All Chapters of Until The Last Day: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

The scratching of the pen on the paper came to a stop abruptly. Her father's gaze lifted from the page, his eyes glowing red like fire seen through glass. A gentle, familiar smile spread across his face—the same one he had worn at the mayor's house, at the dinner table, at every moment he reminded her she was his daughter first and foremost, and that she would never be truly free.The fire above the staircase crackled and roared. Vincent’s shivering body leaned against her, as his breath came quick and shallow, creating a heavy pressure on her.Her father's voice broke through the heat, sounding low and steady. “Daughter. Come closer. The words are waiting for you.” Camela stood frozen as her feet felt glued to the floor. Her heart raced. Every step downward felt like she was falling into his hand again. Vincent’s whisper slid into her ear. “Don’t go.” Her father’s gaze shifted briefly to Vincent before returning to her, and his smile faded slightly. “You brought him this far, but

The hall of chains engulfed them whole. Chains clinked against one another endlessly, extending in all directions like the walls and ceilings. Each chain emitted a faint red glow, pulsing like blood-filled veins. Vincent stumbled as they landed, with his wrist still bound to the thin chain that clung to him. It vibrated, pulling him deeper into the hall. Camela held onto his hand tightly. “Don’t move…it wants you to follow.” Vincent’s eyes shimmered with a gold and red hue, and his voice sounded low, almost unrecognizable. “I don’t think I have a choice.” The chains around them shifted and rattled. One of the chains fell from above, crashing to the floor before them. It curled up, shaping itself into a doorframe. Inside it appeared an old wooden door—heavy and black, with iron hinges. Across the top were carved words neither of them wanted to see: “The Locked Study.” Camela gasped softly. “A study? Here?” Vincent moved closer, the chain hissing as it dragged behind him. He bru

Darkness enveloped them whole. Camela's scream was abruptly silenced, as if it had been suppressed. The smoke mask fitted tightly over her face, smooth and pale, merging her facial features with Vincent’s. She appeared—half a bride and half a fox.Vincent clawed at the mask, his nails scraping against its surface, but it didn’t budge. His reflection stared back at him from the right side of the mask. “Camela! Can you hear me?” he asked in panic.Her body became stiffened, and her hands hung loosely at her sides. Then gradually and mechanically, she turned her head toward him. Her voice was not hers; it was mixed with something else:“Good morning, Vincent.” The greeting sent chills down his spine. Then, the darkness lifted as if a curtain had been drawn aside. They found themselves in a small, perfect house with white walls, a well-polished shiny table, and a bed perfectly made with silk sheets. The light filtering through the windows was soft and timeless—neither sunrise nor sun

The mask loomed closer, heavy like iron though it floated in the air. Its thorny crown shimmered red in the dim light, waiting for her to bow and let it settle on her head. Vincent's hand shook as he held her wrist, blood seeping from his palm onto her skin. His voice was rough and shaky as he said, “Camela…look at me. Not it. Me.”Her eyes flickered between his face and the mask. They were so close that their shadows almost touched.“Obedience is survival,” the maid's voice rang out again, echoing through the garden. “To walk out, you must wear it.” Camela felt a tightness in her throat. She softly whispered mostly to herself than to anyone else, “But if I wear it…I’ll lose him.” The mask's mouth stretched wider, speaking in her father's voice but layered with Vincent's voice: “Wear me and you will live. He will remain. I will depart.” Vincent’s fingers tightened around her hand, filled with urgency.“Don’t listen to it. Don’t obey it. Please,” he whisperedTears streamed down

Camela's scream shattered the stillness of her bedroom. Her body pressed back against the cracked mirror, shaking. Her eyes were wide open, unable to blink, yet she couldn't look away. Because on the bed—where her crumpled dress lay, something else was resting there. It was Vincent. Or at least something that looked like him. But his skin was off. It was too smooth and stretched too wide in the wrong way. His golden eyes stared wide and unblinkingly, while his lips curved into a soft smile that never moved. His chest rose and fell rapidly in a perfect rhythm, but no sound came from his mouth. Camela’s hands flew to her mouth in shock. “No…” The maid’s voice cut through her panic—quiet yet sharp. “This is what you refused to acknowledge.” Camela's voice wavered as she protested, “That’s not him. That’s not…” Her words trailed off as the figure on the bed twitched slightly. Its hand flexed, its head turned slowly and mechanically, but the smile stayed fixed, and the eyes remained