"W-wait—!"
Two suited men with arms thicker than Vivienne's legs grabbed her on either side without a word. She struggled with all her might, but it was like being caught between two iron clamps forged from steel—she couldn't move an inch.
Click. Cold metal snapped shut around her wrist.
"Let me go—help—!"
"Shut up."
Something hard and metallic pressed against her lower back…
And Vivienne's new life motto became: Silence.
A gun? Again? Always a gun.
If anyone could hear her thoughts right now, they'd hear a groundhog-level scream of injustice: Broad daylight! In a civilized society! Where the hell is the law?!
Click. The other wrist was cuffed too.
Then darkness fell. A pitch-black hood was pulled over her head. Vivienne didn't even want to imagine how ridiculous she looked now.
"We got her."
"Yeah. No real resistance."
My resistance is "barely noticeable," huh…
Outnumbered and outpowered, Vivienne resisted the urge to use her mental powers. Like a perfect little prisoner, she let herself be escorted quietly.
"Take her to 4392."
"Received."
Voices from ahead spoke to the men behind her. Vivienne gritted her teeth.
Of course.
It wasn't just these two.
…
After walking for about ten minutes, a door opened and she was shoved into a closed room. Must be the so-called Room 4392.
The kidnappers pushed her to the ground, but Vivienne dropped into a kneeling position herself—graceful and cooperative, smooth as seaweed in a current.
The men: "…" They had wanted to force her down.
Her eyes were covered, hands cuffed, completely blind. She could only rely on her other senses to gather intel.
She seemed to be sitting on carpet.
And inside—
"Ah! I was wrong! I really know I was wrong!!" someone wailed in agony.
Every syllable sounded like it had been wrenched from deep inside his throat, trembling with sobs and desperation.
"Please let me go! Young Duke! I was possessed! Wes—cough! Cough!" The man's plea was interrupted by violent coughing, his ragged breath reeking of blood and pain.
His cries were so raw, his voice was nearly unrecognizable.
When the ferryman's drowning, you know there's no one left to save you.
Vivienne, ever creatively detached, thought absently: So beatings can cure a smoker's throat? Noted.
Amidst the sickening thuds of flesh and bone being pummeled, a medley of pathetic groveling filled the room. The audio experience alone was enough for Vivienne to mentally reconstruct a blood-splattered crime scene.
The situation was crystal clear now.
Gavin Thornton had been caught.
The Young Duke was punishing him.
A chill crept up Vivienne's spine.
This… this was a warning shot. A public execution to make a point.
But she wasn't the mastermind—hell, she wasn't even a criminal!
She was just an innocent bystander who accidentally did the right thing!
Then why the hell did they grab her too?
She wasn't the one who drugged Westley!
Unless—wait, didn't Gavin say the surveillance had been disabled?
…Or not?
Vivienne: "…"
Gavin Thornton.
No one believed in you, and somehow, you managed to disappoint even lower expectations.
When the hood was yanked off, Vivienne's world flipped from suffocating darkness to a blinding white.
Her pupils hadn't yet adjusted, and the intense light stabbed into her eyes like a thousand tiny needles, leaving a burning, stinging pain.
Tears welled up at the corners of her eyes. Instinctively, she shut them tight.
By the time she slowly opened her eyes again, she realized she was in the living room of a luxury suite. The sound of beating and yelling came from a study nearby.
Vivienne tilted her head upward.
The blond young man sat on the sofa, elbows on knees, fingers steepled against his chin. His golden-green eyes—like a mix of fallen leaves and amber—looked down at her lazily.
His voice floated softly across the room.
"Why did you drug me?"
"Drug you?" Vivienne didn't play coy. She was scared he might be holding solid evidence that could get her killed on the spot—and with the bodyguards still watching her like hawks, she used a helpless tone instead: "I didn't."
Westley sat up straighter. "I'll give you a chance to explain."
"Start with this: Why were you, who I saw on the shopping street earlier, suddenly here tonight?"
Westley was replaying the day in his mind—how he had bumped into Vivienne three times in public.
All coincidences?
He didn't believe in that many coincidences.
This was Zyrakta Tower—also called Zyrak Tower—about an hour and a half from the shopping district by car.
Vivienne had no invitation, no apparent interest in art. Yet she not only showed up at the Ashley family's exhibition—she even attended the celebration banquet.
"Is there any actual causality in this…?" Vivienne swallowed and considered whether to just tell the truth.
"Speak." A heavy weight pressed down on her shoulder—one of the bodyguards, upping the intimidation factor.
Well, a knife to the neck is a knife to the neck. Might as well pick her truths carefully.
She said she came to Capital Planet to study, ran into space pirates, lost everything, account wiped…
She didn't bother adding that she "awakened again" after the pirate attack and then was forced into enrolling—small details weren't worth sharing with Westley.
She'd first heard about a charity food station near Zyrakta Tower—rumored to have the best free food. After trying it herself, she'd found the rumors true.
On social media, she saw there was a public charity performance across from the food station. Her original plan had been to eat lunch and catch the show—but the performance ended early.
Then she noticed the charity art exhibit downstairs hosted by Ms. Librena, called A Brighter Future.
Vivienne figured, hey, art's art. Charity's charity. It's all the same.
And the last, most honest reason?
She was bored.
Utterly bored Vivienne let herself drift through a day of wasted time—first through a random art exhibit, then accidentally into this baffling celebration party.
"I did do something," she admitted. "I saw Gavin Thornton pour something into your wine. So I swapped your glass with his."
Westley twirled the gemstone ring on his left ring finger, his expression unreadable. "So you're saying my drink was clean?"
"As long as the wine the server brought was untouched." Vivienne paused, then added, "I saw him spike it—then take the tray straight into the room."
"I didn't leave until he started drinking it."
"Leave," Westley suddenly chuckled, "Why didn't you tell me, Yshi? I thought we were friends."
Friends?
Friends who just met today and immediately let everyone isolate me? Those friends?
"…I was tired. Planned to head back to school. Didn't want to stir up drama." Vivienne turned it around on him, frowning slightly. "You still don't believe me?"
"I'm tired too… How about this." Westley paused for two seconds under her disappointed gaze, then tapped the table lightly. His fingers were long and pale, faint blue veins showing under ivory skin.
"Drink it, Yshi, and I'll believe you."
Vivienne followed his gaze.
On the table sat a glass of red wine.
Under the warm light, the wine shimmered blood-red inside its crystal glass.