— Ice Beneath the Calm —
The atmosphere in the villa was frozen solid.
The incense beside the meditation mat had burned down to a thin thread of ash, yet no one dared disturb it.
When Erskine's mangled, headless corpse was carried in, blood still dark and tacky along the edges of the wound, Damien remained seated cross-legged on the mat, eyes closed, posture unwavering.
Not even a flicker crossed his face.
It was as if what lay before him was not a corpse—but an object.
A failed piece of equipment, returned for disposal.
"How did he die?"
The voice was low, even, stripped of emotion—
yet sharp enough to slice through the room, making one's heart tremble.
Seraphine and Clara exchanged glances.
Erskine had followed Damien for over a decade.
He had shed blood for the Vale family, silenced enemies, carried out tasks no one else dared touch.
And now—his body lay ruined on the floor.
No anger.
No surprise.
Not even irritation.
Was this man even human?
"Marrying a man like this—"
A shudder of inexplicable fear ran through Seraphine, cold creeping up her spine.
"—what would my life become?"
She felt, suddenly, as though she were standing at the edge of a bottomless pit—
and the ground beneath her was already cracking.
Suppressing her terror, she lowered her gaze and whispered, "It was a silver-haired old woman... killed by a powerful passerby."
She paused—just a fraction too long.
She omitted Eren's involvement.
That young man, however talented, however abnormal, could not possibly shake the behemoth that was the Vale family.
At least—that was what she forced herself to believe.
Damien's expression remained unchanged.
His breathing never wavered.
"Killing for gain is the natural order of our world," he said calmly.
"I warned him—don't rely solely on the Vale name."
A faint pause.
"This outcome is his own doing."
As his words fell—
His eyes snapped open.
The pressure in the room shifted instantly.
It was subtle, almost imperceptible—yet Seraphine felt it like an invisible hand closing around her throat.
"You truly don't know this 'powerful' individual?"
Seraphine's heart tightened violently.
"I..." Her fingers curled into her sleeve.
"I really don't know him."
She forced herself to meet his gaze, though her pulse thundered in her ears.
"I would not dare lie to you."
A beat.
"You don't believe me?"
Three seconds of silence followed.
They stretched endlessly.
Each second felt like a blade suspended above her head, threatening to fall at any moment.
Damien's gaze was suffocating—not sharp, not hostile—
but utterly indifferent, as though he were weighing whether she was worth remembering.
Then, without warning, he closed his eyes again.
The pressure vanished.
"Understood," he said.
"This matter ends here."
His tone was flat, devoid of warmth or judgment.
Then his voice shifted—
no longer inquiry, but command:
"The wedding is at month's end."
"I expect no... unpleasant surprises."
There was no threat in his words.
Because threats were unnecessary.
That calm authority—absolute, unquestioned—
made Seraphine's heart sink into an abyss.
She looked at him one last time.
In that instant, she realized something she had never dared articulate before:
To Damien Vale, people were not companions.
They were variables.
And variables that threatened stability—
were meant to be removed.
She turned and left without another word.
Only after the sound of footsteps faded did a slight smile tug at Damien's lips.
It was not anger.
Nor sorrow.
Just quiet, precise calculation.
---
Only once they were outside the manor did Clara finally gasp for air, her hand pressed tightly to her chest as if afraid her heart might leap out.
Cold night air rushed into her lungs, yet she still felt suffocated.
"Young Master Damien's aura..." Her voice shook. "It's too terrifying..."
Seraphine did not slow her steps.
"He's not human," she said quietly, her voice drained of color.
"He's a block of eternal ice."
No anger.
No hatred.
Just a statement of fact.
She did not look back.
After a brief pause, she spoke again, forcing steadiness into her voice.
"Let's go to the hospital."
Her fingers clenched unconsciously.
"Mother's leg..." She swallowed. "There's still hope."
Hope.
The word felt fragile—thin as glass—yet she held onto it all the same.
As the carriage sped through the night, she replayed that porcelain jar in her mind again and again:
smooth, intact, untouched.
Thinking of that single sliver of light, the crushing weight in her chest finally eased—just a little.
---
— Hope Annihilated —
Inside the hospital room.
The air was thick with antiseptic and the faint scent of medicinal herbs.
Vivienne lay propped against the bed, her eyes snapping open the moment Seraphine entered.
"Did you get it?" she demanded, her voice sharp with urgency.
"The Salve!"
"I got it."
Seraphine forced a smile she did not quite feel.
She reached into her sleeve and took out the porcelain jar with trembling care, as though afraid it might shatter at the slightest touch.
The moment the lid was lifted—
A cool, refreshing fragrance spilled into the room, cutting through the stale hospital air.
It was clean. Pure. Alive.
Vivienne's breath hitched, her eyes instantly glistening.
"Quick—apply it now!"
Seraphine nodded.
"I know the method." Her voice wavered, but hope carried it forward.
"A thin layer, once a day. Three days—and it will heal."
For the first time since Erskine's death, her hands felt warm.
She dipped her fingers into the ointment—
Suddenly.
The jar was gone.
Empty air met her grasp.
"Who?!"
Seraphine's head snapped up, her voice cutting sharply through the room.
In the corner, where shadows pooled thickest, a figure stood.
Clothed entirely in black.
Face concealed behind a mask.
No footsteps. No breath. No presence—until now.
Like a ghost that had always been there.
"Give it back!" Seraphine shouted, her pulse roaring in her ears.
"Give me back the Salve!"
"It must be Eren!"
Vivienne screamed, her voice shrill with panic and rage.
"That bastard! Breaking my leg wasn't enough? Now he sends someone to finish me off?"
Her curses spilled out in a frenzy.
"Damn him! May he die a thousand deaths! May his bloodline be wiped out for eighteen generations—!!"
The masked man tilted his head.
A slight smile curved beneath the mask—cold, faintly amused.
He said nothing.
Without urgency, without hesitation, he walked toward the toilet.
Each step was unhurried.
Deliberate.
Under their frozen, horrified stares—
Glug.
The dark ointment poured from the jar, vanishing into the bowl.
Click.
The flush handle was pressed down.
The roar of rushing water tore through the room—
sharper than a blade driven straight through the heart.
"No—!"
Seraphine's body shook violently, from her fingertips to her spine.
Her pupils contracted, breath coming in ragged gasps.
That jar of Black Jade Rejoining Salve—
The only thing that could save her mother.
The only thing she had endured humiliation and fear to obtain—
Gone.
Swallowed by the drain.
Gone forever.
"Eren—!!"
Vivienne wailed, her voice breaking apart.
"You beast! May you die screaming! May you rot in agony—!!"
The masked man finally spoke.
His voice was low, hollow—
as if it had climbed up from the depths of hell itself.
"Despair?"
"Pain?"
He paused.
"What you feel now..."
"is not even one ten-thousandth of what that person endured."
With those words—
He vanished.
No footsteps.
No shadow.
As if he had never existed at all.
Silence crashed down upon the room.
It was heavier than any scream.
"That person..."
Seraphine whispered, her face draining of color.
She knew.
She almost wished she did not.
He meant Eren.
Was he really this cruel?
To destroy hope so thoroughly—
to leave nothing behind, no path, no possibility?
Her chest felt hollowed out, as though something vital had been torn free.
Bloodless. Raw.
Tears spilled over.
Her knees buckled.
She collapsed to the floor, shoulders shaking.
Clara rushed to her side, wrapping her arms around her, sobbing.
"He's gone too far... Don't cry. He's not worth it!"
She turned desperately toward the bed.
"Aunt Vivienne, stop shouting—Seraphine is already in enough pain!"
"Pain?"
Vivienne let out a sharp, bitter laugh.
"I'm the cripple here!" she snarled.
"What's she crying for? Useless girl."
In that instant—
Seraphine's sobs stopped.
Abruptly.
She slowly lifted her head.
Tears still streamed down her face, tracing cold lines across her skin.
No softness.
No hesitation.
That last bit of warmth—
Finally extinguished.
Leaving only a cold light burning in the abyss.