CHAPTER 38: WHEN THE KILLER PLAYS THE VICTIM

(Evelina’s POV—Cabin in the Forest—The Firelight Hour)

Rowan immediately reached for his discarded shirt—instinctual, defensive, and automatic.

His movements were stiff, sharp, and almost panicked. As if my eyes on his scars were more dangerous than the assassins that chased us.

He had the fabric halfway over his shoulders when I spoke.

Quietly.Coldly.Firm enough to freeze him mid-motion.

"Rowan."

He stopped.

I stepped closer, one hand lifting—hesitant, but steady enough to touch the air between us. "You don’t disgust me."

He turned—slowly—as if unsure he heard correctly.

"...What?" His voice dipped, low and unsteady.

"The scars," I said, my tone more controlled than I felt. "They don’t disgust me. They don’t scare me. I’m not repulsed by you, Rowan."

His fingers loosened around the shirt. His breath stopped in his throat.

I held his gaze.Unwavering.Unflinching.

"So don’t put on a wet shirt just to hide them."

A long, heavy silence filled the cabin—thick as smoke, delicate as glass. Rowan’s eyes widened.

Just a fraction.

Just enough for me to catch.

And in that tiny shift—Something warm flickered in him.

Not fire-warm. Not skin-warm.

Something rarer.Softer.Almost... human.

His voice, when it came, was barely above a whisper. "...Thank you, Miss."

Two words. But they hit like an earthquake beneath his discipline. Rowan Arcturus—emotionless bodyguard, scarred soldier, stoic shadow—looked at me with something that wasn’t duty.

Something dangerously close to feeling. For one heartbeat, the firelight reflected in his eyes—not cold steel, not dead obedience—But warmth.

A warmth he didn’t know how to show. A warmth he didn’t know he had.

And I...I saw him.

Not the weapon.

Not the guard.

Not the man carved in discipline and silent violence.

But Rowan.

A person with a history engraved into his skin. A person who didn’t know kindness from a master.

A person who didn’t know how to accept softness without bracing for pain.

A person who had just shown memore vulnerability than he ever showed anyone.

Just like that—in a cabin hidden under a bridge, wrapped in firelight and danger—I discovered something small, rare, and fragile.

A flicker of Rowan’s emotions, buried deep beneath silence.

A piece of him no one was meant to see.

And tucked inside the pocket of my blanket—A strange artifact pulsed with a faint, eerie glow.

A memory shard.

A fragment of something I did not understand. Someone I did not know. Something I may not be ready to face.

Tonight I learned two dangerous truths:

My bodyguard feels more than he shows—and I am holding something in my pocket that may change everything.

***

(The Next Day, Forest)

Morning crept into the cabin in thin, cold rays.

I barely slept.

By sunrise, we were already walking.

Rowan held my hand—not loosely, not gently, but with the firm, unwavering grip of a man who refused to let go again. His pace was steady, every step deliberate, eyes sweeping the forest like a weapon scanning for targets.

But I... was less convinced.

"...Rowan," I said, raising a brow, "are you certain this is the right way?"

"Yes, Miss." His voice was low, controlled. "Trust me."

I stared at him.

He didn’t look at me—just tightened his grip, subtle but undeniable, as if afraid I would vanish into the fog the moment he let go.

He was acting strange.

Stranger than usual.

"Rowan," I pressed, "this forest is endless jungle. Nothing looks familiar. No path, no marks, no signs. How exactly are you finding the way?"

He didn’t stop walking.Didn’t even slow down.

"I remember everything I crossed," he said simply. "Every branch. Every rock. Every sound."

Of course. Rowan Arcturus: human GPS with trauma-coded accuracy.

I let out a sigh and glanced around.

Wild forest.Twisted roots.Branches brushing like skeletal fingers. No civilization, no hints of escape—only nature swallowing us whole.

Nothing specific.

Nothing promising.

Nothing but—HONNNNNKK—!!!

A sharp horn blared through the trees.

I froze.

So did Rowan—his hand tightening instantly around mine as his body shifted slightly forward, shielding me reflexively.

My heart thudded. "Was that—"

"A vehicle," Rowan finished, eyes narrowing. He didn’t relax—if anything, he became sharper.Focused. But something flickered in his gaze—a hint of relief mixed with suspicion.

"We’re close," he murmured. "Very close to the edge of the forest."

I blinked.

Finally.

Finally.

"Well," I exhaled, "that’s good news. Let’s—"

"Stay behind me," he said again, voice dropping into that dangerous tone that meant he smelled threats before they appeared. "We don’t know who honked. Or why."

He stepped forward, pulling me with him—firm, sure, unyielding.

Branches parted. Light seeped through. And slowly—slowly—the density of the forest began to thin.

Leaves rustled beneath our steps. Wind shifted—carrying faint scents of gasoline and road dust.

Civilization.

Rowan paused one last moment, scanning ahead with those cold, precise eyes... then nodded. "It’s clear."

We walked out of the forest.

Out of danger.

***

(Forest Exit → Highway Town)

Rowan paused one last time at the tree line—his eyes sweeping the world beyond with the silent precision of a predator evaluating open ground.

Then, finally, he gave a single nod.

"It’s clear."

We stepped out of the forest.

Out of darkness. And straight onto a narrow rural highway where small shops, vegetable stalls, and parked scooters sat under the morning sun.

The sudden sound of normal life felt... surreal.

I exhaled. "Good. We can get a taxi and leave—"

Rowan cut in immediately. "We don’t have money."

I blinked. "...We escaped twelve assassins, fell off a bridge, nearly drowned, found a secret cabin in a forest—if we explain we were in danger—"

"And why," he interrupted calmly, "should strangers care, Miss?"

I opened my mouth.

Closed it.

He was right. Why would anyone help us for free?

"...You’re right," I admitted through clenched teeth.

His eyebrow lifted slightly in acknowledgment—an ’I told you’ without saying it.

Then my gaze fell to my hand.

A silver ring.

Not expensive.Not flashy.

But elegant—engraved delicately with Hartgrave insignia. Something anyone would take as payment.

"...We can use this," I murmured.

Rowan’s eyes flicked to the ring, assessing instantly. "You intend to barter with it?"

"Yes. As a token. Someone will surely drive us if we give them this."

He nodded—slowly, approvingly. "A good decision, Miss."

He said it like he was grading my survival strategy.

I clicked my tongue and began walking toward the road. "Come on. We’ll find someone—"

Rowan, to my surprise, didn’t stop a taxi. He stopped...A mini-truck.

A loud, rusty, dented mini-truck carrying sacks of potatoes and onions like it was smuggling vegetables from another dimension.

The driver rolled down the window. "What do you two need?"

Rowan stepped forward. "A ride to the city."

The man hesitated. "...And the fare?"

Rowan glanced at me. I lifted my hand and showed the silver ring.

The driver’s eyes widened. "...You sure?"

"Yes," I said smoothly. "Payment in advance."

The man lit up. "Well, hop in! Hop in!"

Rowan helped me climb into the back—gently, like the world was made of pitfalls only I could fall into.

The truck rumbled to life.

As we rode toward the city—bumping between potato sacks and Rowan’s steady arm bracing behind me to prevent me from falling—I muttered under my breath:

"...I cannot believe we’re returning home in a vegetable truck."

Rowan replied without missing a beat: "It is safer than drowning, Miss."

I sighed.

He wasn’t wrong.

***

[Later—Aurelis City—Times Square]

The moment our makeshift vegetable carriage rolled into the city, I had only one goal:

Go home. Find the bastard who tried to kill me. End them.

Simple. Direct. Efficient.

But Aurelis City had other plans. Because as Rowan and I stepped out onto the bustling pavement of Times Square, the entire world seemed to stop.

A massive crowd was gathered—heads tilted upward.

And on the towering LED screens above the plaza, an anchor’s urgent voice boomed across the city:

"BREAKING NEWS—Authorities continue the search for Evelina Hartgrave, primary suspect in the attempted assassination of Kael Valtore."

I froze.

The air left my lungs.

Kael Valtore.Assassination.Me?

The screen switched to footage of Kael being rushed into a hospital.

The anchor continued in a grave tone:

"Reports state that twelve armed men were sent to eliminate Mr. Valtore. Witnesses claim Evelina Hartgrave orchestrated the attack before fleeing the city."

My blood turned to ice.

"...What," I whispered.

Rowan’s hand instantly found the small of my back—steady, grounding, protective.

The anchor’s voice only grew louder:

"Police forces warn the public that Evelina Hartgrave is considered dangerous and is to be reported immediately if sighted."

My jaw locked. My vision sharpened like a blade.

What. The. Hell.

I was the one ambushed. I was the one hunted. I almost drowned. And now I was the enemy?

"The Hartgrave Corporation has remained silent on the matter," the anchor continued. "Sources reveal Kael Valtore remains in critical condition at Aurelis General Hospital."

A ripple of gasps surged through the crowd.

My hands curled into fists.

Critical condition?From what?

. . .

. . .

12 assassins... Kael Valtore... hospital.

The pattern struck me like a knife sliding clean between ribs.

Everything that happened to me...was happening to Kael, Or rather—Kael was making it look like it happened to him.

A slow, icy realization crawled up my spine.

This wasn’t coincidence.This wasn’t fate.This wasn’t game logic.

This was orchestration.

Fabrication. Manipulation.

I let out a sharp breath—a laugh with no humor, no softness, only frost.

"Hah."

I had already solved the puzzle.

"Tch..." My lips curled into a razor-thin smile. "Of course."

The truth clicked neatly into place, like a trigger pulling back.

Kael Valtore.

The gentle hero. The golden boy. The male lead beloved by the Empire.

A liar.A manipulator.A viper in silk gloves.

He sent the assassins.

He targeted me. Tried to kill me. Failed.

And now?

Now he was playing the victim.

I lowered my gaze—half-lidded, sharp, lethal. My fingers curled slowly at my side, nails digging soft crescents into my palm.

"He dared send killers after me..." My voice deepened—darker, silkier. "And now he dares to use my own death plot to gain sympathy."

A small exhale escaped my lips.

My smile widened—elegant. Deadly.

"...Kael Valtore," I whispered, eyes glittering like a dark moon. "You traitorous little coward. You made your first mistake."

I stepped forward.

"And your last."