The Forsaken Sanctity

"Prove your love, Lady. Try serving me tonight."

The voice was soft, yet it carried no melody—only the toll of a death knell.

Roselyn remained motionless on the cold marble, letting her knees go numb. Her dignity as the sole daughter of Count Sirius had long been cast aside. All that remained was a thin silk gown, now drenched and clinging to her skin, leaving every curve of her body exposed.

Derrick—her fiancé and a Duke of the Empire—approached. He moved without haste, certain that his prey would be the one waiting.

"I was kind enough to receive you, Lady, simply because you were mad enough to wait in the middle of a storm. Didn't you say earlier that you missed me dearly?"

His ice-cold blue eyes looked down at her. The woman dubbed the 'Holy Rose of the Empire' had become his newest plaything.

Roselyn did not answer. Her gaze was fixed on her fingers—slender, pale, and… whole. In her fresh memories, those fingers had once been skeletal, some even severed.

‘Why am I here? Didn’t I fall from the balcony? Wasn't I dying?’ she whispered to herself.

Before her mind could find an answer, the heat of Derrick’s body pressed against her back. Suddenly, a forbidden fire flared within her.

"Forgive me for leaving you in the rain, Rose. But I have seen your sincerity, and I shall repay it tonight."

"What about that woman?" Roselyn asked spontaneously, as if her lips moved on their own.

"Aira? She is merely a toy for when I am bored. You are my partner."

"Does that mean we will marry?"

"Of course. So, hurry and take off that gown. I want no barriers between us. Or... shall I do it for you?"

"Wait, Derrick—"

With a single motion, the Duke jerked her body around and silenced her lips with a kiss.

The more Roselyn tried to create distance, the wilder the flames of passion grew within him. Derrick swept her up and threw her onto the bed in the corner of the room. He discarded his black shirt; under the flickering candlelight, his hard muscles rippled like a perfect sculpture.

He pressed his body against hers until no space remained. His heavy breath, laced with the scent of wine, felt scorching as it teased the sensitive skin of her neck.

Roselyn closed her eyes tight, trembling as she gripped the sheets. Even as her mind screamed in protest, her young body seemed to betray her, letting out a soft moan.

“Derrick, I ... I am so ashamed.”

“Get used to it, Rose. This is your duty as the future Duchess.”

That sentence instantly triggered a flash of memory behind her closed eyelids. Not from the past, but fragments of a future she had already lived.

She remembered how Derrick would light a cigar by the bedside and walk out without a word after they finished. He would leave his wife behind like a used object tossed onto the mattress. And that humiliation had repeated itself for ten years.

Yet, Derrick’s touch tonight felt different. It was gentle and attentive, enough to make her resolve waver.

"You’re shivering, Rose. Let me warm you," Derrick whispered, breaking her trance.

"Do you love me?"

"What kind of foolish question is that, Lady? Who else is more worthy of my love than you?"

"Can you give it only to me?"

The Duke did not answer with words. His lips brushed against her neck, behind her ear, trailing toward the spots he knew would deepen any woman’s sighs. His fingers traced her skin slowly, eventually sliding between her legs.

"Ah, Derrick!"

"Shh. Just enjoy it."

Roselyn groaned softly. Her fingers, which had been clutching the sheets, now dug into his sturdy shoulders. She sank her nails into him, seeking an anchor as he touched her deeper.

Sensing her surrender, Derrick peeled the transparent silk cardigan from her shoulders.

"So beautiful. If only you had seduced me with this lovely body from the start, I would have married you long ago."

Thump.

That sentence.

The same insulting words from her past. In a different bed, on the same night. The words hit her like a decade-delayed slap, landing right in the pit of her stomach.

Roselyn turned her face away, catching her reflection in the large mirror beside the bed. A young woman stared back—disheveled, beautiful, innocent, and nearly on the verge of losing her sanctity for a second time.

In that heartbeat, she realized this was no dream. It was a second chance. And she had almost wasted it by falling into his embrace.

"Get off me!"

"Rose? Why so sudden? Didn't you come here to be held?"

"I’m going home. I didn’t come here to be played with."

"Don't be ridiculous. We’re getting married next week. Doing it now or later makes no difference. Besides, you were the one who tempted me in these clothes. Calm down, I’ll be gentle so—"

"Don't touch me!" Roselyn kicked Derrick’s hand as he tried to grab her ankle.

Offense darkened his handsome face. He hated it when his games were interrupted.

"Duke, it turns out you aren't what I want after all. So... let’s call off this engagement."

Derrick went still. Then he chuckled softly, unable to believe his pretty doll had suddenly developed a will of her own.

"Lady, it seems the rain has clouded your mind. I’ll run a bath for you as an apology. After that, we’ll eat and spend the night together."

“It seems the wine has made your mind sluggish, Duke?”

“Did you just insult me, Rose?”

“Think of it however you like,” she said, reaching for her cardigan on the floor.

"I am giving you one last chance, Roselyn Sirius. Kiss me, and I will pretend this nonsense never happened."

"No."

"Fine! Leave! But don't you dare crawl back to me. I will make sure the title of Duchess and the place by my side are never yours."

Without even pausing to dress, Derrick stormed out and slammed the door. The impact was so violent that the ornaments on the vanity trembled.

“That temperament,"  Roselyn muttered. “You truly are the Derrick I know.”