Chapter 362
The words were not loud in volume, yet they felt like icy needles driven straight into her spine.
The sarcasm he delivered was an art of verbal torture.
Every sentence was carefully constructed to remind Erietta of her low status, her uselessness, and the burden she imposed upon the Bathee family.
He mocked the way she walked, the gaze in her eyes that he deemed too bold, even the way she drew breath, as though it were a luxury she did not deserve.
What made the sarcasm so piercing was the manner in which it was delivered.
The deputy chairman never raised his voice.
His speech was flat, monotonous, and devoid of emotion, like a machine reciting a failure report.
That tone made every word feel more objective, more like an indisputable fact than an insult.
There was no anger within it, only a cold disappointment and a final judgment.
Physical violence was indeed rare, but when it came, it was always chosen at the precise moment, as the concluding emphasis of a painful sentence, merging physical and mental pain into a single deep wound.
'Breathe in relief.'
Hundreds of minutes that felt like an endless cycle of torment finally came to a halt.
The grand, tightly enclosed carriage of the Bathee family had carried Erietta through heavily guarded gates toward a vast and sterile steel platform.
There, waiting in threatening silence, stood a special train.
Its gleaming, pitch-black iron engine resembled a moving coffin more than a means of transport, a physical symbol of the unwanted journey toward her true cage.
With heavy steps and a body that still remembered every blow and insult, Erietta climbed the cold stairs and entered the cabin.
The interior was spacious, dominated by intricately carved dark wood and panels of dried-blood-colored velvet.
Crystal chandeliers cast dim yellow light, creating long shadows that danced along the walls.
Yet the displayed luxury felt piercing and foreign, a display of wealth that only reminded her she had never truly been part of it.
The air inside was stifling, scented with machine oil, polished wood, and something subtler—the lingering aroma of fear embedded into every layer of carpet.
She stood in the center of the room, alone for a fleeting moment, feeling the dense silence before the storm entered.
That calm was quickly shattered.
With perfect discipline and without unnecessary sound, the entire group of guards began entering the cabin.
The blank-faced subordinates spread out, taking strategic positions in every corner, at every door, and along the narrow corridor leading to other compartments.
Their eyes continued to monitor, never fully fixed on her, yet never fully releasing her either.
Then, with heavier and more authoritative steps, the Chairman and his deputy entered.
The Chairman moved directly toward a tall seat at the end of the cabin that faced the entire room, sitting calmly with his hands folded upon his lap, his sharp eyes immediately settling on her.
The deputy chairman stood beside him, slightly behind, like a loyal shadow, his face still flat and unreadable like porcelain kept within a glass cabinet.
'What are they truly guarding. My safety… or ensuring I do not escape?'
The train moved with a subtle jolt that was almost imperceptible, then began gliding away from the platform like an iron serpent leaving its nest.
The clock's hands pointed precisely to 10:10 a.m. as the rails creaked softly and the view beyond the barred windows began to shift, changing from concrete shadows to blurred expanses of green.
Inside the grand and silent cabin, that movement created a bitter illusion, as though the outside world was fleeing from her, leaving her locked inside a luxurious box sliding toward a predetermined fate.
Erietta sat alone on a firm velvet-covered bench, isolated in the middle of the room.
Her solitary presence within the vast space made her feel even smaller and more exposed.
Every corner of the cabin was guarded by uniformed figures with upright posture and empty gazes.
They did not move, barely seemed to breathe, like statues granted life for a single purpose—to watch her.
The sensation of being the center of dozens of unblinking eyes was a slow and piercing psychological torment.
Every small movement, every adjustment of her dress, every furrow of her brow from discomfort, was recorded and analyzed by that soulless surveillance machine.
The room itself felt like a giant telescope directed solely at her.
Yet among all that scrutiny, there were two sources that burned most intensely upon her awareness.
At the far end of the cabin, the Chairman sat like a king upon his throne.
His gaze did not merely watch—it penetrated.
Those eyes swept over her coldly, as if scanning every weakness, every crack in the mask of her composure, every tremor of fear that might escape her control.
And beside him, slightly dimmer yet no less threatening, stood the deputy chairman.
His flat, utterly expressionless stare was fixed upon her.
It was not a look of hatred or anger, but of pure objectivity, like a researcher observing a specimen beneath a magnifying glass.
The absence of emotion in that gaze made it a thousand times more terrifying, for it implied she was nothing more than an object, a variable in a larger equation.
'I will endure. I must.'
Amid the pressure that nearly strangled her breath, Erietta drew a long and deep inhale, an effort to calm her pounding heart that fluttered like a trapped bird within the cage of her ribs.
Behind the veil of green hair partially covering her still-throbbing face, a firm whisper echoed in her mind, a mantra she repeated stubbornly.
Do not appear weak.
She planted those words like molten steel into her veins, freezing the tremor threatening her fingertips and hardening the line of her jaw that nearly quivered.
Before these uniformed executioners, beneath the evaluative gaze of the Chairman and the sterile observation of his deputy, weakness was a luxury she could not display.
It was a weapon they would use to destroy her further.
So she sat straighter, her slight shoulders drawn back, and an artificial calm—cold and fragile like a thin layer of ice upon a lake—began to envelop her posture.
After maintaining that pose for some time, with a deliberate motion meant to suggest she still possessed control over even her simplest choices, Erietta slowly turned her body.
Her cold hand reached for the brass window latch of the train.
With steady pressure, she opened it.
The faint scraping sound of the sliding window slipped between the hum of the engine.
Instantly, the fresh, fast-moving morning air struck her face, sweeping away the stifling scent of the cabin and replacing it with the smell of iron, oil, and dew-soaked grass crushed beneath wheels.
She focused her entire awareness outward.
Her dark-green eyes, like stained glass watching a vanishing world, fixed themselves upon the scenery rushing past beyond the barred window.
To be continued…