Two hours later, soft footsteps approached the door before a gentle knock followed.
"Miss Thalia?" a timid voice called.
Thalia stirred beneath the blanket, her lashes fluttering as she forced her eyes open. The door creaked, and a young woman stepped inside, no older than twenty. She wore her maid's uniform, her hands folded nervously in front of her.
"S-Sorry to wake you… I'm Lily. I was assigned to take care of you." She bowed her head quickly, almost afraid to make eye contact. "Sir sent me. He said… I should look after you and attend to anything you need."
Thalia blinked at her in disbelief. "Take care of me?" Her voice was hoarse. "Why?"
Lily flinched, as though she herself had been accused of something. "I—I don't know, miss. He just told me to stay close and make sure you're comfortable. If you need water or food, or if you wish to bathe or change clothes, I can assist."
"I don't need assistance," Thalia muttered coldly. She sat up slowly, suppressing the dizziness that clawed at her vision. "I can do everything myself."
Lily hesitated. "Even so… I'll just remain outside. If you call my name, I'll come immediately."
"I won't call," Thalia said.
Lily offered a small, awkward smile. "Just in case," she whispered and stepped back toward the door. "Please rest."
The door closed softly.
Thalia let out a slow breath and ran a hand over her face. The silence returned, thick and heavy. She glanced at herself in the mirror across the room—her hair was messy, her eyes swollen. With effort, she stood and walked to the wardrobe.
If Vicious thought she'd lie here helplessly, he was mistaken.
She changed into fresh clothes on her own, biting back every wince of pain as she fractured her leg and neck. A simple long-sleeved shirt. Soft trousers. She tied her hair back, jaw clenched, as though each movement were an act of rebellion.
When she finally lay back down, exhaustion dragged her into a shallow sleep.
It was late into the night when the door opened again.
Thalia's eyes snapped open. Her heart dropped when she saw him—Vicious—standing in the doorway, by the dim hallway light.
He stepped inside quietly, closing the door behind him. No guards. No warning. Just him.
She immediately turned her back to him, pulling the blanket up to her shoulders.
"Leave," she said flatly.
He ignored her. Instead, she heard the soft thud of his footsteps as he approached. The bed dipped slightly under his weight—he had sat down beside her.
Her body went rigid.
"I said leave," she repeated sharply. "I don't want to see you."
He didn't respond. She could feel his gaze burning into the back of her head. Irritation prickled in her chest.
Slowly, she turned to face him, her expression icy. "What? Did you come to mock me again?"
His eyes were calm—too calm. "You're awake."
"Unfortunately," she said bitterly. "But don't worry, I'll fix that. Just stay long enough and I'll probably pass out from rage."
A faint exhale escaped him—almost a scoff. "You're dramatic."
"And you're unwelcome. So, leave."
"I'm not leaving."
She clenched her teeth. "Why are you here?"
"To see if you're still breathing."
She glared harder. "Hoping I wasn't?"
One corner of his mouth lifted—not in a smile, but something darker. "On the contrary. You're… surprisingly hard to kill."
"Wow," she said dryly. "Is that your version of 'you're lucky to be alive'?"
"It is," he answered simply.
She let out a humourless laugh. "Do you wish I had died that night? Would that be easier for you?"
His eyes narrowed. "If I wanted you dead, you wouldn't be here."
"Then why am I here?" she demanded. Emotion cracked through her voice. "What do you want from me? Haven't you destroyed enough?"
Silence stretched between them.
Finally, he spoke quietly. "I don't know."
She stared, thrown off those words.
He looked away briefly, jaw tightening. "Ever since you collapsed… I've been thinking about it. I don't usually care when people cry. Or bleed. Or beg. But when you went limp in my arms, something—" He paused, struggling with the words. "—something in me reacted. As if my body moved on its own."
"So what?" Thalia scoffed. "Now you feel guilty. Pity?
His gaze flicked back to her, sharp. "I'm not sure which."
She snorted. "I know exactly what this is. You're waiting for the moment I repay you with my body. Waiting for me to fall into your bed like I owe you something."
"No," he said immediately.
She raised an eyebrow. "No?"
"No," he repeated, firmer. "If I wanted you that way, I would've taken you already. And I haven't. So don't insult me by assuming I'm that desperate."
Her lips parted slightly, but she quickly masked her hesitation with anger. "Then what is it? Why this sudden… care?"
He leaned closer, his voice low. "I don't force people. Not unless they deserve it. And you, Thalia…" His eyes softened by a fraction. "You don't deserve it. Not right now."
She swallowed, unsettled. "Then leave me alone."
"I will—after I make sure you rest."
"I've rested enough."
"You've barely healed."
"I don't care."
He stared at her, unblinking. Slowly, he lifted a hand. Thalia flinched instinctively, but he didn't touch her harshly. His fingers brushed a stray strand of hair from her forehead and caress her cheeks gentle, careful.
Her breath caught.
"I told you, "He murmured. "Live. Eat. Heal. That's all I want for now, then we can get back to normal.
She slapped his hand away.
"Don't act like you're kind. You're not."
He didn't deny it.
He stood up, turning toward the door.
"Get some sleep," he said without looking back. "Call Lily if you need anything."
"I won't."
"Too stubborn he said
His hand rested on the doorknob. Before leaving, he added quietly,
"I don't expect you to understand. But I don't want you dead. And Thalia… I don't drag women into my bed. They end up there themselves. And if I ever take someone by force… trust me, it wouldn't be a question—it would be a punishment."
The door clicked shut.
Thalia lay in silence, heart pounding. She hated him. And yet, deep down, the room felt colder than before, as though the shadows themselves were watching.