Elizabeth finally stood before his door.
She paused for a moment,
her chest rising and falling with restrained tension,
then slowly raised her free hand
and knocked.
"Young master… your medicine."
Silence.
Two seconds—
long enough to feel like an eternity.
Then his voice came—
soft, impossibly calm,
as if it had never learned the meaning of violence:
"Come in."
She swallowed hard.
Gripped the handle.
And entered slowly.
The room…
Too clean.
Oppressively orderly,
as if chaos itself were forbidden
even as a thought.
He sat by the window.
Their eyes met—
blue,
but… far too warm.
Warm in a way that felt wrong.
She approached with measured steps,
stopped in front of him.
He tilted his head slightly
and smiled.
"Elizabeth… is it?"
Her heart tightened.
"You came yesterday with Joan."
"You didn't seem well yesterday."
Then he smiled more,
a gentle smile
placed with deliberate care.
"Thank you for coming in Joan's place."
Inside her head—
the screaming was louder than any sound:
Please stop making that face.
Stop.
You're… disgusting.
She placed the tray on the nearby table,
its surface buried beneath papers and books.
He took the medicine calmly,
wrapped his long fingers around the glass of water,
and drank.
His head dipped slightly as he continued smiling,
his fingers idly playing with the rim of the glass
resting on his knee.
"I apologize for the inconvenience,"
he said with flawless politeness.
"I was tired today… and didn't wish to see anyone."
Then he looked up at her.
His gaze settled directly on her.
"But you…"
He smiled again.
"You were brave."
Her body froze.
"You didn't hesitate despite that."
"You care for my health… that's admirable."
He was thanking her.
In a calm voice.
With a warm smile.
As if she hadn't seen
his hands drenched in blood
in her memories.
As if she weren't standing
in Joan's place now.
Elizabeth clenched her teeth hard.
Control yourself.
He's provoking you.
Calm down, Eliz… calm—
No.
Don't calm down.
Say everything.
Don't fear him.
She lowered her head,
her voice coming out low, trembling:
"Lady Joan… was brave too."
A brief silence followed.
Then Adrian smiled.
A calm, perfectly composed smile,
and said in a voice untouched by hesitation:
"She carried out her duties faithfully."
"A good woman."
"The mansion without her now… will fall into disorder."
The words—
were more than she could bear.
No…
Stop…
Her mind screamed:
Hold your tongue.
Calm down.
Calm down—
No.
Don't.
It was already too late.
She snapped her head up,
eyes wide with terror and suppressed fury,
and her voice exploded:
"Stop it!"
The sound was sharp,
cutting through the air.
His smile vanished.
Instantly.
His face shifted into pure seriousness—
no anger,
no kindness.
Just cold emptiness.
She trembled harder,
but screamed again,
tears pouring freely:
"Stop!"
"Stop pretending!"
"The kindness— that disgusting face!"
She stepped forward.
Then another.
And he—
remained seated in the chair,
watching her in silence,
not interrupting,
not moving.
"Everything here…"
Her voice cracked.
"Every scream that vanished, every maid who never returned—"
She gasped,
then shouted with everything she had left:
"Every door that closed forever—because of you!"
She moved closer,
her hand shaking,
her entire body collapsing inward.
"You are the reason this mansion is rotten!"
"Everything is because of you!"
"The maids are broken now— and chaos fills this place!"
Silence fell.
Heavy.
Rain tapped softly against the windows,
as if the outside world
heard nothing at all.
And Adrian—
did not smile.
Did not rage.
Instead,
he looked at her
as if she were…
the first person
to ever speak to him
with complete honesty.
And in a low, steady voice,
free of any disguise,
he finally said:
"…Are you finished?"
Adrian lowered his head slightly.
A heavy silence settled,
then he spoke in a low voice, stripped of ornament:
"Elizabeth… choose your words carefully."
She didn't hear the warning.
She cut him off,
her voice broken but stubborn:
"What is your goal?!"
"Are you trying to erase something?"
"To forget that you—"
She stopped.
Suddenly.
Her eyes widened.
Because his eyes—
were no longer calm.
They were wide, fixed,
emptied of all warmth.
And in a single instant—
His hands
closed around her throat.
The air vanished.
His grip tightened slowly,
with terrifying steadiness,
and his face…
did not change.
He lifted her slightly off the ground
and slammed her back against the wall.
A muffled impact.
She didn't scream.
No sound left her
except a broken gasp
that was swallowed immediately.
His face moved closer to hers,
and his voice came out whispering, clear,
without emotion:
"If you say the next word…"
"You will die."
Her mind exploded.
Run.
You're going to die.
You'll die again.
Why did you say all of that?
Her thoughts tangled,
her vision wavered,
and her weak fingers
clutched the sleeve of his shirt without awareness.
Then—
she forced her eyes open.
And despite the pain,
despite the pressure of his hands,
she said in a trembling voice
that barely escaped:
"Then kill me."
He froze.
He didn't loosen his grip,
but he didn't tighten it either.
She continued,
tears sliding down in silence:
"But don't pretend…"
"that you're innocent."
Inside her,
another voice was collapsing.
You were…
You were So-rin.
You fell in love with him on paper.
But now—
I am not So-rin.
I am Elizabeth.
And this… is not a novel's hero.
He
was a real monster.
And for the first time,
between his trembling hands around her neck,
Adrian was looking at something
he had never expected—
someone
who was not asking to be spared.
And in that moment—
between his grip on her throat,
and a breath being crushed—
time returned.
Not the mansion.
Not the cold wall at her back.
Not the real Adrian.
But So-rin.
She saw herself as she once was.
A girl with pink hair,
sitting in her small room,
phone in hand,
reading with a hunger that nearly devoured her.
"The Smile of the Killing Angel."
She used to smile.
Gasp.
Wait for chapters like a madwoman.
She saw Adrian there—
beautiful.
Mysterious.
Broken in a poetic way.
She justified everything for him.
He's sick.
His childhood was cruel.
Violence is part of his tragedy.
She admired his calm smile
when he killed.
His intelligence.
His coldness.
She told herself:
If I were there…
I would understand him.
I would be different from the others.
She loved him
the way one loves a monster
when it exists only on paper.
But—
the image shattered.
She returned to now.
To the stolen air.
To real pain.
To hands that did not symbolize drama
but death.
She understood.
So-rin
loved an idea.
Loved a story.
Loved a safe distance
where blood could not reach.
But Elizabeth—
felt the heat of his breath.
The pressure of his fingers.
The weight of his decision.
He was not beautiful now.
Not poetic.
Not a hero.
He was a man
who could kill her
without blinking.
And something inside her collapsed.
Not fear—
but the old admiration.
That admiration
she now felt ashamed of.
How naïve you were, So-rin…
She lifted her gaze to him with difficulty,
and her eyes—
no longer carried the glow of a reader.
Suddenly—
A violent coughing fit seized him.
His grip loosened without warning.
He staggered back, clutching the edge of the table, breath breaking apart, pain—real pain—twisting his features.
She collapsed to the floor.
Gasping.
Her throat burned as if it had been set on fire.
She looked up at him.
And for the first time—
She saw it.
Weakness.
He was sick. Coughing uncontrollably, sitting on the floor, eyes wide, one hand pressed over his mouth.
Not in control.
Not even for a single second.
She didn't wait.
Clutching her throat, she forced herself up and ran.
Ran for the door like a madwoman, her mind screaming:
Run. Run. Hide. Anywhere.
Her hand shook as she yanked it open.
She fled through the corridors as if the palace itself had turned against her.
Panting. Stumbling. Looking back every three steps.
Her heart slammed against her ribs like an alarm bell.
Her throat still burned.
And her mind—
as always—kept tearing her apart.
Idiot.
Absolute idiot.
Who yells at a deranged murderer?!
Me. Of course it's me.
She stopped abruptly, her back hitting the wall.
Slowly, she slid down, barely staying on her feet.
Her chest rose and fell wildly.
Hair a mess.
Face pale—like someone who had just climbed out of a very polite grave.
"Think… think, Elizabeth…" she muttered, gripping her head.
"Everything here wants you dead… and what do you do?"
She let out a shaky breath.
"You scream. You provoke him. Brilliant. Truly brilliant."
And then—
A maid passed by.
A poor, innocent maid, carrying a basket of laundry, walking peacefully through life, thinking harmless thoughts like:
Will I be done before lunch?
Elizabeth snapped her head up.
It was as if someone had flipped a switch inside her labeled: *Normal Mode.*
She straightened instantly.
Smiled.
A wide smile.
Too wide.
The maid stopped. Blinked.
"Miss… are you alright?"
Elizabeth, far too loudly, far too energetically:
"I'm wonderful! Perfectly fine! Excellent! What a beautiful day!"
The maid stared.
At the red marks around her neck.
At her watery eyes.
At her disheveled hair.
She opened her mouth to say something—
Elizabeth slowed.
Turned toward her again.
Very. Slowly.
The smile vanished.
Her face went still.
Her eyes widened unnaturally—dark, hollow, glowing—as if she had seen a ghost…
Or become one.
She stepped half a pace closer and whispered, low and hoarse:
"Does my face…"
"…look…"
"…like I'm fine?"
The maid let out a strangled scream—something between a gasp and a soul leaving the body.
The basket fell.
Socks flew through the air like innocent casualties.
And then—
She ran.
Ran as if the devil himself was behind her.
Turned corners. Stumbled. Didn't look back once.
Elizabeth stood there, watching.
Blink.
Blink.
She covered her mouth.
"…Oh."
A pause.
Then, very seriously:
"I'm terrifying."
She took a deep breath, picked up one of the fallen socks, stared at it awkwardly, then placed it back into the empty basket.
"I'm sorry," she told the sock.
She tugged at her dress.
Tried to fix her hair.
A catastrophic failure.
Then she glanced around, eyes sharp and alert.
"Alright…" she muttered.
"New rule: no smiling. No screaming. And no traumatizing the staff."
She paused. Thought.
"…And no provoking murderers."
Then she moved down the corridor again—
More cautious.
And theoretically…
Less frightening.