Chapter 3

I looked at Corinne and felt an unexpected flicker of amusement.

Ten years together, and she had never truly believed me. Now, she treated my honesty as a tool for pity and an excuse for making trouble.

Perhaps this was for the best. A farewell like this might make it easier to leave without looking back.

That night, I slept in the guest room.

Through the wall, I could hear the low murmur of voices from the master bedroom, soft and intimate. Every word was a death sentence for whatever we had been.

I closed my eyes. The system's voice sounded again.

[Emric, the remaining time is 18 hours, 56 minutes, 41 seconds.]

On the morning of the third day, I woke just as the sky began to lighten.

The guest room bed was hard and cold, nothing like the mattress in the master bedroom that Corinne and I had picked out together. Despite this, I had slept remarkably well, as though a weight that had hung over me for ten years was finally about to be lifted.

I had just finished washing up when the sound of suitcases being dragged across the floor drifted in from the living room.

I opened the door and found Corinne dressed casually, two enormous suitcases beside her.

She was bent over, straightening Soren's collar, her voice syrupy sweet.

"I've already booked the flights. I picked out that waterfront guesthouse in Wyndmere on purpose. The scenery's gorgeous. It'll be perfect for you to relax, and maybe the fresh air will even help you recover faster."

Soren smiled and slipped an arm around her waist. His gaze, however, drifted past her and landed on me with open, unbridled satisfaction.

I stood at the far end of the hallway, watching the scene, and could only find it absurd.

Corinne heard me and looked up. Her tone was as casual as if she were giving instructions to hired help.

"Em, perfect timing. Come check whether I've left anything out of the bags. Soren and I are going to Wyndmere for a while."

Wyndmere.

The word hit me and my fingertips trembled, barely enough to notice.

I had mentioned Wyndmere to her more than once. I had told her that I came from an ancient time, that I had seen my fill of palace walls and wartime fires, and that the one place I had always longed for was Wyndmere, with its misty rain and quiet waterways.

I had told her that once things were stable, I wanted to spend time in the old quarter, walk the cobblestone streets, watch the canal boats pass and sit by a window overlooking the water with nothing to do but drink coffee.

I had even looked up guesthouses in secret, saved itineraries and quietly marked the dates on my calendar, imagining it as a honeymoon that belonged to the two of us. Yet now she was taking Soren Beckett to undertake the very trip I had dreamed of.

I walked over, lowered my eyes to the suitcases, and helped her organize everything, piece by piece.

Corinne watched how cooperative I was being and a trace of guilt crossed her face. "Em, once Soren's feeling a little better, I'll make it up to you. I'll take you to Wyndmere then."

Soren chimed in from the side, slow and deliberate, his malice not even slightly disguised.

"Emric really is generous. Anyone else would've blown up by now. It’s no wonder Corinne likes you. You're obedient and easy to manage."

The word "likes" in that sentence stung worse than an insult.

I did not get angry. I just spoke, quietly.

"Corinne, if I actually left today, if I really walked away from you, what would you do?"

She blinked, caught off guard, as though she had not expected the question. Her expression tightened with impatience.

"Are you seriously still going on about this? Soren isn't well. The climate in Wyndmere is mild and good for recovery. You're a grown man. Can you please stop being so petty about everything?"

"Recovery?" I repeated the word softly, my gaze settling on Soren's neck and wrists, where there was not a trace of illness to be found.

"Is he really so sick that you need to drop everything and take him on a honeymoon?"

Something flickered across Soren's face. He immediately clutched his chest and started coughing.

Corinne snapped. She stepped in front of him and turned on me, her voice sharp enough to cut.

"Emric! What is that supposed to mean? Soren is dying and you're standing there taking passive-aggressive shots at him?"

"Dying?" I laughed. It was a quiet laugh, but it carried a coldness that went straight to the bone. The question I had been holding back finally broke free.

"Corinne, do you actually believe he's dying?

"Look at him. He eats fine, drinks fine, has color in his face, and doesn't need anyone's help just to walk across a room. Now look at me."

I stepped forward, my gaze meeting hers head-on.

"For ten years, I learned your language, learned the rules of this world, worked myself to the ground and treated you as the only family I had here, the only person who mattered."