Her Heart Beats for the Villain

The once-sacred Temple of Verdantia was no longer a place of prayer. It breathed now. Twisted vines crawled over its stone walls, roots pulsing like veins under skin. Flowers bloomed in impossible colors—black roses, violet lilies, and blood-red orchids. The air itself was warm with life… and corruption.

At the heart of it all stood Lyria—the High Priestess, the symbol of purity, devotion, and balance.

But tonight, she was trembling.

Not from fear… but from anticipation.

Her snow-white robe, once a symbol of divinity, now clung damply to her skin, marked with streaks of crimson vines that curled around her waist, up her thighs, around her neck—like living chains claiming her. Her long silver hair was wild, flowing down her back as the moonlight touched her face.

She had fought it. Fought him. The man whose shadow had devoured this land.

But now?

Her heart ached for him.

Her pulse raced not with hatred but longing.

She stood alone inside the central shrine, surrounded by the haunting hymns of corrupted spirits, her breaths shallow, her fingers trembling.

And then… she felt it.

His presence.

The air grew still. The vines quivered. Even the moonlight dimmed.

He was coming.

A slow creak echoed as the temple doors opened.

And there he was—Priyanshu, cloaked in dark robes, eyes glowing with soft violet light, a half-smile on his lips as he stepped into the temple like a god returning to his throne.

Lyria took one step back… but her body wouldn't let her take another.

"Why…" she whispered, voice cracking, "Why did you come back here?"

His gaze swept over her like silk. "Because this place still holds your heart," he said gently. "And I've come to take it."

Her lips parted slightly. "You… twisted everything. This forest… the temple… my faith—"

"No," Priyanshu cut her off softly, walking closer, his boots pressing into the moss-covered floor. "I only revealed the truth. You served gods who never answered. You prayed… and were ignored. But I?"

He was standing before her now.

"I heard every whisper. Every tear."

His fingers rose to touch her cheek. Cold and warm all at once. She flinched… but didn't pull away.

Lyria's voice cracked again. "You corrupted me…"

He leaned in closer, his voice like a sin whispered in the dark, "No, Lyria. I freed you."

Her knees gave out. She collapsed into his arms.

And instead of pushing her away… he held her.

She felt safe.

That was the scariest part.

Her voice trembled as she confessed, "Every time you touched the forest, I screamed. But deep inside… a part of me wanted to watch it burn. I wanted… something to change."

Priyanshu gently pulled her face up to look into her eyes. "Because you were born for more than blind devotion. You weren't meant to kneel to silent gods."

He leaned in.

"You were meant to kneel to me."

Her breath hitched. "Then command me."

The Hidden Villain System flickered alive in his mind.

[New Devotion Path Detected][Lyria's Loyalty: 98% – Heart-Bound Servant][Ability Unlocked: Forest Nexus – Convert Sacred Zones into Corrupted Domains][Verdantia Temple Converted into Dark Haven][All stats increased by 15% within the domain][High Priestess Lyria – Role Changed: From Divine Healer ➤ Corrupted Saintess]

Priyanshu smiled.

He leaned down and whispered into her ear, "You're mine now, Lyria."

She nodded, tears flowing silently down her cheeks, not of pain… but release.

"I belong to you," she whispered. "Heart, soul, and everything between."

He stepped back, and she lowered herself onto her knees, placing her hand on his chest.

"I was a priestess to gods who never looked at me… but I feel your eyes. Always watching. Always waiting."

"You're not just a servant," he said. "You're the first of my Saints."

She looked up, dazed but whole. "What do I call you now?"

"Call me what your heart believes."

She smiled.

"My King."

That night, the temple bells didn't ring with prayer.

They echoed with surrender.

As vines bloomed across the forest, and corrupted petals rained from the heavens, a new legend spread.

A Saint had been born—not of holiness, but of love.

A twisted, beautiful love.

One that would shake empires and rewrite faith itself.