CHAPTER 151: CHAPTER 151: NOT IN THIS LIFETIME

The hallway behind him was a blur of whispers and fear, but Cassian didn’t turn back. He followed the silent guard through winding marble corridors, each more lavish than the last. Gold-lined walls, velvet drapes, and glowing crystal lanterns cast soft light around them. But none of it comforted him.

His heartbeat hadn’t slowed. His neck still stung from the memory of steel.

And his mind—his mind raced with questions he couldn’t voice.

Why was he being spared?

Why had the Supreme Lord done nothing?

The guard said nothing as they climbed a final staircase, their steps echoing in the high-ceilinged hallway. Then they stopped before a tall set of doors carved from dark wood and painted with silver runes. The guard pushed them open.

Cassian blinked.

It was not a cell. Not a dungeon. It was... breathtaking.

A large, warm room lit by golden lamps and soft firelight. Thick rugs layered the marble floor. Silken curtains billowed gently with some unseen breeze. And at the far end, by a wide window carved into the shape of a crescent moon, sat a man on an enormous armchair of midnight blue velvet.

The Supreme Lord.

Sprawled like a king with no worries.

His long black hair fell like a shadow over his shoulders, loose and silky. One leg was thrown lazily over the other. A glass of dark wine rested in his fingers, the rim tilted toward his lips as he took a slow sip. His face was beautiful and cruel—sharp, cold, and unreadable.

He didn’t even look up at first.

Cassian froze just inside the doorway, breath caught in his throat. His hands curled into fists at his sides. The silence stretched, heavy and strange, until the guard stepped back and closed the doors behind him.

Now they were alone.

Cassian swallowed hard. "W-Why am I here?"

The words came out quieter than he meant them to.

The Supreme Lord didn’t answer. He took another sip of wine. Then, at last, his eyes slid toward Cassian.

Dark and distant.

Unbothered.

Like Cassian was just another part of the furniture.

He raised a brow. "You’re still bleeding."

Cassian stiffened. He reached up and wiped the dried blood from his neck without thinking. "You brought me here just to—"

"Sit." The command was soft, but it left no room for argument.

Cassian hesitated. Then he crossed the room slowly, his boots sinking into the plush carpet. He sat at the edge of a smaller couch, tense like a rabbit under a hawk’s gaze.

The Supreme Lord leaned back, resting his arm along the side of the chair. "You’re lucky, you know. Most who look into my eyes end up with their tongues carved out."

Cassian flinched.

He took a slow breath and asked again. "Why... why did you bring me here?"

The Supreme Lord was reclining in his oversized armchair, swirling his wine lazily. His dark robe had shifted just enough to reveal a sliver of pale skin along his collarbone, smooth and perfect, like everything else about him. His long black hair spilled over one shoulder, untouched by the world.

He glanced at Cassian with eyes too calm to be kind.

"I thought that was obvious," he said smoothly.

Cassian’s chest twisted. "You—you made me a concubine."

The Lord raised a brow. "Yes."

"You didn’t even ask me," Cassian whispered, voice cracking. "You just—decided."

The Lord chuckled, soft and low. "Do I look like someone who asks, Cassian?"

Cassian’s face burned. "I’m not like them. I’m not—one of them."

Cassian’s stomach turned. His jaw tightened. "You have thirteen thousand four hundred and four other concubines."

That made the Lord pause. His fingers stilled on the stem of the goblet.

"So you counted," he said.

Cassian’s voice trembled with something between rage and heartbreak. "I searched. I wanted to know where I stood. What I meant. And when I found out... I wanted to get out from this place."

The Lord stood, slowly, his movements fluid like a shadow rising. He walked toward Cassian with slow, unhurried steps.

Cassian backed away.

"I believe the Prince has forgotten," Cassian said quietly, "that whatever we once had died the day I walked away from the palace."

The Supreme Lord reached him in one stride. Cassian froze as a cold hand brushed his jaw—fingertips tracing his cheek with a touch that made his skin burn, not from desire but from shame.

"I don’t collect you," he said, voice low and dangerous. "I claimed you."

Cassian flinched, yanking his face back. "I’m not yours," he said sharply, his voice cracking. "I never was."

The Lord’s eyes narrowed, but Cassian pressed on.

"I was a servant in your palace," he hissed. "And when you were gone, your mother had me beaten and thrown out like garbage."

He took a shaky breath, his chest heaving.

"You never looked for me."

The Lord didn’t blink.

"And now," Cassian went on, voice rising with the years of bitterness he had buried, "you drag me into this world and shove a mark on me like I belong to you? Call me a concubine? I’m not one of them. I never agreed to this!"

"I want to go back."

The words dropped like stones.

Dorian’s hand stilled. His gaze darkened—not with rage, but with something unreadable. Soon, Cassian heard a crack sound.

The goblet in Supreme Lord hand was crushed.

The crystal cracked like bone. Sharp edges cut into his skin, drawing blood that dripped slowly onto the floor. He didn’t even flinch.

When he look back, his voice came low. Unshaken.

"Not in this lifetime."

Cassian’s breath caught.

He stepped back, but the Supreme Lord followed.

"Run," the Lord said softly, "and I’ll drag you back from whatever hole you hide in. I’ve done it before. I’ll do it again."

"You can’t keep me here," Cassian said through gritted teeth. "You can’t make me stay."

"I already have," the Lord replied with a calm and absolute voice. "You just haven’t accepted it yet."