CHAPTER 146: THE COLD SYNDROME FLARED UP AGAIN

Sweet words—they were superficial, trivial. A tactic beneath a grand villain like Veil.

But right now, Saoirse—who acted tough—had a soft spot that craved them.

What choice did he have? If he didn’t go down this route, he’d be missing the point entirely.

Veil might not cling to sweet talk—but he could still wield it perfectly. And in a world where the entertainment industry was decaying, where would he learn the sincerity to give?

He began slowly, voice low and deliberate:

"From over familiarity grows affection; from affection, love deepens. Though I may not be the brightest light in your life, you are the hardest one to forget."

He pressed his hand to Saoirse’s heart as if transferring every word straight into her soul.

Saoirse recoiled inwardly at the gooey intensity, flustered by their intimacy and unnerved by how readily he could articulate this.

"Mm... what else?" she asked, coolly prodding with her forehead against his chin, arms relaxed—though touched she didn’t let on.

Even as the words made her blush with embarrassment, she couldn’t deny the thrill of hearing him speak such things.

Maybe, secretly, she wanted him to keep going—even if she would never admit it.

He continued, voice gentler still:

"Light warms us like a comforting cascade, blossom kissed by dawn. I wish to plant my soul within your heart—and together, we’ll hide in the folds of time."

Saoirse stiffened. Each phrase felt like a syrupy sugar rush, both intoxicating and grotesque.

"Alright, enough." She slapped his palm away from her chest.

She locked eyes with him, biting back a smile. "Lyra... must’ve put you up to this. She’s cold as ice but sharp as a blade. I won’t let this slide. I’ve never taken this kind of hit from another woman—and I won’t let her win. One day—I’ll repay her. Let her know who really rules Veyport City."

Veil chuckled, suppressing it with effort.

"Saoirse, you’re completely off-base. Before your call, Lyra already told me to come to find you—said you’d been talking about me lately. Said you missed me."

Though it was a lie, it was kind—and Veil knew exactly the effect it would have.

Saoirse’s brow furrowed.

"Stop lying. Saying I missed you? Making up tales to make me look weak?"

Though their rivalry ran deep, both women knew each other too well. She trusted that Lyra would never dirty her like that.

Maybe... there was a misunderstanding.

She shook her head swiftly, shaking off the messy thoughts. Enough.

At that moment, Veil’s phone buzzed—it was Kai on the other end, tense and urgent.

"Boss, bad news. Professor Lyra... she’s gone pale in the car. She’s shivering—whole body’s trembling."

Veil sprang off the bed.

"We’re going," he said, pulling on a coat.

Saoirse followed, concern replacing her cold anger. Together, they hurried to the parking garage.

Lyra lay huddled in the back seat of the Bentley, her body quaking under a suit jacket Kai had draped over her—too afraid to touch her directly.

"Itinerary change," Veil murmured, scooping her up in his arms.

Saoirse opened the door and pressed the elevator button, carefully lifting Lyra’s skirt away from traps.

Back upstairs, he laid Lyra gently on the bed and covered her with a thick blanket, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead.

"I’m freezing... so cold," Lyra whispered, teeth chattering. Frost clung to her eyelashes.

Veil rummaged in his system-space, pulling out a box of thin needles. With steady precision, he began acupuncture—twisting each pin in gently, aiming to melt the chill trapped deep in her body.

Minutes passed. Color returned to her cheeks—then, suddenly, her body seized again.

"I’m dying... aren’t I?" she managed, voice crackling. "Can’t... you stop looking at me like that?"

A weak, forced smile flickered on her lips. "I don’t want to... die like this... in front of you..."

"You won’t." Veil’s voice cracked. He gritted his teeth, sweat beading on his forehead.

"I won’t let you die."

Saoirse hovered near by, clasping her hands until her knuckles whitened. Her voice trembled as she blurted a rumor she’d heard:

"She said something about a Dr. Caden Voss... he apparently uses something called solar-overdrive therapy? Or high-energy thermal magics to treat... this kind of cold syndrome?"

It sounded hopeful—but Veil knew otherwise. He also knew Dr. Voss had passed away long ago, his miraculous cures nothing but myth.

...

"No... don’t!"

Lyra shook her head, trembling violently, her entire body resisting with all its might.

Others might not understand—but she did. Of course she did. She knew exactly what kind of treatment Caden Voss had spoken of.

It was vile. Unspeakable.

She would rather die—right now—than submit to something so degrading.

And yet... she couldn’t help the faint reluctance rising inside her.

She looked at Veil, her violet lips quivering. Despite the cold, despite the pain, she reached out and held his hand tightly. Her face, usually so calm and composed, was now twisted with guilt and suffering.

"I’m sorry... I know my hands are freezing... my body too... but please, please don’t let go. Just let me hold your hand, like this... just for a little while longer..."

She could feel the cold within her surging violently—more intense than ever before. It was like falling into a frozen abyss, with no bottom.

She knew.

This time... she might really die.

And in the face of death, her mind didn’t drift to her family. Not her cowardly father. Not the dozens of so-called relatives in the Lyric family.

No. Right now, this moment—was enough.

Being next to Veil. Holding his hand.

That alone... felt like peace.

"For god’s sake, are you seriously still thinking about that?!" Saoirse snapped, clearly reaching her limit.

She couldn’t deal with Lyra’s stubborn, irrational refusal anymore. Turning directly to Veil, her tone was sharp and urgent.

"I don’t care about any of that nonsense. All I know is she’s freezing to death right now. One minute she’s telling you to go, the next she’s clinging to your hand like it’s the only thing keeping her alive.

I’m going to have someone find Caden Voss—why the hell not?! If it keeps her alive, does anything else even matter?!"

Lyra’s eyes were full of resistance, but Saoirse ignored her and looked straight at Veil.

"Those things Caden said... are they true? Is it really possible? Can someone with that Solar Overdrive Body or fire-based constitution actually save her?"

Veil’s hands cradled Lyra’s freezing fingers, his jaw clenched.

"It’s vile, yes. But... it’s real. Her cold syndrome is tied to her constitution. If she were paired with someone who possesses Solar Overdrive—or another type of body with overwhelming thermal energy—it could suppress the outbreak and stabilize her condition."

"There. So what are we waiting for?!"

Saoirse stood up, ready to storm out and begin the search.

But just as she moved, another hand grabbed her wrist.

Saoirse flinched. A jolt ran up her spine—it felt like a ghostly frostbitten hand had just gripped her. She turned slowly to look at Lyra, who was buried under thick blankets, face drained of all color.

"You really want to die that badly?!" Saoirse barked.

Lyra’s breathing had grown shallow and ragged. She shook her head slowly, her voice barely a whisper.

"If that’s what it takes... if the only way to survive is to accept that kind of treatment... then I’d rather die right here."

She had never, not even once, imagined that her salvation would come through something so humiliating. Something that used her body in that way.

Especially not through a man like Caden Voss.

Just the thought of him made her sick. She didn’t even want to speak his name—let alone consider subjecting herself to his "treatment."

To her, that was worse than death.