Severin moved the hand covering his eyes. He stood, walked to his desk, and sank into the chair. He pulled the drawer open and took out a document filled with files about Isolde.
Nikhael handed him the same document after they caught Isolde sneaking into this room. Severin reread it, reminding himself why he had let her live until now.
At first, Severin spared Isolde's life simply because he couldn't be bothered to deal with Liraine's hysterics, her threats of suicide, and the way she wept and screamed. He had planned to kill Isolde the next day once Liraine calmed down a little and Nikhael had her locked up so she couldn't do anything stupid.
But then Nikhael came, carrying that file about Isolde's origins. And Severin scrapped the idea of killing her. At least, not so soon.
Why? Because he felt sorry for her?
Of course not. There were people in this place whose lives were even more fucked up than hers. Pity had never lived inside Severin, not even once.
But as he read through her file, it was like staring into a mirror. Her past clawed up pieces of his own he had long buried.
Severin was his father's firstborn. The bastard son of a whore who worked for his father. He wasn't seen as a son or even given a name. His mother called him "Son," always hoping his father would eventually name him. He never did.
People around Severin called him "hey." Just "hey." Even though he carried his father's blood, he was never treated like an heir and never respected like one. He was nothing more than another disposable underling.
Then, his father married the woman he loved, a proper woman, not Severin's mother. A woman he had kidnapped because he fell in love with her. That was when Severin's life turned into hell.
Two half-siblings were born, a boy and a girl: Lorenzo and Liraine. Severin was six years older than Lorenzo and twelve years older than Liraine. And unlike him, those two were showered with affection and protected like royalty, while Severin barely survived multiple assassination attempts aimed at his father.
All his father's men bowed to Lorenzo and Liraine, especially Lorenzo. They all thought Lorenzo would be the next in line. His father trained him personally. He taught him martial arts, how to shoot, how to fight with knives—the whole damn package.
Lorenzo was carefully prepared before he ever stepped into his first mission. Severin? He was thrown into a mission as a little boy with zero training, shoved alongside his father's men like cannon fodder.
He would never forget the way his heart pounded as he picked up the pistol that had landed near his feet. His small hands trembled, his chest heaving. Everyone else was too busy fighting. No one noticed the kid clutching a gun like it might explode.
He screamed as he pulled the trigger, and the recoil knocked his tiny body flat. The bullet missed. He got the shit beaten out of him. He didn't die, but he couldn't move for weeks. His ribs had snapped.
Severin had felt the injustice deeply. True, he hadn't died that day, but his heart, his conscience, and his soul had. At that moment, he had sworn that he would never let Lorenzo sit on their father's throne. That seat would be his. He would take what should have been his by right and make their father's men kneel before him.
That oath was what drove Severin to kill. He killed the mother of his siblings. He killed his father. He killed his mother. Then he killed Lorenzo. One by one, Severin ended them all with his own hands, everyone except Liraine, who hadn't even known it was Severin who had slaughtered their entire family.
He sat on his father's prized chair, soaked in the blood of his kin. That was the day Severin gave himself a name. He chose "Severin" as a mark of betrayal, a symbol of his treachery and rebirth—a name carved out of vengeance.
He understood Isolde more than she would ever know. He understood why she wanted to kill her own sibling because he had felt the same. The difference was that Severin did it cleanly, with calculation, with precision. Isolde had been reckless, driven by emotion, acting without thought for the consequences that would one day come crashing down on her.
In Isolde, Severin saw a version of himself, only weaker, dumber, and naïve. She lacked the cruelty it took to kill someone she once loved truly. She hesitated. She still had a heart. Suppose she could've shut her feelings off like Severin had. In that case, she might have killed her sibling without hesitation, not with acid, but with something far crueller, far more effective.
.
.
.
Severin glanced at his watch, exhaling sharply when he realized sleep had eluded him again. This time, it felt even shorter than usual. He could usually manage two hours. Now it was down to an hour and a half, constantly waking up as if someone were looming over him, ready to steal his life.
It had been a week since Severin last visited Isolde.
Why? Because he refused to believe that she was the reason he could sleep better. So, instead, he turned to Tiffara. To other whores. He fucked them, left right after the climax, and repeated the cycle. But no matter how much pain he inflicted, no matter how many bodies he left exhausted in bed, sleep never came easy.
His head throbbed. The clock showed 1 a.m. Severin finally gave in and called Nikhael to his office.
"Is Isolde in Room 429?" Severin asked the moment Nikhael walked in.
Nikhael nodded. "Yes. She's in there with Maxen."
Severin pressed his lips together, forming a tight, flat line that made Nikhael frown when he saw it. "Do you want me to tell Maxen to leave the room, Boss?"
Severin didn't answer, but Nikhael understood exactly what his master wanted. He bowed his head. "I'll return once I've made sure Maxen is out of Room 429."
It wasn't that Severin missed Isolde's body. There was nothing special about her skinny frame, and the way she moved her hips was amateur at best. But Severin needed to confirm something: whether it was truly possible for her to make him sleep soundly without any drugs.
It didn't take long for Nikhael to return. Severin rose from his chair, heading straight to Room 429.
As he reached the door, he encountered Maxen. The man looked like a mess, his blond hair dishevelled, his lips swollen, and scratch marks trailing down his neck, probably reaching all the way to his back.
Maxen lowered his head in respect as Severin passed him and entered the room. Inside, Isolde sat on the bed, wrapped in a blanket that hid her naked body. Even faintly, Severin could smell the lingering stench of sex clinging to the room. He stepped closer and gave her a cold, disgusted look.
"You really look like a proper whore now." He yanked the blanket away, exposing the red marks scattered across her body, undeniably Maxen's doing.
Without a word, Severin grabbed Isolde by the wrist and dragged her toward the post he had used to cuff her before. He shackled her there again, not even sparing her a glance as he locked her in place.
He could've just laid down in bed, but instead, he chose the sofa. He sat with his legs crossed, eyes sharp as blades as they settled on her.
"Y-you're not going to touch me?" Isolde asked, her voice uncertain. Severin scoffed.
"You're drenched in another man's saliva and semen. I have no intention of mixing any part of my body with another man's fluids," he said flatly. Isolde fell silent, and the room quieted. They stared at each other.
Severin studied her ragged breathing, the way her body trembled—whether it was from sex or fear, he couldn't tell.
.
.
.
Severin's eyes snapped open at the sound of footsteps. He glanced at his watch, 6 a.m. He looked up and saw Isolde still asleep, hands cuffed, body slack against the post.
A knock echoed from the door. Severin already knew who it was, Nikhael. He stood and walked toward Isolde just as she jolted awake. His steps were heavy and purposeful, and he stopped right before her.
Isolde stared up at him, wide-eyed in shock. "I don't like it when I visit you and you reek of another man," Severin said coldly. "Tell Maxen he's not allowed to touch you until after I have. Do you understand?"
Isolde, visibly confused, nodded her head. "I'll come again tonight. Make sure you don't smell like another man when I do."
Severin turned and walked to the door, pulling it open. Nikhael was standing right there.
Nikhael looked at Severin with a curious expression. Of course, he was confused. Severin could feel it because he didn't even fully understand himself anymore.
…