A slow smirk crept onto his lips. "You remember me." His voice was smooth, almost casual—yet something darker coiled beneath it. "Good." He let the word linger, savoring it like a long-awaited victory. "You were never meant to be his." The certainty in his tone sent a chill through her. "I've come to take you back." No acknowledgment of the years she had spent away. No regard for the life she had built. Only the cold certainty that, in his eyes, she had never belonged to herself.
Xiu Yan's breath hitched, but she forced calm, her voice a mix of fear and defiance. "Where is my husband?" The words hung between them, fragile yet resolute—a line drawn in the sand that would decide her fate.
Hyun Yeol's smile faltered, replaced by a shadow in his gaze. His grip tightened around her wrists, a cruel reminder of her lost control.
"What husband?" His voice dropped to a low growl, heavy with certainty. "You've always been mine. From the moment I laid eyes on you." His hand pressed into her skin, a twisted claim she could neither deny nor escape, his eyes burning with a belief that nothing could sever his hold.
His words wound around her, slow and deliberate, tightening like a noose. Obsession blazed in his eyes—not passion, not longing, but something far more dangerous. In his mind, her marriage, her defiance—everything she had fought for—was an illusion. A fleeting dream. A stolen freedom he had come to reclaim.
"You'll never be his," he hissed, each syllable a dark promise. "Only I can make you whole again. Without me, you're nothing." There was a subtle edge in his voice, as though he were convincing himself as much as her. His obsession bordered on madness, the raw desperation in his tone a testament to that.
Xiu Yan shuddered, fury and helplessness tangling in her chest like barbed wire. Her voice emerged raw and unsteady, "Leave me alone." Yet his presence pressed in—a force that stole her breath, encasing her in an iron shroud.
Hyun Yeol released her wrists just enough to twist her body against him. His fingers brushed her neck, cold and unnerving, sending a tremor down her spine.
"Do you remember when we almost…" His voice softened, though malice lingered in the sickly sweetness of his memory. "Before your brother-in-law stopped us? We could've had everything. We could've been happy—if only you hadn't fought so hard against me." He let the words hang, savoring the notion that she might have been his, that she still could.
Memories surged unbidden, pressing against her chest, winding around her ribs like a constricting serpent. She tried to shove them away, to force them back into the past, but they slipped through the cracks—whispering, pulling her back into a nightmare she had fought to outrun.
"Let go…" Her voice faltered, each word choked and trembling with more than fear—a tremor of lost hope from a woman who had battled for freedom. She felt herself slipping away from who she once was, ensnared in this nightmare of his making.
"You'll carry my children now," he declared, each word dripping with malice. "No one else will touch you."The words struck like blows, suffocating her with each syllable. She was not a woman to be loved—she was a prize, something to be owned.
An hour later, Hyun Yeol stood over her, adjusting his robes with methodical ease, as if sealing the final act of an inevitable conquest. His gaze swept over Xiu Yan's still form with cold assessment—a possession reclaimed.Yet something in the air had shifted. He felt it in the silent space between them: a promise had been broken. The woman he had tried to claim was slipping through his grasp, and for the first time, the victory left a bitter taste.
"You're still beautiful," he murmured, his fingers brushing her exposed thigh, icy as death. "If you carried his child, I'd ensure it dies with him. But you'll give me heirs. You belong to me."The room thickened with his words—each touch deliberate, possessive, marking her as nothing more than an object. The tension was a twisted promise.
Then—a spark. Fury, long smothered beneath fear, ignited fiercely in her chest. Her eyes snapped open, alight with a defiance he had not anticipated.
"Die, monster!" Xiu Yan's scream tore through the air, hoarse with rage and desperation. Her trembling fingers reached for the sword she'd dropped, though her limbs felt leaden. The room swayed, her vision dimming at the edges, yet she forced herself forward.
Hyun Yeol moved with cruel ease, sidestepping her desperate strike. She lunged again—wild, desperate—but exhaustion weighed her down.
Then—a glint of steel.
Her fingers closed around the dagger at his belt. The serpent-eating-crown insignia flashed in the dim light. Anke's dagger. The realization struck like thunder—proof of his murder, of his crimes, of everything. Fury and horror crashed into her at once.
A snarl tore from her throat as she drove the blade toward his heart.A blur. A sharp twist.Pain splintered through her wrist as the dagger skidded from her grasp, clattering against the floor.
Once. Twice. Silence.
Cold seeped into her bones, deeper than before. The fight bled out of her, slipping away with the blade that had been her last hope.
Hyun Yeol exhaled slowly, pressing a hand to the shallow cut on his side. His gaze lowered to her, dark and unreadable.For Xiu Yan, the war was over.And she had lost.
The cold advanced, slow yet relentless, numbing her fingers, then her arms, until all that remained was an emptiness in her chest. Her breath faltered, shallow like a flickering light in the dark. Shadows swallowed her vision, and she crumpled, the unforgiving floor seeping its chill through her skin. A gasp caught in her throat, but the air felt thin, distant.
Above her, Hyun Yeol stood motionless, his breath uneven. The iron certainty in his gaze wavered as his fingers twitched at his sides. He had won, yet in that moment, he felt further from victory than ever.
"Hae-ju…" His voice emerged as a ghost of itself. He knelt beside her, hands hesitating—uncertain, trembling—as if afraid to touch what he had shattered. His mind screamed, clawing at the edges of reason. This wasn't supposed to feel like this. He had spent years weaving fate, carving a path where she would be his, no matter what. And yet—she was slipping away. For the first time, he realized he had never truly held her at all.
Her fading gaze met his. Pale, bloodless lips parted in a final whisper: "You'll never have me… not in this life… or the next…"Final. Absolute. A wound that would never heal.
Hyun Yeol's chest clenched as her final words sliced through him like an unseen blade. He reached for her, but the warmth was already gone—slipping through his fingers like water. Her body lay still, yet her defiance lingered, triumphant even in death.
"No…" The word was strangled, empty. His hands, stained with her warmth, now held only cold silence.Tears burned his cheeks—hot, unwelcome. He had built his world around her, bent fate to his will, only to see it all crumble. In the wake of his conquest, he was left with nothing. Her body lay cold in his arms, and the obsession that had once consumed him now felt dark and hollow. For the first time, Hyun Yeol truly felt lost.
"I promise I'll be good to you... I swear it..." His voice broke, raw and desperate. But Xiu Yan did not answer. She was gone, and Hyun Yeol was left trembling, his world shattered by the grief he had long denied.
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Hyun Yeol strode through the silent corridors, each measured footfall a beat against the storm in his chest. Emptiness stretched before him, vast and unrelenting—a mirror to the void she had left behind. Grief coiled within him, relentless, whispering that no matter how far he walked, it would never loosen its grip. Memories of her—a once-warm presence now lost—flooded his mind with each step.
When he reached his chamber door, he paused. The silence was heavy—suffocating. Drawing a sharp breath, he pushed the door open to find Eunuch Lee standing motionless, his back rigid. The tremor in his hands betrayed the calm façade.
"Your Majesty," Eunuch Lee murmured, his voice laden with shared sorrow.
Hyun Yeol's gaze drifted to the window, where flickering candlelight barely pierced the darkness. His fists clenched, nails digging into his palms, the sharp pain momentarily dulling the rush of memories—her laughter, her warmth, now mere ghosts. Finally, his rough, strained voice broke through the stillness.
"The search for the Crown Princess is over... She's dead."The words hung, suffocating the air. Hyun Yeol stood still, staring into the abyss outside, his breath ragged with sorrow.
Eunuch Lee's fingers paused on the scroll before he cleared his throat, his voice thick with sympathy."The Crown Princess... Did the Ming...?" he asked, hesitating.
Hyun Yeol exhaled sharply, bitterness lacing his words. "Yes. They killed her," he whispered, each word a sting.He faltered, swallowing against the lump in his throat as the image of the Crown Princess—her trusting smile—flashed before him, weighing him down like an anchor. He forced himself to focus. "You tried. I failed," he murmured—a confession that could not ease the burden.
Guilt pressed upon him like a physical weight, but he masked his turmoil with a thin veneer of calm. Grief was a luxury he could not afford—not now, not before Eunuch Lee.
Eunuch Lee sensed the storm beneath his composed exterior. "The Ming will pay," Hyun Yeol said, his voice hollow, the promise empty.
Eunuch Lee nodded steadily. "We will act swiftly, Your Majesty."As Eunuch Lee reached the door, Hyun Yeol's voice faltered. "Send for an artist... and the Queen's brother. Have them create a portrait of Hae-ju—how she once was. Bright. Beautiful."
Alone, Hyun Yeol sank into the dim room, his breath shallow, fingers clutching the armrest as if to anchor himself. A tremor ran through his hands, his composure unraveling like sand slipping away. His wife was gone. His fault. The thought lodged in his throat, thick and suffocating. He closed his eyes, yet the weight pressed down. Vengeance, once a fire in his veins, now felt cold—distant, meaningless.
He turned to the window, seeking solace, but the cold air offered none. The room closed in around him, too small, too confining. At last, he understood—no matter how deeply he tried to bury his anger, he could not escape the grief. There was no release, only walls closing in.
The silence pressed on him as he wandered the empty halls, the cold stone beneath his feet offering no comfort. The night itself mourned with him, oppressive and unyielding. And still, he could not escape the absence of her.
Grief thickened the air, suffocating and inevitable. In another room, the Queen sat in stillness, her sorrow rising like a tide drawn from the depths of her heart. The loss of Hae-ju had carved a raw, unhealed wound within her. The emptiness of the room mirrored the chasm between them—and within her. Hae-ju was gone, and it was her husband who had driven the knife. The grief, once a constant ache, now felt like a jagged blade lodged deep inside.
Her hand moved mechanically, dipping the quill into ink as she wrote deliberate strokes—a message meant for one who could understand her sorrow: a final farewell. With a heavy heart, she sealed the letter, the weight of her loss pressing down like stone, addressed to her brother, Do-hyun.