The morning sunlight streamed through the gap in the curtains, casting a soft halo that outlined Livia's delicate features. She slowly opened her eyes, her long lashes quivering slightly, as if still immersed in the lingering emotions of the night before. Sitting up, the thin blanket slipped down, revealing her smooth, bare shoulders. The morning light caressed her skin, lending it a warm, luminous glow.
Marcellus's eyes opened, his gaze immediately drawn to her. A flicker of fascination crossed his deep-set eyes. Propping himself up, he watched her intently, his eyes tracing the curves of her back as though trying to etch this moment into his memory forever. Slowly, he reached out, wanting to pull her back into his embrace, to feel her warmth once more, to taste the sweetness that lingered between them.
But just as his fingertips were about to touch her wrist, Livia suddenly spoke.
"Can you really not tell me everything?"
Her voice was soft, yet it carried a restrained sorrow, as if it had taken all her strength to utter those words.
Marcellus froze, his expression instantly darkening with a mix of complexity and pain. He withdrew his hand, clenching his fist slightly. His gaze flickered, betraying an internal struggle. Silence spread between them, leaving only the sound of their measured breathing in the quiet room, bathed in morning light.
At last, he spoke, his voice low and filled with weariness and restraint.
"I can't. And even if I told you, you wouldn't believe me. More importantly—there's no need."
His Adam's apple bobbed slightly, and a bitter smile tugged at the corner of his lips—self-mocking, yet resigned.
"The harm I've caused is already there. Only I can make amends."
Livia's heart clenched violently. She had braced herself for the worst, expecting him to evade the question with excuses or even another lie. But he hadn't. His answer held no justifications, only a raw, undeniable truth—he couldn't tell her. Not because he didn't want to, but because he couldn't.
At that moment, she finally understood what angered her the most.
It wasn't that Marcellus had kept secrets. It wasn't even that he had done things she couldn't comprehend. It was that everything he had done—was never for her. It was for Livia.
For Livia, Marcellus endured Elias's misunderstandings. He carried all his burdens alone. He even bore the weight of her resentment without a word. In his world, there was always one person at the center—Livia.
But the cruel reality was—she was not Livia. She was Alia.
She had thought she could let go of the past, that as long as Marcellus was willing to move forward, she could walk beside him. But now she realized—she was the one who couldn't let go.
If all his obsession was merely to make up for Livia's regrets, then what about her? Was she just a shadow? A mere bystander, waiting for the truth to finally surface?
Taking a deep breath, she forced down the bitterness in her chest. She could endure his silence. She could even endure his lies. But what she could not endure—was that she would never be his only one.
A heavy weight pressed against her chest, suffocating her. Turning away, she suppressed the urge to cry and spoke, her words slow but resolute.
"I will stay in the castle, but not here. I will move to another room."
Her tone was calm, yet it carried a quiet finality.
"I will wait for you to take care of everything—and then, tell me the truth."
With that, she didn't spare Marcellus another glance. Instead, she walked toward the wardrobe, picked up her clothes, and slowly put them on. Though her fingers trembled slightly, her movements remained steady and graceful.
Every gesture of hers felt like a silent farewell.
Marcellus watched her retreating figure, his lips parting slightly as if wanting to stop her. But in the end, he said nothing.
He knew that the woman before him was no longer the one who had given herself to him so completely the night before.
As the door clicked shut, the room fell back into silence.
Marcellus sat alone on the bed, pressing his long fingers against his forehead, eyes shut. A deep sigh escaped his lips, his low voice resonating through the empty space—carrying an unspoken sorrow.
Last night, in the study, Elias stood at the center, his brow furrowed, fingers tapping lightly on the desk. His gaze was deep and unfathomable, like an icy abyss.
He cannot sleep, his mind replaying the events of the day over and over—his secret stronghold had been infiltrated, and he had only noticed the danger at the last moment.
The realization made his blood boil with anger. But more than that, it made him aware—his power was not as unshakable as he had thought.
His fist clenched tightly, knuckles turning white, fury surging in his eyes.
"Ridiculous…" he murmured coldly, his voice dripping with venomous resentment.
At this moment, he finally understood—he could no longer rely on the vast network of his underground forces.
If his enemy was truly a hidden faction within the military, then no number of secret outposts would be enough to counter them.
What he needed was not sheer numbers—but absolute loyalty and elite execution.
After careful deliberation, he made his decision.
He would streamline his core team.