"I just gave you control over the Fizu Forces—what more do you want?" Varyn shouted. His voice echoed through the grand hall. He clutched his stomach, blood dripping from his lips.
"You need to understand something, Varyn," the figure said slowly, stepping into the dim light. "This isn't punishment. It's a lesson. Learn the difference."
Varyn staggered forward, anger and pain twisting his face. "How long will you keep doing this?!" he cried. "When will you decide I've learned enough and finally leave me alone?"
His boots slammed against the wooden floor. "You've already conquered three of the Five Empyrean States! You killed their kings and their families! What more could you want?"
The man on the throne didn't move. He tapped his fingers lazily on the armrest. "You realize you only have a few minutes left to live, right?" he said quietly.
Varyn froze. "Y-you said you'd give me the antidote if I stepped down as governor!"
The man smirked. "I lied."
Varyn dropped to his knees, choking as more blood poured from his mouth. "D-don't do this…" he gasped.
The man stood and stepped down from the dais. "Ardent," he called.
A uniformed guard appeared and bowed.
"When he's done dying," the man said coldly, "clean up the mess. If there's even one stain left behind, I'll take your head."
"Yes, sir," the guard said softly.
The man—Grant Castiglione—walked away, his footsteps echoing through the hall.
Behind him, Varyn writhed on the floor. "Grant Castiglione!" he screamed hoarsely. "You demon!"
"Grant Castiglione, you devil!" Daphne's voice suddenly rang out before she realized it.
Every head in the café turned toward her.
Her eyes went wide. "Oh crap." She slapped a hand over her mouth and gave an awkward bow of apology. Once everyone went back to their business, she sank into her seat and glared at Grant Castiglione's image on her laptop screen.
"Smug bastard," she muttered.
She grabbed her phone, opened the novel app, and started typing furiously in the comments:
> Author, when are you going to kill Grant Castiglione? Can he just die already?!
Her last comment—"I hope Grant Castiglione dies in the next chapter"—had already gathered ten replies. Nine were angry fans defending him. One agreed.
"Seriously, what's wrong with these people?" she grumbled. "Just because he's handsome doesn't mean he isn't evil."
Still, she couldn't stop herself. She typed again:
> If Grant Castiglione doesn't die next episode, I'm dropping this book.
She stared at the blinking cursor. It almost mocked her. She had said this before—many times—but she never actually stopped reading. The story had become her escape.
Then her phone buzzed. A text from her mother.
> Where the hell are you?! It's almost dinner time. Get home and cook!
Daphne groaned. Perfect timing.
Life hadn't been kind since her dad died. Miss Vanessa—her stepmother—made every day feel like punishment, and Madison, her stepsister, wasn't any better.
> On my way, she replied, then packed her things and left.
Outside, the evening breeze brushed her face. As she hurried home, something caught her eye—a giant billboard.
It was a poster of her favorite novel.
Grant Castiglione's face stared down at her: blond hair, sharp jawline, golden eyes. The caption read:
> New Episode Tonight! Will Varyn Survive Grant Castiglione's Attack?
Daphne glared at the billboard. "Why does evil have to look that good?" she muttered.
Then her foot caught on a rock, and she stumbled, hitting the pavement hard.
"Perfect," she groaned, checking the scrape on her arm. "Grant Castiglione is ruining my real life too."
By the time she got home, it was already past six. Dinner was ready. Miss Vanessa and Madison were eating when she walked in.
Miss Vanessa looked up, eyes cold. "Where are you coming from?" she asked sharply.
"Uh—I… I was just—"
"Get out," Miss Vanessa snapped.
Daphne froze. "What?"
"Are you deaf? I said get out."
Her voice trembled. "B-but I don't have anywhere to go."
Miss Vanessa gave a cruel smile. "Not my problem. I told you to be home early and make dinner. You didn't. Now deal with the consequences."
Daphne turned to Madison. "Please, Madison—"
Madison didn't even look up from her phone.
"I'll make dinner right now," Daphne begged, dropping to her knees. "Please don't kick me out. I'll be better, I promise!"
"It's too late," Miss Vanessa said coldly. "You've had too many chances. You're just a burden."
"I'm sorry, Miss Van—"
"Enough!" she barked. "You even lied about my brother touching you. How dare you?"
"I didn't lie!" Daphne cried. "He really—he really did!"
"Shut your mouth," Miss Vanessa hissed. "Do you think a man like him would ever want someone like you?"
Daphne's chest tightened. She could barely breathe.
"Leave," Miss Vanessa said. "And you're not taking anything with you."
Daphne hesitated.
"Wait," Miss Vanessa added. "The phone. I bought it. Leave it."
Daphne placed the phone on the table, then walked out. The door slammed shut behind her.
She sank onto the doorstep, hugging her knees as the cold air bit into her skin. Tears filled her eyes. She had nowhere to go.
Then the door opened again. Madison stood there, smirking.
"Finally," Madison said. "Mother listened to me and kicked you out. You're right where you belong—the homeless orphan you've always been."
She tossed something at Daphne. It hit her chest and fell into her lap.
It was her favorite book—Romance in the Five Empyrean Cities, Volume 1.
"Mum was going to burn it," Madison said mockingly. "But I begged her to let you keep it. You should be grateful."
Then she turned away. "Now leave before I call the police for trespassing."
The door slammed again.
Daphne looked down at the book in her lap, her hands shaking. Then she held it close to her chest—the only thing she had left.