TPWTL 65

#65. Then, Shall We Do a Bit More?

“Want me to help?”

“With what?”

“The paperwork.”

“What?”

Caught off guard, Olivia fumbled at the fingers covering her eyes and tugged them down. Her eyes widened until they could hardly open any further.

“What?” she repeated.

“If I don’t, I might just rip all my hair out. Better to finish these documents first.”

Cryer smirked, lifting a strand of her hair and rolling it smoothly between his fingers.

Her silken hair, faintly carrying the scent of roses, brushed against the roughness of his knuckles. And yet, impossibly, the ends of her hair seemed to burn faintly against his touch, as if catching fire.

Olivia calmly pulled her hair free from his grasp.

“You? Doing paperwork?”

“Yes.”

He nodded without hesitation, prompting Olivia to scowl.

“Where on earth does that confidence come from?”

Her reaction was perfectly natural.

Sure, she had seen his good and bad sides plenty—hearing him bark “hey, you!” and worse. But Olivia was still the one and only legitimate heir to Bolsheik, the sole empire on the continent.

Every single document she handled was critical, endlessly complicated, and frustrating enough to make one want to claw their eyes out.

“I think I can do it. And if confidentiality is the issue—well, it wasn’t intentional, but I’ve already seen far too much of it.”

While wandering one side of her office, Cryer had ended up glimpsing documents Olivia signed with swift strokes or stamped with heavy seals, all detailing the empire’s history and state affairs.

Of course, he had never acted on that information.

“There’s no such thing as ‘confidential’ between us. If I can see it, you can see it. That’s not the problem…”

“Then what you’re saying is—”

Before she could finish, Cryer cut in.

“What am I saying? What problem? You were about to explain.”

“No. You just said if I can see it, you can too.”

“Yeah. I don’t mind. I told you—I trust you. And honestly? I couldn’t care less what happens to your empire. Whether for better or worse.”

Cryer tilted his head slightly instead of replying. Because it was true. He didn’t care what became of the empire—or the whole continent, for that matter.

He only wanted one thing: to erase this damned slave brand.

Even now, nothing had changed. All that mattered was breaking free from the ancient god’s chains.

Ever since Olivia had reached for him—promising to pull him out of this yoke, urging him to join her—his goal had never shifted.

That was all he lived for.

There had been no hope before—only the endless mire dragging at his legs. But when Olivia stretched out her hand, it was like dazzling light piercing the swamp.

Could he escape?

No way.

Maybe?

Yes—he would.

It hadn’t taken him long to change his mind.

And afterward… he hadn’t even bothered imagining what came next.

Now, Cryer found himself staring at Olivia as she grumbled at the mountain of papers yet still refused to put down her pen.

What would happen between them once the brand on his collarbone disappeared?

Would she say, “Well, that’s it. We’re done. You go your way, I’ll go mine,” and turn away without hesitation?

It would make sense, wouldn’t it?

He had taken her life four times over, after all.

In every cycle, without fail, he had appeared before her as death itself.

She had only taken his hand to survive. But once survival was assured, why would she keep holding it?

Recently, she had blushed at him.

Just hearing her name from his lips had made her cheeks glow temptingly, her ears flare crimson.

The air around her then had been so intoxicating he hadn’t been able to breathe it in deeply enough.

And yet—she had chosen to flee.

Her hurriedly retreating back had told him everything.

I mustn’t get closer. I can’t waver. This is madness. I can’t, I can’t!

And after he mentioned the ancient god, it was as if all of that had never existed.

She no longer avoided him, but she no longer faltered either.

Was that fortunate—or unfortunate?

Either way, he could endure it.

Because she was here. And he was by her side.

But in the distant future?

No matter how many times he thought it over—tens, hundreds—he could never imagine himself leaving her. Only her leaving him.

Could he really wave goodbye as she walked away without looking back?

The answer came instantly.

No. Never.

Cryer lifted a document, holding it in front of his face to hide from Olivia.

Because right now his face must have been raw with desire, greed, and aching thirst.

From behind the page, he asked,

“You mean I can see everything of yours?”

“Pretty much. What would be the point of hiding from you?”

Her answer was quick, simple, and not quite what he meant.

But she had sworn to save him. She had trusted him unwaveringly. She had hidden nothing.

How could she shake him so deeply? Spread through him so indelibly?

She would have to take responsibility.

His princess. His Olivia.

If she had known the thoughts simmering in his crimson eyes, she would have been horrified.

But though she could read his expressions, she could not read his mind.

“What are you thinking so hard about? Don’t tell me you’re actually interested in the empire?”

“Not exactly. I don’t care about the empire.”

“Knew it.”

“But I care about what you care about.”

Her lips, half-open, pressed shut.

Like a rabbit sniffing for a predator beyond the plain, she eyed him warily.

“You’re not joking.”

“I’m not.”

“Then… well, yes. I do care about the empire.”

Through four deaths, she had never once thought of abandoning it and running away.

Her grand vows of for the empire! had faded with each return, but the inherited weight of responsibility on her shoulders could never be cast aside.

Cryer tapped her furrowed brow, then said lightly,

“Since you care, then I’ll care about the empire too.”

His fingers brushed her bangs, and a faint smile touched his lips.

At that moment, Olivia made up her mind.

Fine. Don’t think too hard. If this monster wants to care about the empire, that’s a good thing, isn’t it?

Good was good enough. Best not to question it.

“Alright then. Here.”

She handed him a stack of papers. He took them, but asked,

“Didn’t you say there was a problem?”

“There is. The problem is whether you actually have the ability to handle them.”

“Because I don’t have my memories?”

Cryer scanned the document quickly. Olivia shook her head.

“Memories matter, sure. But even if you had them all, if you’ve never handled work like this, it’d be impossible…”

“The one who drafted this? Don’t know who they are, but they made a spelling error in a diplomatic document. Content’s solid enough, but still—sloppy.”

His blunt criticism made Olivia blink rapidly.

Then, adopting a serene, enlightened look, she gestured gracefully.

“You’re more than capable. More than enough. In fact, why don’t you take from here to there?”

She shoved the pile toward him without hesitation.

“Isn’t that problem solved a little too easily?”

“You’ve got the ability—so no problem. None at all.”

Her bright blue eyes gleamed with a mischievous determination to offload the work. Cryer found his hand reaching toward her of its own accord.

Yes. I can never leave your side. I could never let you go.

“Cryer?”

His fingers hovered near her eye, brushing only the air. Olivia blinked at his hand, then grinned.

“Oh, you want the documents!”

“That’s not—”

“You do, right? You’ll help me with the paperwork, won’t you? Yes?”

She pressed him for the answer she wanted. Cryer sighed faintly and withdrew his hand.

“Sometimes I want to crack open that little head of yours.”

“Do it after you finish the paperwork.”

She snapped back firmly, practically burying her face in the stack.

“From here to there!”

At last, Cryer picked up the pile she indicated—and tore through it with speed that shocked even himself.

Olivia, flipping furiously through her own, looked up at the looming black shadow that fell across her papers.

“Finished.”

“Already?”

“Yes. I only took the simpler ones.”

“Even so, that fast…”

Her blue eyes shimmered with emotion, tears nearly brimming.

She gazed at the stack in awe, then whispered softly,

“Then… shall we do a bit more?”

Looking up at him with shining eyes full of expectation, Olivia was met by Cryer’s large, rough hand closing over her face, covering those blue irises completely.

“Cryer?”

“I’ll help. But don’t look at me with those eyes.”

“Those eyes?”