CHAPTER 80: ROSALIA’S POV

Rosalia — POV

"Oh my God... no way."

The words slipped out of my mouth before I could stop them, the trembling in my voice betraying the storm inside me. My fingers clutched the edge of my blanket as if it alone could anchor me to reality—if this was reality.

"I can’t believe what happened today."

I stared at the empty space in front of me as if it might suddenly offer me answers. It didn’t. The room remained quiet, the lights soft, the air still. Nothing made sense. Nothing could make sense. How could today possibly be real?

"I must be dreaming," I whispered again, pressing a hand against my burning cheeks. "Yes—there’s no way I’m awake. Not after... that."

There was simply no other explanation my panicked brain could accept.

Absolutely nothing else.

Because otherwise...

Otherwise, how could the final villain of the apocalypse—the Cassel Zancroft—confess his love to me?

Me.

Me.

How?

How is that even remotely possible?

My mind kept looping the moment over and over, replaying every second of it in painfully vivid detail. The weight of his words. The intensity in his eyes. The way his voice wrapped around me like velvet dipped in fire.

I covered my face, groaning a little.

I mean, yes, we did have... moments. Strange moments. Soft moments. Moments that kept replaying in my dreams no matter how hard I tried to ignore them. We kissed more than once, and Cassel has always shown interest in me—interest that could be considered unusual for a man like him.

But interest is one thing.

Confessing?

Looking at me like that?

That was an entirely different universe.

Didn’t he say the word "like" the last time I woke up from my coma?

He clearly said it. I remember the way his voice dipped ever so slightly when he said that the person he liked... was me. Even now, thinking about it made my stomach flip.

But hearing words of love—actual vows—from his own mouth, accompanied by that sharp, unshakable gaze that held something possessive, something vulnerable, something terrifyingly sincere... that was too much for my sanity.

Too real.

Too overwhelming.

And the result?

All the way to the safe base, I behaved like a chicken hiding its head under its wings, too embarrassed and too shocked to function as a normal human being.

If anyone had told me yesterday that my soul would leave my body out of pure secondhand embarrassment, I would’ve laughed. Now? My soul was gone, evaporated, burned into crispy ashes.

And when I realized we would soon arrive at the base...

I did something unbelievably, catastrophically, and embarrassingly stupid.

I pretended to be asleep.

Yes.

I, Rosalia-who-calls-herself-an-adult, pretended to be asleep like a child who doesn’t want to go to school.

Damn it, Rosalia, are you in elementary school? What kind of childish behavior is that?

But no matter how much I yelled at myself internally, I didn’t open my eyes.

Not even when I felt someone lifting me.

Especially not after realizing it was Cassel carrying me.

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

I nearly exposed myself when I heard Henry offer to carry me instead. My entire soul nearly jumped out with a scream. If Cassel hadn’t refused instantly, I would’ve sprung up from the "dead" like a resurrected fish.

Henry was a good person. A very good person. Loyal, strong, capable... and a character I respected so much when reading the novel.

But I did not want him touching me.

Not because he was bad—but because I had a problem. Since childhood, I’d never interacted much with people. I had always been distant, detached, avoiding contact like touching someone might burn me. Even if I had touch-starvation problems... I still refused the idea of strangers touching me.

So when I felt Cassel’s warmth enveloping me, when his arms held me securely against his chest, when his steady steps carried me without a hint of strain...

A wave of peace washed over me.

So this is what it feels like... to be held by the one you like.

I wanted to drown in it.

To melt into his arms.

To sleep there forever.

But the moment I realized Cassel was walking while carrying me in front of all his men...

My social anxiety shot me in the chest, walked over my corpse, and set me on fire.

I wanted to disappear.

Actually, no—I wanted to bury myself inside Cassel’s tall frame, use him like a human shield, and never show my face again.

Finally, with those long, confident strides of his, Cassel reached my room.

I kept my eyes shut tight, but opened them just a little—just enough to see the blurry shape of my bed as he approached.

He set me down so gently I almost cried.

Every movement he made was careful, precise, tender—so unlike the man the world feared. His big, warm hands gently adjusted my sleeping posture, brushing the hair away from my face before slowly, almost lovingly, pulling the blanket over me.

Then—

Silence.

Deep, heavy, suffocating silence.

If not for the weight sinking slightly into the edge of the bed, I would’ve thought he’d already left.

But no.

He was still there.

Close enough for me to feel the heat radiating from his body.

Close enough for me to smell his faint scent—clean, sharp, warm.

Then I felt it.

A warm touch glides across my face.

A hand—his hand—brushed my cheek, his rough fingertips gliding slowly down to the corner of my lips.

My entire body tensed.

A jolt shot through me like lightning.

Fear and anticipation collided violently inside me.

My heart was pounding so hard that I was sure he could hear it.

I didn’t dare move.

Didn’t dare breathe.

Didn’t dare open my eyes.

Cassel despises lies.

He hates them.

With every fiber of his being.

I didn’t want to ruin everything by letting him know I was awake.

I didn’t want him to think I was deceiving him.

I didn’t want even one negative look from him.

His touch didn’t last long, but every second felt like eternity. His hand made my skin tingle, itch, burn, tremble. My brain short-circuited so violently I swear smoke almost came out of my ears.

Then—finally—his hand slowly withdrew.

His footsteps moved away.

The door softly clicked shut.

Two seconds later—