Despair

"S-Sorry for being late," I muttered, lowering my head slightly.

"Sit down."

I moved to the left side of the table, taking a seat beside Lysara Solandris, the supposed villainess of this tale. The duke, the head of the family, sat at the head of the table, with Tyrian Solandris—his eldest son and heir—seated to his right.

Lysara didn't say a word to me. She glanced briefly in my direction, then resumed eating, her expression composed, almost indifferent. I checked her status screen.

[Love: 0%] [Hate: 0%]

No feelings. At least she didn't hate me. Strange—I had assumed she did.

I turned my attention to Tyrian. His cold eyes locked onto mine for a moment before he leaned closer, his voice a venomous whisper.

"What are you staring at, bitch?"

I clenched my hands beneath the table. His status screen floated in front of me.

[Hate: 77%] [Love: 1%]

What the hell is wrong with this bastard?

"Tyrian," the duke interrupted, his tone sharp. "Behave yourself."

Tyrian leaned back in his chair, shrugging. "Just making sure our guest knows her place," he replied with a smug grin.

Ignoring his remark, I focused on the food in front of me, though my appetite was already fading.

Tyrian shifted the conversation, his voice casual but laced with malice. "Father, I heard the Crown Prince is unwell. They say he's bedridden and missed Princess Seraphina's birthday banquet."

The duke continued cutting into his steak, his expression unreadable. "That's just a rumor," he replied curtly.

"But what if it isn't? The palace has been unusually quiet. What if the Crown Prince is dead?" Tyrian pressed, a dark gleam in his eyes.

"That would be beneficial for us, wouldn't it?" Lysara spoke for the first time, her voice calm but icy. She didn't look up from her plate. "No Crown Prince means the throne would be left vulnerable. It opens opportunities for those who are... ambitious enough."

The duke shot her a warning glance. "Lysara, that's enough."

"Is it?" she replied, her tone challenging. "Tyrian's the one speculating about the prince's death. I'm simply stating facts."

Tyrian smirked, leaning forward. "And what facts are those, dear sister? That you've been reading too many books and dreaming of playing politics? Leave that to the men."

Lysara's hand tightened around her fork, but she didn't respond. Instead, she fixed her gaze on her plate, her expression composed.

The duke sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Both of you, enough. This family doesn't meddle in rumors or idle gossip. Focus on what matters."

Silence fell over the table.

I sighed inwardly, the sound barely audible. Heroic family, huh? And yet here they were, discussing the potential death of the Crown Prince with such ease, as if it were just another political strategy.

How could anyone idolize people like them?

I pretend to eat, my fork aimlessly pushing food around the plate.

Their conversation grows darker with every passing moment, each word dripping with malice and veiled threats that send a shiver down my spine. Eating in the same room as these people makes me feel sick.

After breakfast, as the duke walked ahead, I found myself trailing behind him alongside Tyrian. The air was thick with tension, every step echoing ominously in the grand hallway.

Without warning, Tyrian shoved me from behind, his force aimed to embarrass me in front of his father. My balance wavered, the cold marble floor rushing toward me—but before I could fall, a firm hand caught mine.

Startled, I looked up to see the duke's piercing gaze. His grip was steady, his expression unreadable except for the cold detachment in his eyes.

"S-s-sorry," I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper.

He held my hand for a moment longer before releasing it, his tone icy as he said, "Be careful next time."

"Y-yes," I managed to reply, lowering my head.

The duke turned and continued walking, his posture as composed as ever. Tyrian, following behind him, glanced back at me with a smug, half-smirk. "Serves you right," he muttered under his breath, his voice dripping with mockery.

I clenched my fists, my chest tightening as my eyes remained fixed on the glowing status screen above the duke's head as if the numbers were carved into my very soul:

[Love 100%] [Hate 2%] [Jealous 0%] [Lust 100%]

My hand trembled, the weight of those figures suffocating me. How could such feelings coexist? How could he see his daughter this way?

I barely noticed Lysara Solandris approach until her voice broke through the haze.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her tone unexpectedly soft, her eyes carrying a rare glimmer of concern.

Startled, I looked at her, struggling to form words. Her face showed no malice, no mockery—just genuine worry.

But I couldn't process it. Her kindness didn't reach me; nothing could. At that moment, my instincts screamed louder than reason, louder than fear.

Run.

If I didn't leave, if I didn't escape, I was certain—I would die at the hands of that disgusting bastard.

I ran without a word, ignoring Lysara's voice calling after me. My heart pounded in my chest as Serra's hurried footsteps echoed behind me.

"Lady, you can't run in the hallway!" Serra's voice carried her worry, but I didn't care.

I burst into my room, slamming the door shut behind me, and made a beeline for the washroom. Tears blurred my vision as I turned on the faucet, thrusting my hands under the cold, rushing water. I scrubbed at my skin, harder and harder, desperate to erase the sensation of his touch. My nails dug into my flesh as I scratched at the spot, but no amount of water or force seemed enough.

Tears streamed down my face, hot and unrelenting. My breaths came in short, shallow gasps as a raw scream built in my throat.

'This is why Erana was so afraid of him.'

I stared at my trembling hands, the water swirling down the drain tinged with red from the rawness of my skin.

'Erana, you're just 17. How did you endure this? How did you live your life surrounded by such people?'

I wanted to scream, to cry out, to release the overwhelming weight crushing my chest—I want to die.Please let me go.I can't stay here anymore but the words wouldn't come.

Serra suddenly grabbed my hands, her grip firm but trembling, her wide eyes filled with a mix of shock and concern.

"My lady, please, don't hurt yourself," she said, her voice soft but urgent.

I couldn't stop crying. The overwhelming emotions were suffocating, clawing at my chest. I wanted to tell her, to shout that I had to leave this place, but the system's grip on me was unyielding. Words refused to form.

Serra lowered herself to the floor beside me, her calm presence anchoring me. After a moment, she asked gently, "My lady, do you want to leave this house?"

I nodded slowly.

She helped me to my feet, guiding me back to the bed with care. "Stay here. I'll be back," she said firmly before slipping out of the room.

I wanted to stop crying, but the tears wouldn't stop. Sometimes, I could feel my emotions clearly, but other times, they blurred with hers. Our feelings mixed together, tangled and confusing, until I couldn't tell where hers ended and mine began. Right now, I'm not crying alone. Her tears fall with mine.

Within moments, Serra returned, holding a piece of parchment and a pen.

"My lady," she said gently, placing them in my hands, "write down where you wish to go. I'll take you anywhere you want."

My hands trembled as I scribbled: House Astralyne.

She read it, then nodded firmly. "Yes, my lady. We'll leave tomorrow night."

She guided me to the bed, carefully tucking me under the blankets. Her movements were quiet but steady, as though she'd already made up her mind.

As I lay there, exhaustion beginning to claim me, I couldn't shake the weight of what I knew. In six months, the princess of House Astralyne would die. They would call it sickness, but deep down, I suspect there is more to it. When I first heard of her death, I'd cried for months, an overwhelming grief that didn't feel like my own. Those were Erana's feelings.

I needed to uncover the truth. Perhaps, by understanding her pain and finding a way to change her fate, I could bring her some peace. Maybe then, I could finally leave this nightmare.

Glancing at Serra, I noticed her status screen: [Love: 2%].

'Look, Erana,someone finally cares about you.'

With that thought and the weight of shared exhaustion in my heart, I drifted into a restless sleep. Serra stayed by my side, tending to my hands with a gentle touch, as though she could heal more than just the surface wounds.