Chapter 10
The sound of the door locking wasn't loud, but it was like the final guillotine falling, severing Serena's possible connection with the outside world. She wasn't roughly dragged away, nor was she locked in a dungeon; the guards simply "escorted" her back to her own bedroom—a room she had once thought would offer shelter, a room filled with the charm of the Southern Reach, which had now become the most exquisite prison.
She slumped onto the cold floor, leaning against the door, motionless for a long time. Outside the window, dark clouds completely swallowed the last ray of moonlight, the night as thick as ink, just like her heart sinking to the bottom. No tears, no screams; after the extreme despair came a deathly numbness.
She was like a soulless shell, staring blankly into the void.
She didn't know how much time had passed—perhaps an hour, perhaps the entire latter half of the night—when she heard a very faint sound outside the door. It wasn't the heavy footsteps of the guards, but rather a more familiar, yet more chilling rhythm.
Insert the key into the lock and turn it gently.
"Click".
The door was pushed open.
Lucien stood in the doorway. He had changed out of his dew-stained casual clothes and was now wearing a deep purple silk robe, the collar slightly open, revealing his well-defined collarbones. His dark hair fell casually over his forehead, softening his daytime coldness and giving him a more intimate, dangerous air of homeliness. He carried a silver tray with a cup of steaming milk and a plate of delicate-looking pastries.
He walked in as if it were his own territory, and gently closed the door behind him.
Serena didn't look up or move an inch, as if his arrival was no different from a gust of wind.
Lucien didn't mind. He placed the tray on the bedside table, then walked over to her, knelt down, and looked her in the eye. His gaze lingered for a moment on her pale, soot-covered face, which couldn't hide her haggard beauty, before slowly moving down to her fingers, which were scratched and bleeding slightly from the rough vines and bricks she had cut while climbing the wall.
He reached out and gently took her cold, stiff hand in his.
Serena shuddered, instinctively trying to pull away, but he held her even more firmly. His fingertips were slightly cool, touching the scars on her hand, bringing a stinging pain and a deeper shiver.
"Does it hurt?" he asked in a low voice, his tone devoid of emotion, as if he were simply asking a question.
Serena bit her lower lip, refusing to answer.
Lucien didn't expect an answer from her. He took a small silver medicine box from the pocket of his robe, opened it, and inside was a fragrant, clear ointment. He dabbed some with his fingertip and then, with extreme care, even tenderness, applied it little by little to the wound on her finger. The ointment was cooling, relieving the burning pain, but his unusual, possessive "care" terrified her more than any punishment.
"Why would you do something so foolish, Serena?" he said in a low, steady voice as he applied the medicine to her wounds, as if soothing a disobedient child. "The outside world is full of danger, hunger, cold, bandits... How can it compare to the comfort and safety here?"
After applying the medicine, he didn't let go of her hand. Instead, in that position, he gently pulled her up from the ground. He was very strong, and she couldn't resist at all. He led her to the bedside and made her sit down.
Then, he picked up the glass of milk and brought it to her lips.
"Have something to drink, you need to rest." His voice carried an undeniable gentleness.
Serena turned her head away, her lips tightly closed.
Lucien's eyes darkened slightly, but his tone remained calm: "Or, would you like me to feed you in another way?"
The implication in those words sent a chill down Serena's spine. She whirled around, meeting his deep purple eyes, which swirled like eddies in the dim light. She knew he meant what he said.
Tears of humiliation finally broke through the dam of numbness, filling her eyes, yet stubbornly refusing to fall. She stared intently at him, and finally opened her mouth, taking small sips of the warm milk from his hand. The taste was normal, but to her it felt like drinking poison.
Watching her obediently drink the milk, a faint hint of satisfaction seemed to flash in Lucien's eyes. He patiently waited for her to finish, then gently wiped away a trace of milk from her lips with his fingertip. The gesture was so intimate it was almost infuriating, and Serena felt a wave of nausea.
“Very good.” He put down his cup, stood by the bed, and looked down at her, the belt of his robe outlining his lean waist. “Remember this lesson, Serena. This is the first and last warning.”
His voice was still not loud, but it carried a steely coldness:
"Don't try to test my patience anymore, and don't even think about leaving."
He leaned down, placing his hands on the edges of the bed on either side of her, trapping her in his shadow. They were so close they could feel their breaths mingling. His cool scent mingled with the faint fragrance of ointment, creating an eerie and oppressive atmosphere.
“Stay here quietly,” he said, gazing into her terrified eyes, each word like a brand, “and you will have the best of everything—fair clothes, delicious food, safe shelter… except for freedom.”
His gaze lingered on her face, finally settling on her slightly trembling lips, and his eyes darkened.
“If you dare to run away again…” His voice lowered, carrying a chilling tenderness, “I wouldn’t mind breaking your wings with my own hands, in the way that terrifies you the most, so that you’ll remember it forever.”
After saying that, he straightened up, stopped looking at her, and turned to walk towards the door.
Goodnight, my Serena.
The door was closed again.
The sound of the lock clicking shut was clearly audible.
Serena sat frozen on the edge of the bed, the warmth of the milk cup still lingering in her hand, the spot where she had applied the ointment on her fingertips now icy cold. Lucien's words, his last look, his posture a mixture of "care" and absolute control, swept over her like a chilling plague.
She slowly lay down, curled up, pulled the blanket over herself tightly, but felt no warmth at all.
She knew that from this moment on, she had lost the last vestige of autonomy. She didn't even have the right to die, because she had no doubt that if she chose to end her own life, Lucien would have countless ways to make her "unable to live, unable to die," and would also make the entire Wilder family pay for her death.
Tears silently streamed down her face, soaking her pillow.
She gazed at the still-dark night sky outside the window, as if she could see her own future, equally dark and devoid of any light.
Since that failed escape, Serena's mind was imprisoned in an even deeper cage. And the night became the stage for another form of torture. The ending that belonged to the original Serena Wilde—hanging herself at the castle gates—played out in her dreams night after night like a pre-programmed horror video.
She could clearly feel the excruciating pain of the rough rope digging into her neck, feel the air being slowly squeezed out of her lungs, feel her vision blurring due to blood rushing to her head, and finally being swallowed by darkness. She could hear the indistinct clamor of the crowd below, and feel the terrifying weightlessness of her body swaying helplessly in the wind. Each time, she would wake up in that extreme pain and suffocation, covered in cold sweat, her heart pounding, as if she had just truly died.
These recurring nightmares felt like a warning about her future. She almost grew accustomed to this nighttime torment, viewing it as a cross she had to bear.
However, one night, the dream subtly changed.
At first, everything was as usual. The thrill of whipping the boy, the fear of power being reversed, the gorgeous skirt brushing against the cold stone steps as she was dragged by the soldiers... and then being pushed up to the high platform, seeing the rope with the noose swaying slightly in the wind.
A chilling fear gripped her. Here it comes again.
She could feel the executioner's rough hands pressing on her shoulders, and smell the biting tar and the scent of death from the rope. She closed her eyes, bracing herself for the familiar, sharp pain of her neck being tightened—
But the expected force did not come.
She opened her eyes in confusion, only to be shocked to find that the surrounding scene was shaking, distorting, and shattering like ripples on water!
The castle gates, the bustling crowds, the gloomy sky... everything disappeared.
Instead, she found herself in a space that was both incredibly familiar and strangely eerie at that moment—her bedroom at Sunset Manor!
No, it wasn't entirely her bedroom. The room was more luxurious than she remembered, with thick, soft silver-grey carpets, exquisite tapestries hanging on the walls, and a cool, unique atmosphere belonging to Lucien permeating the air. The windows were completely covered by heavy velvet curtains embroidered with subtle patterns, and only the flickering flames in the fireplace provided the sole light source, illuminating the room in an ambiguous, warm glow.
She sat in the center of the room on a large velvet armchair covered with dark silk. She wore a white robe she had never seen before, made of a material as soft as clouds, simple in style, yet exuding an almost sacred elegance that did not belong to a prisoner.
What's going on?
She tried to get up, but found herself completely limp and powerless, as if bound to the chair by invisible threads. She looked down in horror at her hands—they were neatly placed on her knees, her fingers slender and white, without any signs of restraint, yet she simply couldn't move them.
Just then, a figure slowly emerged from the shadows beside the fireplace.
It's Lucien.
He was dressed in a well-fitting black tuxedo, as if he had just finished an important banquet. His black hair was perfectly styled, and his handsome face was expressionless. Only his deep purple eyes, under the flickering firelight, burned with a kind of focus and...fervor that she had never seen before.
He walked towards her step by step, his footsteps almost inaudible on the carpet, yet striking Serena's heart like a heavy hammer. He stopped in front of her, leaned down, and placed his hands on either side of the armchair, completely enveloping her in his presence and silhouette.
His gaze was almost tangible, greedily sweeping over her face, her neck, her body inch by inch. There was no murderous intent, no pleasure of revenge in his eyes, only a deep, possessive desire that almost devoured her.
“Serena…” he called her name softly, his voice hoarse and gentle, yet it sent chills down her spine more than any threat.
He reached out, his cool fingertips gently stroking her neck. Not to strangle her, but with an almost obsessive touch, he caressed the pulse on the side of her neck, as if feeling the life throbbing beneath it.
“Look,” he said, a slight, cold, satisfied smile playing on his lips, “this is much better.”
His fingers slowly slid down, brushing past her collarbone, and finally resting on her heart, feeling her heart pounding uncontrollably with fear through the thin fabric.
“You won’t run away again, will you?” he asked softly, not as if asking a question, but as if stating a given fact. “You will stay here forever, in the perfect cage I built for you…”
His face drew closer, his warm breath brushing against her earlobe, sending a shiver down her spine.
“Death?” He chuckled softly, a twisted pleasure in his voice. “That’s too good for you, my Alicia. And too… boring.”
“I want you to live,” his voice was like a devil’s pact, each word clearly imprinted on her soul, “to live consciously and forever, to live under my control, to live in my sight. Your life, your breath, your heartbeat… will belong only to me.”
"This is the ultimate punishment for you."
Having said that, he straightened up and gave her one last, deep look, as if admiring a priceless treasure he had finally possessed. Then, he turned and, just as he had come, silently disappeared into the shadows beside the fireplace.
The instant he disappeared, Serena suddenly felt a cold touch on her neck! She looked down and was horrified to see a slender, shimmering silver chain around her neck, the end of which disappeared into the darkness of the room, its destination unknown.
"No--!"
Serena let out a piercing scream, struggling with all her might, and finally woke up from this completely different nightmare!
She sat bolt upright in bed, drenched in sweat, her heart gripped tightly by an invisible hand, making it hard to breathe. Instinctively, she touched her neck—it was still smooth, without the cold chains.
But the extreme fear of being completely possessed and stripped of everything in the dream weighed on her heart more clearly and heavily than any previous dream of being hanged.
She curled up, hugging herself as she trembled, tears silently streaming down her face.
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