Tous les chapitres de : Chapitre 11 - Chapitre 20

The morning after the garden incident arrived like a lie wrapped in sunshine.I blinked awake beneath silk sheets, the scent of something warm—jasmine, maybe vanilla—hanging in the air. The memories of last night clung to me like dew, but strangely, they didn’t disturb me the way they should have. The statue, the black roots, the hallucination—or whatever it was—felt distant. Like a dream that slips further away the more you try to hold it.Maybe I imagined it. Maybe my mind, still raw from months of sedation and isolation, needed horror to cope with the strange calm I was being given.I didn’t tell Clora.I didn’t tell anyone.This mansion has a way of swallowing truths and polishing lies until you forget which is which. Maybe silence was better.That afternoon, the energy shifted. This wasn’t just dress fittings or golden combs teasing my hair anymore. There was purpose now. Urgency. The air was too clean. The smiles too practiced. It felt like I’d wandered onto the set of a film ju

Eyes still closed.Legs trembling.Then he just took one book from the shelves.“Here,” he said, stretching his arm out. “Take a look at this book.”I quickly snapped out of the moment.It was as if I had just woken up from a very interesting dream. He looked at me with a tiny, knowing smile—one that almost mocked me.It was the first time he had smiled genuinely at me.“This book—Lost in the Ruins of His Heart—it’s a really deep love story,” he said with a tone that carried a strange joy. “It follows the journey of a girl searching for her identity.”I picked up the book, staring at the cover.“It looks nice… but I don’t think I’ll like it.”“Well,” he said, returning Remnants of Alpha’s Blood back onto the shelf, brushing the spine gently with his fingers before sliding it in. Then he pulled out another book and handed it to me.“Try this.”“It looks good,” I replied, squinting at the cover. “But why can’t I read the other one?”“It’s a bit too boring and sophisticated for you,” he

The next morning, I waited until Clora brought in my tea before speaking. Her eyes were soft as always, her smile gentle, but I saw the hesitation in her hands.“Clora…” I said quietly, wrapping the blanket tighter around my legs. “Have you ever heard of a place called… Setvastl?”She froze.The tray rattled slightly as she placed it on the table. Her expression didn’t change much, but I noticed the way her shoulders stiffened.“I don’t know anything about it, ma’am,” she said, lowering her eyes.That answer came too fast.“But you’ve heard it before,” I pressed gently.She didn’t speak at first. Then, after a long pause, she nodded.“I’ve heard Mr. Luthor mention it,” she whispered. “Not often. Only in a phone call before his meetings.”“What meetings?”She hesitated again. Her fingers twisted the edge of her apron. “There’s a place… not in this house. But nearby. It looks like a cabin from the outside, but it’s not. That’s where he meets them. His people.”“His people?”She looked up

The building stood tall like royalty in moonlight, sleek obsidian glass panes rising into the air, glowing in smooth amber lines like veins of gold threading through a god’s temple. It was called “Vintarion Hall”, and it was whispered about like a secret among the elite. The home of private auctions... the kind where money wasn’t just power. it was blood, dominance, legacy.As we arrived, the tall bronze doors hissed open, revealing a chandelier that didn’t sparkle. it glowed, humming low like it had a soul of its own. My heels tapped gently against the marble that was so polished, it looked like water frozen mid-ripple.The scent hit me first ‘luxury’. Thick, rich cologne, spiced wine, and roses pressed between satin pages. The air was heavy, expensive, almost edible. My breath caught in my throat.Men in deep-colored tuxedos filled the hall, their suits tailored like skin. Most of them bore confident smirks, holding champagne flutes like weapons of war. The few women there sparkled

I didn’t know where my feet were taking me.All I knew was I had to run. From Luthor. From the memories. From myself.The city blurred. My breath came out in short gasps, lungs raw from the cold. My chest ached with something deeper than fear. Something heavier.I hated him. I hated him for what he’d done.And yet…His face wouldn’t leave me.That twisted version of tenderness. The shadowed warmth in his eyes before it all turned black.It haunted me.So when I saw him “Lucien” standing beneath the flickering streetlight with his hands in his coat pockets and that same face beneath a smooth black mask, my heart seized.The mask covered half his face, but I knew.I knew.It was his face.Luthor’s.But… not him.Something in the posture. The stillness. The air around him.Lucien didn’t devour space like Luthor. He didn’t look at me like he wanted to break me just to see how I’d rebuild.His eyes, what I could see of them held no cruelty.Only something unreadable.I froze. My instincts