Just a cold clarity—
or emptiness, as Elise perceived it.
He said:
“That night…
when you came with Joanne and looked at me like that…”
He paused.
Then continued more softly:
“I panicked.”
He extended his hand, placing it on the grass between them—
not touching her.
“I hate it when someone uncovers my secrets.”
Then, as if weighing every word:
“And that night…
you looked at me as though you knew everything I had ever done.”
His gaze lifted slightly.
“It didn’t matter what you knew.
The only questions in my mind were—
how?
And who told you?”
Another silence fell.
Then he spoke a single name:
“Nelmin…”
He swallowed.
“I didn’t kill her,”
he said slowly.
“I only erased her memory.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened.
“And if you want…
I’ll bring her back to the palace to work as she did before.”
Then he continued, his tone firm, cold:
“If you were lying…
I would’ve killed you before you even cried.”
Silence.
“And if you truly knew everything…
you wouldn’t be this afraid.”
He stopped.
Drew a deep breath.
Then he said something she wasn’t prepared to hear.
“…I’m sorry.”
Her eyes widened.
A long silence followed his apology.
Elizabeth’s brows slowly drew together.
A thought crept in—slowly… then sank its claws deep.
Does he think I wanted his apology?
Is he mocking me?
Did he come here just to tell me to fall—
then offer his hand so he wouldn’t descend alone?
Her fist clenched hard around the grass.
Her fingers trembled—not with fear,
but with rage.
Did he really expect forgiveness so easily?
That I’d share his sin… just so he wouldn’t bear it alone?
Her teeth ground together.
And for the first time—
pure disgust showed on her face.
Her brows knit tighter.
And her eyes—
They were no longer blue.
They turned black.
Like a bottomless abyss.
Like a depth that devours anyone foolish enough to stare too long.
She looked straight into Adrian’s eyes.
His widened slightly—
not in shock,
but in realization.
She rose in one sharp motion.
Her legs slid to either side of his waist.
One hand seized his cravat and yanked it tight,
the other clenched his collar.
Their faces closed the distance—too close.
Their breaths tangled,
white mist spilling between them in the freezing air.
Her voice dropped—low, restrained, sharp as a blade:
“Don’t misunderstand me.”
She pulled harder on his cravat,
forcing his neck to bend.
Her piercing gaze locked onto his from below, unblinking.
“And don’t assume—
even for a moment—
that I said any of that to pull you out of the abyss.”
Her voice grew colder.
Harsher.
“Stay in it.”
She leaned in closer, until their noses nearly touched.
“Drown.”
“Let it swallow you whole…”
The last word was a whisper—
a final sentence passed down without appeal:
“Make it your home.”
A cold darkness spread through his eyes in return.
He didn’t speak.
His features froze, rigid as stone.
Then she said it—
for the first time—
his name, stripped of all respect:
“I don’t want your salvation, Adrian.”
His eyes widened sharply.
He remained silent—
his hands digging into the grass, gripping it as if restraining himself.
Then Elizabeth spoke again, her voice soft—
like a confession that came far too late:
“I don’t want more than this…
I want to live.”
Her tone hardened, no scream in it—
only a stone-like resolve:
“And if staying alive
means being selfish,
cruel,
and complicit with a monster…
then I will be.”
She lifted her head slowly.
Placed both palms against his cheeks.
Her hair spilled between them like a black curtain.
Her eyes were tired—
but unshaken.
She looked down at him,
his face below hers,
trapped between her hands,
trapped within her gaze.
And she said, cold and steady, without a tremor:
“I won’t expose you.”
She paused.
Then added, as if shedding a burden that was never hers to carry:
“And whoever wants justice—
let them seek it themselves.
Fixing this rotten world
is not my concern…
and not my responsibility.”
In that moment,
she stripped the weight from her shoulders
like taking off a heavy coat
after a long winter.
And inside, she whispered to herself:
Yes…
I’ve always been selfish.
Ugly on the inside.
Twisted.
Bleak.
No one would want to stay with me.
And I doubt anyone
will say “good morning”
to me after what I’ve said tonight.
She fell silent.
Then she stood slowly.
Took a step back, lifted her head to the sky,
her hair dancing in the wind,
her eyes completely black.
And in her mind, she said calmly—terrifyingly so:
Good.
It’s good to be cut off from the world.
No one looking for you.
No one asking if you’re safe.
No one ordering you around.
Just…
Free.
Selfish.
Empty.
Cruel.
And she smiled—a small smile.
Not happy.
Not sad.
But the smile of someone
who chose survival,
even if it meant
hating herself afterward.
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