Confronted with such raw anguish—such savage, undiluted hatred—Calix felt as though something fundamental had shifted within him. Something unreal. His heart plummeted when he finally understood the depth of despair that twisted her beautiful face.
"Just let me go!"
But it was impossible.
"Asella..."
Whatever else might be true, *this* could not happen. He would not allow it.
"Forgive me, Asella." His voice was quiet, almost tender. "But I cannot fulfill that request."
He reached out and gently touched her face. His fingertips traced the curve of her high, smooth forehead. They brushed against closed eyelids framed by thick silver lashes—lashes that never seemed to dry, perpetually damp with tears. They skimmed pale cheeks and lingered near scarlet lips, slightly swollen from crying.
With great difficulty, he tore his gaze away and surveyed the room.
It was *enormous*—five times the size of his own bedchamber. The interior was nothing short of breathtaking: furnished with the rarest, most exquisite objects the world had to offer. Priceless masterpieces crowded every surface, every wall, every corner. Gold gleamed. Jewels sparkled. Fabrics of impossible beauty draped across furniture that belonged in a museum rather than a private residence.
This was the Grand Duke's secret chamber.
A place so magnificent that one could spend a lifetime admiring its contents and never grow weary.
*What else can I do, if you refuse to believe me?*
At first, Calix had tried persuasion. He had repeated it over and over—patiently, earnestly—that he had not killed Adele. That there was no reason to fear him. That both Asella and her sister would be completely safe now. That he truly possessed the power to protect them.
But Asella did not believe him.
"That's a *lie*!"
She was terrified that he would drug her—that he would extract Mariel's location by force. Tormented by this fear, she had tried to harm herself. Again. And again. And again.
Calix was forced to admit his approach had been entirely wrong. He hadn't imagined things would spiral this far. He had simply hoped that, frightened by his threats, she would confess everything willingly.
It had been a mistake.
Apparently, she valued her younger sister's life far more than her own.
"Asella, I won't force you to talk anymore. So please—"
"Don't come any closer!"
When he finally managed to intercept her as she tried to throw herself from the window, he understood with terrible clarity: this woman would not stop. She would seize any opportunity—whether escape or self-destruction.
*But Asella... I am not going to let you go.*
And so she was here now.
He had transported her to this place while she lay unconscious. It was the safest location in all of Benvito—perhaps in the entire world. The perfect space where no one else would ever touch her.
And most importantly... she would never be able to escape.
Calix exhaled slowly, a strange sense of exquisite satisfaction blooming in his chest. Only now could he truly possess her. This gilded cage, which his ancestors had adorned and perfected for centuries, was finally occupied.
It had reached its completion.
*One day, this little silver bird will spread her wings and sing in her golden cage...*
*Just for me.*
*I will tame her myself.*
*There is no escape from here. I'm sorry, Asella—but that is simply how things must be. Sooner or later, you will surrender.*
His gaze drifted down to her hand, resting limply against the silk coverlet. A precious ring glittered on her slender finger—the one he had personally placed there on their wedding day. On his own hand, an identical band gleamed.
He reached out and gently touched her fingers.
"Because you are my wife," he said aloud, his voice low and certain. "And you will remain so for the rest of our lives."
He was no longer willing to hide the damp, dark longing that had taken root in his heart.
---
## — Awakening —
Silver lashes fluttered.
Slowly, the girl's eyelids parted, revealing blue eyes that stared blankly at an unfamiliar ceiling—snow-white, impossibly high, adorned with intricate carved patterns that seemed to dance in the soft light.
Asella blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of the beautiful design above her. Then she realized she had never seen this ceiling before in her life.
*Is it over?*
Her last memory was the window. The desperate leap. The rush of cold air—
*So... I'm dead. This must be the afterlife.*
She lowered her gaze and examined her body. No injuries. No pain. *If I fell from that height, I should be shattered. Broken beyond repair.* Unless, perhaps, in the world beyond...
A sigh of profound relief escaped her lips. Slowly, carefully, she sat up in bed.
*What kind of place is this?*
But in an instant, every thought fled her mind.
She found herself in a space so magnificent it defied imagination. Radiant light poured from everywhere—from crystal chandeliers, from gilt-framed mirrors, from sources she couldn't identify. The objects surrounding her sparkled with an abundance of precious stones: sapphires, rubies, diamonds that caught the light and scattered it into a thousand rainbow fragments. Gold and silver gleamed on every surface. Fabrics of impossible beauty draped across furniture that looked more like art than function.
Her eyes were dazzled by this fantastic splendor.
*Is the afterlife truly this beautiful? Perhaps... perhaps I'll be able to see my parents here?*
She slipped her feet into soft fur slippers that had been placed thoughtfully beside the bed. Rising on unsteady legs, she began to explore.
It was impossible to believe such beauty could exist anywhere. She discovered a bathroom—all marble and gold fixtures. A dressing room filled with gowns that would make empresses weep with envy. A small library, its shelves heavy with leather-bound volumes. Even a miniature greenhouse, filled with flowers that seemed to glow with inner light.
Finally, Asella approached the window and gasped.
Soft sunlight streamed through the enormous panes, warming her skin. Beyond the glass, beautiful clouds drifted across a clear azure sky. And beneath that vast, achingly beautiful expanse... an endless green meadow stretched all the way to the horizon, swaying gently in an invisible breeze.
*What magnificent weather.*
She sank into a nearby chair and allowed herself to simply *admire* the calm, tranquil landscape. Peace settled over her like a blanket. Perhaps death wasn't so terrible after all. Perhaps—
Her fingertips began to tremble.
*Something is wrong.*
The clouds.
They weren't moving.
Asella's eyes widened. She stared harder. The clouds hung motionless in the sky—frozen, static, utterly still. The meadow grass didn't sway. Not a single leaf stirred. Nothing *moved*.
She leaped from her seat so violently that the delicate chair crashed backward onto the floor.
Her hands flew to the window frame, searching for a latch, a handle, *something*—
And then she understood.
It was a painting.
The window was a *painting*.
So impossibly realistic, so flawlessly rendered, that it had fooled her completely. But now that she looked—truly looked—she could see it. The subtle brushstrokes. The perfectly composed perspective. The absolute, lifeless stillness of a frozen moment captured in oil and pigment.
The delightful landscape stared back at her, completely indifferent to her dawning horror.
*Where am I? How did I end up here?*
Asella spun around, her eyes darting frantically across the room. She searched for the one thing that *had* to exist in every room—the one thing she hadn't noticed in her wonder-struck exploration.
*It doesn't exist.*
The color drained from her face.
*There's no door.*
She rushed to the walls, running her hands along the smooth surfaces, peering behind massive gilded frames, examining every seam and shadow. She studied the floor. She craned her neck to inspect the ceiling.
**There was no door.**
The girl froze in complete, paralyzing shock. She felt her legs losing strength beneath her—knees buckling, the floor rushing up to meet her—
Someone caught her from behind.
"Finally awake."
Asella's body went rigid. That quiet voice—she knew it too well.
*No. I must have misheard.*
She shook her head in desperate denial. This couldn't be real. But the scent that had already reached her nostrils—cedar and smoke and something darker—confirmed that this was no illusion.
"You haven't fully recovered yet. You should be more careful."
Before she could respond, she realized her body was floating—lifted effortlessly into the air. She couldn't move, couldn't struggle, until Calix had settled her onto a plush sofa.
"Aren't you cold?" He studied her frozen expression with something that might have been concern, then reached for a blanket.
It was enormous and impossibly soft. He wrapped it around her with surprising gentleness, tucking the edges carefully, before settling into the chair opposite her.
"How..." Her voice refused to cooperate. The words emerged broken, strangled. "Where... am I?"
"In my room."
"This... isn't..." Asella suddenly felt as though the walls were closing in. Her chest tightened. Her vision blurred at the edges.
"This is *your* room now." His voice was calm. Measured. Almost... satisfied. "From this moment forward, you will always live here."
"**No!**" She tried to surge to her feet, but her treacherous legs collapsed beneath her and she crumpled back onto the sofa. "I don't want this! Where's the door? Let me out—I want to *leave!*"
"I told you to be careful. You're still too weak." Calix rose smoothly and adjusted her position, tucking the blanket around her once more with infuriating patience. "You don't need to worry. I will give you whatever you desire. Tell me what you need—clothing, food, entertainment. I will be happy to provide. *Anything* you want."
Asella shuddered as a large hand cupped her cheek—as gently as if touching the petals of a rare and fragile flower.
But after that deceptively tender caress, a quiet whisper slithered into her ear like the hiss of a serpent:
"Except leaving here."
Her mind reeled. Her breathing turned shallow, ragged. A weak, desperate moan escaped her throat.
Calix immediately reached for a crystal decanter and poured water into a delicate glass. He extended it toward her with careful hands.
But Asella shook her head frantically, pressing her palm over her lips in refusal.
"You... you've locked me in?"
"Let's say..." He paused, considering his words. "It's for your own good."
His tone was almost *insolent*.
Asella fought to maintain her composure. Her fingers twisted convulsively in the fabric of her skirt, knuckles white with tension. But treacherous tears were already rising in her throat, threatening to spill over.
"Do you truly believe I'll sit here quietly?"
"Absolutely."
The answer was short. And terrifying.
"You tried to take your own life just to escape me." His intense crimson gaze seemed to bind her with invisible chains. "Did you think such actions would go unanswered?"
He leaned forward, his eyes never leaving her face.
"My people found evidence of portal use. At the hotel where you last stayed. That's where your sister vanished without a trace." He let the words sink in. "Which means she almost certainly used that portal."
Asella's heart stopped.
"I've been wondering..." His voice dropped to a near-whisper. "Who could have given you such a valuable artifact?"
A pause.
Then he spat the name like poison:
"High Priest Roshan."
Asella's pupils trembled—wild, desperate, like the sea before a catastrophic storm.
But Calix continued speaking, watching with predatory attention as her expression shifted and cracked:
"If Roshan provided the portal... then it stands to reason the destination was the Temple. Or somewhere nearby."
"**MARIEL!**"
The scream tore from Asella's throat before she could stop it—raw, wounded, animalistic.
"I've already dispatched scouts to the Temple." Calix's voice remained terrifyingly calm. "Everything will become clear within a few days."
Asella bit down on her lip so hard she tasted blood. Her throat constricted with suffocating terror.
"Mariel..." Her voice was barely a whisper now. "What are you going to do to her?"
"Good question."
Calix snapped his fingers.
A section of wall that had appeared completely solid suddenly *shifted*. A passage materialized from nowhere—a doorway that had been invisible moments before—and figures began to file into the room.
But these weren't the maids who had served her in her previous chambers.
They weren't *people* at all.
"Allow me to introduce my precious wife to her new attendants."
"A pleasure to meet you, Madam. We will be honored to serve you."
The voices emerged in perfect unison—flat, mechanical, utterly devoid of emotion. Their faces were identical: smooth, pale, expressionless. Doll-like features frozen in eternal, empty pleasantness.
Terror clawed up Asella's spine.
"What..." She turned to Calix, her eyes wide with horror. "What *are* these things?"
"I told you." His smile didn't reach his eyes. "You won't want for anything."
"But my maids—" Her voice cracked. "What about Lady Roman? Where are they?"
Calix's smile twisted into something strange. Something cold.
"People who were supposed to protect their mistress like the apple of their eye... and then *lost* her?" He tilted his head, studying her reaction with unsettling interest. "What do you think, Asella? What price should they pay for such a mistake?"
---