Chapter 2

A few days later, whatever boldness I'd had when I yelled at him completely vanished.

I only meant to step outside for some fresh air, but then I saw it—the glass door to the serpentarium was wide open.

I stopped dead in my tracks.

Lucien treated it like sacred ground. To me, it was nothing short of a waking nightmare.

It housed his prized collection of rare snakes, and Lucien kept the climate inside under excellent control. He either cleaned it himself or trusted only one professional to go near it.

Something I couldn't name pulled me forward. I edged closer, ducking behind a thick cluster of tropical plants.

And that's when I saw them—Lucien and Claire Harper.

She wore a pale green sundress that made her skin look almost translucent, glowing like porcelain. Her smile was so blinding, it almost hurt to look at.

She stood in the center of the room, her head tilted slightly as she chatted with Lucien. He was standing way too close beside her.

But it was her wrist that really made my blood run cold.

Two snakes were curling themselves around her hand.

One was a bamboo pit viper, its jade-green scales gleaming under the light. The other, a vivid orange corn snake, its body marked with deep red blotches bordered in black.

They slithered lazily over her skin, nuzzling her wrist like they belonged there. She didn't even flinch—just smiled, serene and unbothered, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Lucien's eyes stayed fixed on the snakes coiled around her wrist.

From where I stood, I couldn't see his whole face, but he didn't look tense or distant. That cold, unreadable look he always gave me was nowhere to be seen.

Was that a smile? Even his voice and posture seemed relaxed, almost tender.

Of course, some girls weren't afraid of snakes. Girls who wouldn't scream or flinch at the sight of them. Girls like her.

I guess Lucien would prefer girls who fit seamlessly into his world. Girls who could make him smile like that.

Suddenly, the fresh garden air felt suffocating.

I spun around and hurried away, almost running from that scene, my chest tightening as if I couldn't catch a breath.

The sun was still shining brightly outside, but no warmth could reach the cold, collapsed corner deep inside my heart.

I slammed the bedroom door behind me and collapsed against it, sliding to the cold floor.

I didn't cry. Not a single tear fell.

I just felt drained, a chilling weariness that settled deep in my bones and seeped through every part of me, like it had been waiting there for years.

"That's enough. I can't do this anymore," I muttered under my breath.

"Seriously… I'm done." My voice cracked, but no one was there to hear it. "I was never meant to be the heroine in his story. Forcing myself into a life where all we do is tear each other apart, what's the point?"

Steadying myself, I pushed up on trembling legs and made my way to the corner of the room, dragging out the oversized suitcase.

The closet was packed with designer clothes, most of them gifts from the Blackwood family, sent seasonally, like some obligation.

I ran my hand across the smooth, expensive fabric, then started tossing pieces into the suitcase, not bothering to fold.

Next came the essentials. I grabbed my toothbrush, the face wash I'd used for years, and that peach-scented body lotion I liked. I left the fancy skincare bottles untouched on the vanity and moved to the study desk.

I opened the drawer at the desk. It was mostly empty, holding only a few things—a worn-out bunny keychain from my mother, an old external hard drive, and a velvet ring box.

My fingers hovered just above the ring box, as if some part of me still wasn't ready to open it.

Still, I opened it. Inside lay an engagement ring, clean and simple in design, with both our initials engraved on the inside of the ring.

It was the official token of our engagement, passed between our families like a signed agreement.

I picked the ring up. The metal felt cold against my skin, like it knew exactly what it stood for.

Under the bedroom light, the ring sparkled—flawless, beautiful, and completely lifeless.

"This ends here," I said aloud. "The ring, the relationship… I'm done pretending that this was ever going to work."

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to close the lid and shove the box back in the drawer. But the second I pushed it shut, my vision flickered.

And then, like a glitch in reality, words started scrolling right in front of me.

[Yeah, that's right. Run, Stellie. Get away from that stupid snake.]

[LOL. Lucien's gonna lose it. Ten years, and she's still scared of snakes. Can you imagine her during his shedding season?]

[God… am I the only one dying to see Stellie pinned down by that needy snake? (Yeah, I said it. Kinky as hell.)]

I jolted back to my senses. "What the hell was that?"

My heart leapt into my throat, and I felt cold sweat trickling down my back.

"Hallucinations?" I mumbled. "Had Lucien finally driven me insane?"

I blinked hard, shook my head, and the words disappeared.

Everything was normal again. The suitcase lay open with all my belongings spilling out, and the velvet box sat silently on the rug.

But the whole experience had sent a chill down my spine.

Instinctively, I wrapped my arms around myself, as if that could stop the creeping realization that this once-familiar bedroom now felt cold and strangely unfamiliar.

My hands trembled as I grabbed the ring box and shoved it deep into the drawer.

I zipped the suitcase shut, and the harsh metallic rasp sounded unnaturally loud in the silence.

When I finished, I forced myself to stand, my arms and legs weak and trembling.

"Alright, this is it." I braced myself, dragged the suitcase across the room, and reached for the door.

But just as my hand closed around the knob, it turned from the outside.

Every drop of blood in my body turned to ice.

The door swung open, and Lucien stood there.

He'd just come in from outside, the night air still clinging to him. A few strands of his dark hair had been tousled by the wind, falling messily across his forehead.

His expression was terrifying—cold, sharp, merciless. His black eyes locked onto mine like a heat-seeking missile, then dropped down to the suitcase.

The hallway light cast his shadow long across the floor, stretching toward me like a trap.

The air turned thick, like I was breathing through lead.

The tension rolling off him made the room feel ten degrees colder.

A heavy, suffocating silence filled the tight space, thick and choking, like fog that wouldn't lift.

And then he finally spoke.

His voice was low and rough, like thunder right before it breaks. "I see you're packed…"

He paused, gaze still fixed on the suitcase. Then his eyes snapped back to mine, and I panicked.

"So," he said, voice like ice, "you were planning to run?"