Chapter 53| The Perfect Vengeance

"Don’t be foolish, lad. Make your knights put down their weapons," Prince Alexander’s voice cut through the tense air of New Cethrin like a sharp blade.

Vincent stood still, his silver hair gleaming under the flickering torchlight. His eyes, cold and calculating, betrayed no emotion. He said nothing.

"Come on. We are brothers," Alex pressed, his tone softer, almost persuasive. His princely demeanor was betrayed only by the nervous twitch of his fingers gripping his sword’s hilt.

Vincent’s lips curled into a faint, mocking smirk. "Brothers. Interesting," he murmured, his voice calm but dripping with disdain.

"Yes," Alex said, stepping forward. "I am now married to your sister, which makes us brothers-in-law. Family, Vincent."

Vincent’s knights shifted uneasily, their weapons still poised. The tension in the hall was palpable, a powder keg waiting for a single spark.

"Put down your weapons, you lowly sons of bitches!" Alex bellowed suddenly, his face flushing with anger. His voice echoed off the marble walls, sharp enough to make Aricia visibly flinch. She shrieked softly as his voice rattled her nerves, wiping the stray saliva that had landed on her cheek.

Before Vincent could respond, the heavy oak doors of New Cethrin creaked open. Lord Blackwell strode in, his presence commanding instant respect. His piercing gaze swept across the room, landing on the knights with their drawn swords.

"Disengage!" Lord Blackwell’s voice boomed, firm and unyielding. The knights hesitated, glancing toward Vincent for confirmation. When he gave a subtle nod, the sound of swords clattering to the ground echoed through the chamber.

The elder lord’s attention then turned to his son. He approached Vincent with measured steps, his expression a blend of fury and disappointment. Raising his hand, he prepared to slap his son, but before his palm could connect, a sharp crack resounded through the air.

Aricia had slapped Vincent.

The room fell deathly silent. Even Lord Blackwell froze, his eyes wide with shock. Vincent slowly turned to face her, his gaze locking onto hers. His silver eyes widened, a storm of confusion and disbelief swirling within them, as if questioning her audacity.

But Aricia didn’t even flinch. Her scarlet hair framed her face, her expression resolute. She stood her ground, her voice rising with righteous anger. "How dare you attempt to insult His Highness!" she yelled, her voice echoing with the raw intensity of her emotions.

Without waiting for a response, she turned to Lord Blackwell and Prince Alexander. Bowing deeply, she said, "I sincerely apologize for the impertinent behavior of my student—I mean, my master."

Her voice was sharp but carried a note of exaggerated humility. "I humbly seek your forgiveness, sire! He’s but a foolish child!"

Before anyone could react, she collapsed to her knees, her voice growing more theatrical. "Young Master! I plead for your forgiveness!" Her tone grew higher-pitched, almost hysterical, as she edged forward on the floor. She raised her eyes to gauge Alexander’s reaction but quickly lowered her gaze, adding to the charade.

And then, as if the humiliation she had inflicted wasn’t enough, she spat on his shoe.

The room collectively gasped, Alex recoiling in disgust. "Filthy thing! Don’t touch me!" he snapped as Aricia grabbed the hem of her gown and attempted to wipe the spit away.

"Please, Young Master!" she implored, inching closer.

"ENOUGH! Get up!" Alex barked, his voice strained, his princely composure crumbling under the suffocating absurdity of the situation.

With a sly grin that only Vincent noticed, Aricia straightened herself. Then, grabbing Vincent by the ear, she pulled him toward the door. The knights watched, too stunned to intervene.

Once outside New Cethrin, Vincent yanked her hand off his ear and dragged her into his chambers. He slammed the door shut behind them and released her, his silver eyes blazing with unspoken fury.

For a moment, neither spoke. The air between them crackled with unspoken tension.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" Aricia finally asked, folding her arms across her chest. "A thank-you wouldn’t hurt, you know."

Vincent didn’t reply. Instead, he stepped forward, his movements deliberate and predatory. Aricia’s heart leapt as she caught the intensity in his gaze. She tried to keep her composure, but her breath hitched slightly.

"What exactly have you come to this house to do?" he asked, his voice low and dangerously calm. He pinned her against the cold stone wall, his towering frame casting a shadow over her.

Aricia met his gaze without flinching. "To... seek vengeance," she said, her voice steady despite the rapid beat of her heart.

"And I hired you to kill you," he said, his tone void of emotion, yet heavy with menace.

"Do just what you came to do and nothing more. Do you understand?" he growled.

Aricia shoved him backward, her strength catching him off guard. Vincent stumbled slightly, glaring at her in disbelief.

"The perfect vengeance isn’t death," she said, her voice a venomous whisper. She stepped closer, her expression cold and resolute. "A greater suffering than death is what I have come to deliver. I’m waiting for the perfect moment—when you and your kin experience immense happiness. Then, I’ll destroy you all. Brick by brick."

Her words hung in the air like a death sentence.

"And I quit being your mentor!" she shouted, her voice reverberating through the room.

***

Permit my break in transmission, dear reader, for there are a few things I must share with you about this little book of mine. Consider this a secret scroll passed to you directly, inked with gratitude and a touch of vulnerability.

First, let me tell you: this book isn’t just a collection of words. It’s three years of my life poured into pages. It’s my heart, soul, dreams, and probably a few stray coffee stains (don’t judge). It’s the world to me—my first love and my toughest critic.

A big, warm thank-you to all of you who read, follow along, comment, and leave reviews. Whether it’s a single line or a full critique, your support keeps me going. You, dear reader, are the co-authors of my motivation.

Here’s a little secret: I came up with this story when I was fifteen—just a wide-eyed kid with too many ideas and not enough time. It took two years for the premise to evolve, and I officially started writing last year. But! (Oh, the "but" is important here.) I restarted this story over twelve times. Twelve! Like a writer’s Groundhog Day, endlessly chasing the perfect beginning.

Now, here I am at seventeen—officially a medical student, unofficially a part-time dream weaver—and somehow juggling all the things life throws at me. Medical textbooks by day, fantasy worlds by night, and sometimes just staring at the ceiling wondering why my sleep schedule hates me. It’s chaotic. It’s exhausting. It’s also kind of magical.

Here’s the thing: even when it feels like nobody notices, even when the self-doubt monster whispers, “Maybe it’s not good enough,” I refuse to quit. Nope. Not today, Doubt Monster. Not ever.

And so, here we are, celebrating this book’s anniversary. It's a big deal for me. Why? Because every word written is a battle won. Every chapter is a victory lap. Some days I’m a knight slaying discouragement; other days, I’m just a person staring at a blinking cursor, willing it to cooperate.

Feel free to ask me anything in this special chapter! Whether you’re curious about the story, the chaos of my life, or even my favorite pizza toppings (hint: they’re controversial), I’m all ears.

Thank you, thank you, thank you for sticking around. You mean the world to me and my little book. Here’s to finishing this story, no matter how long it takes!

Now, let’s get back to the chaos, shall we?