CHAPTER 35: CHAPTER 35: BURN WITH ME

Think Aiden Think...

".....I was lonely." He suddenly spoke.

He beloud his lie, letting it spill out with deliberate weight, as if confession itself could soften the strike he knew was coming. His tone was guilty, but not wholly defeated—calibrated, like a blade dulled just enough to pass for harmless.

The word lonely hung in the chamber, settling heavy between them.

There was silence. A pause.

The kind of silence that presses on the ribs and drags at the throat. It wasn’t simple stillness—it was judgment.

Aiden lifted his eyes to hers. Catherine’s eyes. The viscountess’s eyes. Cold, crystalline, sharpened not just by anger but by the quiet poise of someone who had the authority to decide whether a man would keep his head—or lose it on the spot.

Of course she would be angry.

Her daughter. Flora.

Her only treasure. The innocent flame he had touched, corrupted, consumed. He had taken something she cherished and twisted it for himself. He could see the thought written there in her gaze: You fucked her.

And she wasn’t wrong.

What could he possibly say now? What argument could hold back the executioner’s blade once the cat was out of the bag? He thought of Gail, of his head rolling lifeless, and the image of his own followed after it.

But—

The lord did not yet know.

If Augustus knew, his head would already be separated from his body. The fact that it wasn’t meant Catherine had not told him.

And that begged the question.

Why?

Why would she keep silent? What was she waiting for? What game was she playing?

’She hasn’t told him yet... why?’ His thoughts pulsed sharp, jagged. ’What is she aiming at? Do I still have time to twist this? To bend her hand? Do I have a chance...?’

His instincts, honed in darker pits than this velvet chamber, whispered a warning through his veins: Do not beg. Do not plead. Do not ask for forgiveness.

So he steadied himself.

"My lady Viscountess....."

His voice dropped, trembling for the briefest moment before he carved it into steadiness. His face shifted, panic slipping into the mask of solemnity, of solitude. This was no time to stutter, no time to flutter his words like a weak man begging for scraps.

"Her lady Flora... she is somebody I cherish the most. She is the light of my life. She is the only reason—"

He faltered, just enough to bait her breath.

"—the only reason I have not..."

He lowered his head. Let the pause stretch like a taut string.

"Why... what?" she asked, her voice softened by curiosity despite the anger crackling in her veins.

"Why I have not killed myself yet."

The lie slid from his tongue with the silk of practiced despair.

Catherine did not move.

The viscountess sat there, hand at her chin, staring, dissecting. Her silence was more dangerous than a shout. Her stillness more lethal than a dagger.

Aiden raised his eyes again, showing her his gaze—eyes that glimmered not with hunger or charm this time, but with carefully painted lifelessness. Golden irises dulled, hollowed, carved of despair. He painted himself as a man long drowned in grief.

"Your daughter, her lady Flora... changed my life. Changed my heart. Changed my soul."

His voice trembled with reverence, with the weight of a devotion that was all lie and no truth, yet it rang as though he had bled it. A single tear swelled in the corner of his eye—he let it, placed it there, an offering of sorrow.

"She is a treasure. And I have stained that treasure." His tone cracked, caught. "Yes, I accept that mistake, that sin. I deserve the most horrendous capital punishment..."

He raised his eyes again. Met her gaze. And softened. Just enough.

Now, his instincts whispered. Now is the time.

"...I am incredibly sorry, my lady Catherine. I am sorry."

His chest echoed the words as though he had ripped them from bone.

Catherine shifted.

Her leg slid over the other, her golden hair spilling forward as she leaned. Her hand left her chin, fingers tapping faintly against the armrest as though marking time to a silent tune. She was listening. Truly listening. His words were reaching her.

"...I did not call you for your forgiveness...."

Her voice was cold still. But beneath it, faint, just faint enough for a predator to notice, was a tremor of sympathy.

She leaned forward, hair glinting in the lamplight like threads of flame.

"...I called you here to fuddle you off."

She threw the bag of coins.

Not ordinary gold. Premium. Heavy with the seal of noble circulation. The kind of gold peasants only ever saw from a distance, if at all. The bag thudded onto the table, spilling its weight like a head severed from a body.

"Ohh... at first I wanted you to die in the ditches. But my daughter seemed to be fond of you. Too fond. So much that she came to visit you when you were at the medic... every night."

The words struck.

Every night.

Aiden’s throat closed. His chest tightened. He didn’t speak. He couldn’t. He saw Flora’s face, her soft hands, her worried eyes watching him in the sickbed. He had thought her naive, impulsive—but she had been relentless. She had risked herself every night.

His silence was answer enough.

"...so for the love of my daughter and her peace, I want you gone. Never to be seen again. Take it. Stay silent. Forget you ever worked in this mansion."

Her voice iced over.

"I am only this lenient because she is young. She has needs. She used her power to fulfill them. So instead of killing you right here and now, I am giving you an option. Leave, or..."

"...or?" He asked, his forehead protruding.

"...die."

The word was tossed like a casual command. A single syllable, cold and absolute.

And why not? That was the world. Power decided what lived and what bled. The logical option here was to take the gold, and live a free life. The most important thing was, his neck was spared, his life in his hands .

But.....who was she to decide her fate, who was she... to give him options, who the fuck was she to tell him, to just die. Who was she to weight his worth with some bag of coins.

The way she spoke it...felt like an arrow to his ego, he needed to relax, he needed to take a breath, the bit of rage boiling since the moment her disrespect started, he needed to coil it down....simmer it, be alive, not be angry and not die.but...But.....No.

It itched his rage. Not just at her—at himself. For being weak. For needing to beg. For having to bow and scrape for a life that should be his to wield. Was it himself or something inside him, refused this treatment, refused this weakness.....His ego clawed against the cage of his ribs.

And something in him snapped, a sudden shift in his eyes.

He pushed the bag of coins, slowly, gradually, until it reached the edge, and after one final push....

Coins clattered, spilling across the floor like shattered teeth. Tang, tang, tang. The sound echoed against the chamber walls.

The viscountess’s head whipped toward the lord’s form. Augustus stirred, groaned, his chest heaving with the sound of deep, exhausted sleep. Catherine’s eyes flashed with panic.

Aiden smiled, not a smile he usually wears, but a smile to cover his ever so boiling rage.

And slowly, deliberately, unbuttoned his shirt.

Her brows furrowed.

"...what the fuck are you doing?"

He ignored her, unfastening each button with the calm of ritual.

"Did you know, my lady?" His voice carried, sharp, deliberate, almost loud enough to reach the lord’s dreams, laced with his rising wrath.

"The word around the fief... is that the viscountess—the beautiful and humble viscountess—is hiding something." he lied.

Her eyes narrowed.

"Something mischievous. Something... naughty." he lied...again, but his tone uttered absolute confidence.

His tone dripped falsehood, but he wielded it with the weight of truth.

"...you. I would be more careful if I was you....."

But he didn’t stop. His last button came undone.

"That the goddess of Leonidus fief is playing with someone other than her husband."

"Aide—"

"That Lady Catherine is having a...fucking affair!" he muttered, boasting as if he had seen the scene himself.

The word cracked like thunder. His voice beloud, echoing against the chamber walls, spilling into the lord’s sleep.

Augustus stirred again, scratching his chest, mumbling. Catherine’s eyes flashed wild panic.

She surged forward, seizing his collar. "...choose your words wisely, peasant."

’...me, peasant?...’

"Oh no no no no....you should not have said that." He voiced with giggling hidden rage.

Her voice burned with rage, but beneath it—a thin thread of fear.

He leaned close, lips curling.

"Oh, I will. My choice of words being...’ the lord also heard it as well’...."

Her grip faltered.

"...and he is suspicious."

"..."

"That’s why he cannot satisfy you." He pressed the blade of his voice deeper, twisting it. "How could he, when in his mind he believes your luscious body is already taken by another?"

Her eyes widened, flicking toward her husband.

Aiden smirked. He had seen her status. Unsatisfied. He had seen the truth beneath the armor she wore. And now he spoke it into being, weaving it into her mind like poison.

She let go of his collar, her breath hitching. Her face tried to remain cold, but her eyes—her eyes betrayed her.

Aiden pushed further.

He dropped his pants, the stench of sweat and lust spilling into the balcony . Catherine’s nostrils flared, her eyes widening.

"...you."

"Yes. Me." His voice was low, sharp. "So tell me, lady Catherine. If I shout your dear lord’s name... what will it be?"

He pressed the words against her, each syllable heavy.

"You already know the truth. The lord already knows... I am weak. So weak I could never force myself on you. But if it were the other way around..."

Her face cracked. For the first time.

She stepped back, whispering in denial, "...he trusts me..."

But the words faltered.

Aiden tore his shirt open, dragging his nails across his chest until red marks welled. He hissed in false pain, painting himself as a victim.

"Let’s see then...."

Step. Step.

He moved toward the door.

Step. Step.

Each step a threat. Each step a blade.

Step. Step.

If she thought to break him, insult him, she was wrong. He would burn her whole world if she set him aflame.

"Hold."

Her hand gripped his arm.

He stopped. Smiled. Turned.

"...why should I?"