Chapter 52
Even after several brief kisses followed, Riena’s tears would not stop. She cried so endlessly she wondered if she might faint from dehydration.
Dante wiped every drop away—sometimes with his hand, sometimes with his lips.
“Why are you crying so much?”
“…Move.”
That gentle, coaxing voice jolted Riena back to herself. She raised a trembling hand and pushed him away.
He let her, leaning back without resistance.
Riena forced herself upright, though her legs still felt weak, and lowered them to the floor. Then she noticed his jacket still hanging loosely over her shoulders. With a sharp motion, she shoved it off.
His golden eyes followed her every move. The wild hunger burning in them moments ago had cooled, replaced by their usual composed light. He looked so calm now it was hard to believe this was the same man who had devoured her like a beast just moments earlier.
“You’re leaving like that?”
His voice, so tender when he’d kissed her, had reverted to its usual indifference.
Riena didn’t answer. Instead, she lifted her gaze and glared at him, her silence sharp enough to say everything.
“That’s how you show anger?”
His eyes narrowed, mocking. He gave a short laugh, as though her defiance amused him.
Her disheveled hair, rumpled clothes, swollen red eyes streaked with tears, lips flushed and bruised… every detail shouted what had happened inside this office.
“If anyone sees you like this, I think you will be more troubled than me.”
“Don’t concern yourself.”
Her sharp tone cut through the heavy air. Dante’s brow twitched as if annoyed.
“…I forgot,” she said hoarsely. “Forgot that Your Grace is the kind of man who disregards another’s will, who does as he pleases.”
Her voice trembled but her words struck like knives.
“From now on, I’ll never come back. And I hope Your Grace will never seek me out again.”
She paused, then lifted her chin high, forcing herself to meet his eyes as she added each word slowly, clearly.
“…Because whatever was between us—it ended a long time ago.”
Dante’s lips twisted. A crooked smile appeared.
“I never know how to keep up with you. You’re too fickle.”
She had yielded to him, let him lead her wherever he wished—only to now cast him aside as if he were filth. And yet, this was not the first time…
His golden eyes chilled, locking on her with a predator’s sharpness.
“Are you playing games with me?”
“No. The games were yours, Your Grace. You call me fickle? Me?”
Her whole body trembled. Fear—stupid, humiliating fear. She rubbed her lips hard with the back of her hand, as though trying to erase every trace of him.
“No. Not once have I ever wanted this. Not you, not any of this.”
“….”
“Meeting you was the worst misfortune of my life. Thank you for reminding me.”
Even if he mocked her words as pitiful excuses to salvage her pride, she didn’t care. Clutching her skirts tight, she pressed on.
“I regret it. I regret not pretending I didn’t know you when we met again. I regret not running farther away. I regret… stepping into your carriage that day.”
Dante clung to the last thread of his reason. Otherwise, he might have snapped her fragile neck for speaking such useless things.
Riena stared up at the calm, cold mask of the Archduke and frowned.
“Do you love me?”
His golden eyes flickered with a sudden, cutting chill. At last, he spoke, flat and slow.
“No.”
It was what she expected. Her shoulders trembled.
So then—the games, the whims—they were his, not hers.
Every word, every touch, carved her heart open anew. Just like before, when she had been by his side.
“Then… do you hate me?” she asked again.
His lips twisted once more. This time, his smile was brittle, hollow.
“Yes. I hate you. Very much. I want you gone from my sight. And yet… I can’t resist watching you suffer.”
In truth, Dante had decided to play along once more. As long as she remained under his control, he would accept even her defiance.
His eyes, once softened with desire, now burned with their true brilliance—fierce and unstable. He found satisfaction in knowing it was he who had shaken her so.
“I can’t stand the thought of you being happy without me, Riena.”
Riena swallowed the heat still rising in her breath. This was the Dante Venachert she knew—arrogant, capricious, cold-blooded.
Yes, this was his real self. She had been foolish to think otherwise, even for a moment.
And as his former wife, she knew exactly how to escape him. She closed her eyes, then opened them, each syllable clear and deliberate:
“You needn’t worry. I’ll never be happy. Not once in my life have I ever been happy.”
There was no happiness in anything he gave her. She knew he would understand what her words meant.
And then she fled.
She ran down the familiar garden path behind the annex, skirts whipping around her.
By the time she reached the rear gate, her breath tore at her throat. She clenched her teeth, forcing her legs not to collapse.
She shoved at the iron door with all her strength.
Clang!
“…Ha.”
Her hand dropped weakly from the gate. It was locked.
And then she remembered—the gate only opened when he let her out. He had always been the one to escort her.
Coming in was easy. Leaving was impossible unless Dante himself allowed it.
The absurdity made her laugh bitterly, breathlessly.
This was all because of him. Because she had met the Archduke again. Because she had become entangled with him again. Otherwise, today would never have been such a nightmare.
The more memories she dug up, the more pathetic she felt. Despair weighed her down until she could hardly breathe.
***
Flick.
The cigar hissed as Dante drew in the smoke. The office was already littered with half-burnt stubs, discarded in frustration.
“…Our relationship ended a long time ago.”
He ground the new cigar into the ashtray, crushing it violently, then took another one.
His eyes stared at nothing as he smoked.
Flick.
The haze thickened with every drag, with every exhale.
“…I regret it. I regret…”
Her voice haunted him.
Flick.
Another cigar abandoned. Another lit.
By the time the ashtray overflowed with ruins, he froze. The thought struck him—the rear gate locks after ten.
His gaze snapped to his watch.
10:15. Twenty minutes since she had stormed out.
“Damn it.”
His brow twisted. He crushed the cigar and shot to his feet.
He strode out of the office, pace quickening the farther he went.
The watch chain rattled against his vest pocket, grating on his nerves. He grabbed it roughly, tore it free, and hurled it aside.
He reached the garden path, breath uneven, and finally slowed.
Ahead—standing beneath the faint glow of a single lamp—was Riena.
She was still there. Still trapped.
Her back shook with each ragged breath, shoulders trembling now and then.
Dante clenched his jaw so tightly his teeth ached. She turned slightly, just enough to glance back.
Her eyes, swollen and wet with fresh tears, glared at him full of accusation.
“I’ll open it.”
He didn’t wait for an answer. He stepped forward—
Thud.
But stopped after a single step.
Another tear fell from her eyes, splashing onto the stone path. A tear that had stained his lips not long ago, now staining the cold ground instead.
He lifted his gaze to her again.
“…What should I do?”
His head tilted slightly, voice low, mocking, as though asking her in earnest.
“How should I handle you, Riena?”
