The clock struck 2 AM when Scarlett finally moved.
She'd been sitting in that chair for hours, waiting. Listening. Counting the footsteps of guards as they completed their rotations. Tracking the pattern of movement through the mansion until she'd memorized every gap, every moment of relative solitude.
Late at night, when everyone assumed she was sleeping, when exhaustion made even the most vigilant guards retreat to their quarters for rest—that was when the mansion was most vulnerable.
That was when she could move.
Scarlett stood slowly, testing her healed leg. No pain. The Aether core had done its job perfectly. She was physically whole again
Just empty inside.
She moved through her room like a ghost, bare feet silent on the carpet. Out the door—unlocked now, because what was the point of locking it when she'd become so docile, so broken, so perfectly caged without needing bars?
The hallway was dark. Empty. She could hear distant voices from the guard station on the first floor, but this level was clear.
The kitchen was on the ground floor, accessible through the servant's stairs. Scarlett descended carefully, each step measured and silent. Years of trying to sneak past her trafficker parents—checking if they were awake, if it was safe to slip out for school, if she could avoid another beating—had taught her how to move without sound.
The kitchen was dark when she entered, illuminated only by the pale glow of appliances in sleep mode. Scarlett went straight to the knife block near the sink. Her hand hovered over the large chef's knives before selecting something smaller. A paring knife. Six inches of steel, sharp enough to do what she needed.
She slipped it into the pocket of her loose cardigan and turned to leave—
And froze.
One of the night guards stood in the doorway. Young. New, probably. His eyes widened when he saw her.
"Mrs. Qin? Are you—do you need something? I can have the kitchen staff—"
"Just water," Scarlett said softly. Her voice came out hoarse from disuse. "Couldn't sleep."
The guard relaxed slightly. "Of course. Let me—"
"I can get it myself." She moved to the sink, poured a glass of water, drank it slowly while the guard watched. Playing the role. The broken wife who just wanted water in the middle of the night. Nothing suspicious. Nothing worth reporting.
She set down the glass. "Thank you. I'll go back to my room now."
"Do you need an escort?"
"No. I know the way."
She walked past him, each step careful, controlled. Didn't run. Didn't rush. Just a woman returning to her room after getting water.
The guard watched her go, then returned to his post.
Scarlett climbed the stairs back to her floor. Walked into her room. Closed the door.
Then went straight to the balcony.
The glass doors opened with a soft whisper. Cold air hit her face—winter had arrived while she'd been locked away in her grief. Snow was beginning to fall, soft flakes drifting down from a dark sky.
Scarlett stepped out onto the balcony and looked down.
Three floors. Maybe forty feet to the ground. Far enough that a fall would be fatal without her healing Aether core.
But she wasn't planning to fall.
Not yet.
She climbed up onto the railing with movements that felt almost dreamlike. Balanced there, one hand holding the stone pillar for support, looking out over the gardens that had become her prison.
Everything looked so small from up here.
The perfectly manicured lawns.
The flower beds she'd once planted with desperate hope.
The gates she'd tried so many times to reach.
All of it, small and distant and meaningless.
Like her life had become.
Below, she heard voices. Shouting. Running footsteps.
Someone had seen her.
Lights blazed on throughout the mansion. Guards poured out of every exit, surrounding the area beneath her balcony. She could see them clearly now in the harsh security lighting—at least a dozen men, all looking up at her with identical expressions of panic.
And there, pushing through them, was Sylus.
He'd been in his office, probably. Working late like he always did these days, drowning himself in blood and business to avoid thinking about what he'd done to her.
Now he stood directly below her balcony, looking up, and even from this distance she could see his face had gone completely white .
"Scarlett" His voice carried clearly in the cold night air. Steady, despite the fear she could see in every line of his body. "Step back from the edge. Please."
She didn't. Just stood there, swaying slightly in the wind, feeling the knife in her pocket like a promise.
"We can talk," Sylus continued. His hands were raised, placating, like he was trying to calm a wounded animal. "Whatever you need, whatever you want—we can talk about it. Just step back from the railing."
Scarlett reached into her pocket slowly. Pulled out the knife. The blade caught the security lights, gleaming like a silver promise.
Every guard below tensed. She heard the click of weapons being raised, heard Sylus bark an order:
"DO NOT SHOOT. Nobody moves. Nobody does anything."Sylus said to his men, his voice tight with barely controlled panic.
"Get ready to catch her. Spread out. If she falls—" His voice cracked. "If she falls, you catch her. Understand?"
"Yes, boss."
The men moved into position, spreading out beneath the balcony like a net. Ready. Waiting.
Sylus looked back up at her. "Scarlett. Kitten. Please. Hand me the knife. Come down. We'll talk about this. Whatever I've done, whatever you need me to do—just please, please step back."
For the first time in a week, Scarlett spoke. Her voice came out soft but clear, carrying in the still night air.
"You're not going to stop, are you? You're not going to stop chaining me."
It wasn't a question. She already knew the answer.Sylus jaw clenched. She saw the war in his expression—the desire to lie warring with his inability to deceive her about this.
"I can't," he said finally, and his voice broke on the words. "I can't let you go. Letting you go means letting you die out there. Every enemy I have, every crime lord who wants what you have—they'll hunt you. They'll find you. They'll kill you or worse."
"So I die here instead." Still so soft. So matter-of-fact. "Slowly. Every day. Until there's nothing left of who I was."
"No. Scarlett, no—"
"You've already killed me, Sylus." She looked down at him, and for the first time in a week, her eyes focused. Really saw him. Saw the tears streaming down his face—this man, this dragon, this monster was crying.
Actually crying.
"You killed me the moment you walked into my apartment. The moment you bought me like property. The moment you shot me to keep me caged."
"I can change." His voice was desperate now, raw. "I can be better. I can give you anything, everything—just please, please don't do this."
Scarlett smiled. It was a sad, broken thing. Bittersweet as the chocolate he'd brought her that she'd never eaten.
"You can't change," she whispered. "Because letting me go means I might die. And you can't let me die again. Even if it means destroying both of us. Even if it means I'm already dead inside."
"Scarlett—"
"I loved someone once." The words came out soft, disconnected, like she was telling a story about someone else. "In another life, maybe. In dreams I can't quite remember. I think... I think I might have loved a dragon."
Sylus went absolutely still.
"But that dragon loved me enough to let me fly." Tears tracked down her face now, mixing with snowflakes. "And you? You love me so much you've clipped my wings and locked me in a cage and called it protection."
She raised the knife slowly. Pressed the point against her chest, right over her heart. The blade dimpled her skin through the thin fabric of her nightshirt.
"SCARLETT, NO—"
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry I'm not strong enough to keep living in your cage. I'm sorry I'm not the person you remember. I'm sorry I can't be what you need me to be."
"You're everything." Sylus's voice was ragged, broken. "You're everything I need. Please. Please don't—"
"I Choose freedom," Scarlett said softly. "Even if freedom means this."
Then, without warning, without hesitation, she drove the knife into her chest.
The pain was immediate and shocking. Hot and sharp and somehow distant at the same time. She felt the blade pierce skin, muscle, sliding between ribs with a resistance that felt almost gentle.
Her hand fell away from the knife handle, leaving it embedded in her chest. Blood bloomed across her nightshirt in a spreading stain, dark and final.
She looked down at Sylus one last time.
He was frozen, his face a mask of absolute horror. His mouth open in a scream she couldn't quite hear over the rushing in her ears.
"I'm free," she whispered.
Then she smiled—really smiled, for the first time in weeks—and let herself fall.
Backwards.Off the railing. Into empty air.
The world spun—sky and ground trading places, snow and stars mixing together in a kaleidoscope of light and dark. She felt weightless. Free. Flying at last, even if the landing would break her.
She closed her eyes and surrendered to gravity.
The impact never came.
Instead, she felt arms close around her—multiple sets, catching her mid-fall. His men. They'd been ready. Had followed their boss's orders and positioned themselves perfectly.
She'd been caught.
Even in death, even in her final desperate bid for freedom, she'd been caught.
Voices surrounded her, panicked and urgent.
"She's bleeding—"knife hit her heart—"
"GET THE DOCTOR NOW—"
"Boss, she's—"
Scarlett opened her eyes slowly. The faces above her swam in and out of focus. So many faces, all wearing identical expressions of terror.
Then they parted, and Sylus was there.
He fell to his knees beside where his men had laid her on the ground. His hands hovered over the knife in her chest, shaking so badly he couldn't seem to make them work. His face was sheet-white, eyes wide with a terror she'd never seen before.
"No," he whispered. "No, no, no, no, no—"
Blood was everywhere now. Soaking through her nightshirt, pooling beneath her, warm against the cold ground. So much blood. Her blood. Again.
Always her blood, paying the price for this twisted love.looked up at Sylus and saw her reflection in his red eyes—pale, broken, bleeding out on his driveway for the second time in two weeks.
"I chose to die," she whispered, her voice wet with blood. "I chose to die instead of staying with you."
Something in Sylus broke. She saw it happen—saw the moment when the last piece of his control shattered. A sound tore from his throat, inhuman and agonized. The dragon's roar, grief-stricken and terrible.
He collapsed forward, his forehead pressing against hers, his tears mixing with the blood on her face.
"Don't leave me," he begged, all pretense of control gone. "Don't leave me again. Please. I can't—I can't survive losing you again. Please. Scarlett. Please."
"I'm sorry," she whispered. Her vision was getting dark around the edges. The Aether core was healing her—she could feel it, warmth spreading from her chest, trying to repair the damage. But she'd hit her heart. Pierced it clean through. Even a healing Aether core might not be fast enough.
"Stay with me." Sylus's hands cupped her face, holding her like she was the most precious thing in the world. "Stay with me. You can hate me, you can rage at me, you can try to kill me every day for the rest of our lives—just stay. Please. Just stay."
Scarlett smiled sadly. "You would have let me die free," she whispered. "The dragon I loved... would have let me die free."
Then her eyes closed, and she knew nothing at all.
And Sylus knelt in the snow with his dying wife in his arms and screamed his grief to an uncaring sky.
The great dragon, brought to his knees.
Defeated not by armies or weapons or other crime lords.
But by love.
Terrible, devastating, monstrous love that destroyed everything it touched.
.
.
.
.
.
To be continued.