CHAPTER 192: MINUTES AGO

The nobleman’s estate slumbered under the gray veil of dawn, its heavy velvet curtains drawn tight, trapping the fading warmth of the hearth within.

In the master chamber, the air hung thick with the lingering scent of incense—sandalwood and myrrh, dulled but stubborn, weaving through the stillness.

Lord Renval stirred against silk sheets, one arm curled around the soft curve of his wife’s waist, the other draped over the slighter form of his concubine.

Their breathing was a quiet symphony, deep and sated, their bodies pressed close in the languor of sleep.

The only sounds were the faint rustle of curtains swaying in a stray breeze and the low, dying crackle of embers in the hearth.

Then—

A touch.

Not a hand, not anything human—just the sensation of being watched.

A cool glide brushed his cheek, weightless, leaving no warmth, only a whisper of presence that sent a shiver down his spine.

His eyes snapped open, heart thudding against his ribs, the room’s shadows suddenly sharper, heavier.

There she was.

Floating just beyond the bed, framed in a sliver of moonlight that had slipped past the curtains’ edge.

A figure woven from rose-tinted haze, her curves sculpted from light itself, soft yet impossibly vivid—breasts full and glowing, hips a teasing curve that seemed to beckon without moving.

Her hair spilled like smoke, curling upward into the air, defying gravity, and her eyes burned with a mischievous promise, pink and luminous, locking onto his with a hunger that made his breath catch.

Her lips curled in a smile too perfect, too knowing, a silent invitation that stirred something deep and primal within him.

A spirit.

Something alive, yet not.

Renval’s pulse raced, his body tensing as he lay frozen, caught between fear and a shameful heat blooming low in his belly.

The spirit tilted her head, her pink glow flickering across the room, brushing the sleeping faces of his wife and concubine, their soft breaths undisturbed.

She raised one hand, her fingers curling in a delicate, beckoning gesture, her lips parting slightly as if to whisper a secret meant only for him.

His body moved before his mind could resist, a pulse of lust igniting his blood, making his skin tingle with a warmth he couldn’t name.

He slid from the sheets, careful not to wake the women at his side, his bare feet finding the plush rug soundlessly.

Each step was light, unthinking, drawn by her glow, her gaze a chain that pulled him forward.

The spirit glided backward, her eyes never leaving his, her pink light casting a path through the darkened chamber, a siren’s call he couldn’t ignore.

Down the short corridor, the air grew cooler, the incense fading into the scent of old wood and early morning air.

The spirit’s form shimmered, her curves swaying as she moved, her glow brushing against a porcelain vase on a side table.

The vase trembled, not from weight but from a strange resonance, as if the air itself bent to her will, vibrating with her presence.

Renval’s breath hitched, his bare chest prickling in the chill, his nightshirt clinging to his skin as he followed, entranced.

She led him to the balcony, the heavy glass doors parting soundlessly under her touch.

The dawn wind hit him, crisp and sharp, snapping him awake like a slap.

His pulse pounded in his ears, clarity flooding back as the haze of seduction cracked.

His hand twitched, mana stirring in his veins, and something inside him snarled, raw and furious.

"This—" he spat, his voice low but trembling with rage, "—this is witchcraft."

The spirit’s smile thinned, her eyes gleaming with a knowing, almost amused glint, as if his anger were a game she’d played before.

Her lips parted, and for a moment, he thought she might speak—but no sound came.

Instead, her glow pulsed, her form drifting closer, her fingers trailing an invisible line through the air, teasing the edge of his chest.

The touch was cold, yet it burned, stirring a shameful heat that made his cock twitch despite his fury.

"You dare?" he roared, the balcony shaking with the echo of his voice.

Every noble-trained instinct screamed—witches, curses, shadows that stole breath in the night.

He raised his arm, mana surging in his palm, a searing coil of violet fire flaring bright, crackling with his rage. "You dare creep into my house, my bed

—"

The spirit’s expression shifted, her smile sharpening, her eyes glinting with a taunt.

Then—

She vanished, her form dissolving into threads of pink light that scattered into the dawn.

His fire erupted, blasting the balcony rail into fractured shards of stone and heat, sparks raining into the garden below.

Renval staggered, chest heaving, his voice raw. "Where—where is she—?"

"Here."

The voice was human, yet not—sharp, heavy with power, coming from behind him.

He spun, and saw her.

Kiara.

Her academy uniform clung to her toned frame, the blouse straining over her full bust, the skirt cutting sharply across her thighs.

But her eyes blazed with pink light, veins glowing faintly at her temples, her presence overwhelming, layered with a crueler edge than the spirit’s seductive haze.

She stood in the doorway, her silhouette framed by the corridor’s dim light, her long hair catching the moonlight like a dark halo.

Before he could summon another spell, her hand blurred.

A chop slammed into his throat, the crack of cartilage echoing as his breath cut off in a choking gasp.

His body convulsed, legs buckling as he clawed for air, his vision swimming.

Then her boot rose, smashing against his face with brutal force.

The impact threw him backward, reeling over the shattered balcony rail.

His arms flailed, grasping for stone that wasn’t there, his nightshirt fluttering as he fell.

His eyes locked with hers one last time, and in that fleeting moment, he saw it—not Kiara’s face, but another’s, overlaid by memory and horror.

A woman, screaming, bound to a post, her eyes glowing that same cursed pink as flames climbed higher.

Kiara’s mother.