CHAPTER 147: “BUT BECAUSE IT WAS YOU... I WANTED TO LIVE”

Lyra looked at Saoirse, her voice soft but filled with desperate sincerity.

"I... I know you’re trying to help," she whispered, "but if it were you in my place... would you really be willing to survive that way?"

Her body trembled uncontrollably, but her eyes remained locked on Saoirse’s, unwavering and resolute.

She wasn’t just pleading. She was making a statement—one that came from the depths of her pride and will.

It wasn’t even about whether Caden Voss’s so-called treatment would work or not. Even if it guaranteed a cure, she would never agree to it.

The very idea made her sick.

Just what kind of man had the audacity to suggest something so shameless? And expect her to accept it?

Never.

"Actually..." Veil’s voice broke the silence. He hesitated, lips pressed tightly together, as if waging a war with himself.

Saoirse turned sharply, her expression urgent. "Actually what? Just say it! Is there another way?"

A moment ago, she and Lyra had practically been at each other’s throats. But now? Seeing Lyra curled up like this—helpless and in pain—Saoirse had already tossed their rivalry aside.

Revenge could wait.

Right now, saving her came first.

Veil finally exhaled, the weight of the truth pressing heavily against his chest. "Caden Voss’s method... it wasn’t complete nonsense. That kind of treatment does exist. And the physical constitution he mentioned—he’s not the only one who has it."

He paused.

Saoirse’s eyes widened in realization. "Wait... you mean... you have it too?"

Veil gave a slight nod. "More or less."

What he didn’t explain was that his version wasn’t ordinary—it was an upgraded Solar Overdrive Body, granted by the system. But that didn’t matter now.

All they needed to know was that his body could counter Lyra’s cold affliction.

"I’d hoped my medical skills would be enough," Veil continued, frustration in his voice. "I thought I could pull her back from the brink with acupuncture and qi guidance. But something happened tonight—her internal cold energy surged all at once, like a dormant volcano erupting. It was too much, too fast. Now, I’m out of options."

Saoirse bit her lip. "There’s... really no other way?"

She glanced at Lyra, her expression softening with guilt. "I saw her reaction. She hates this... hates the idea of being treated like she’s just... an object. Honestly, I got too caught up in the panic. I forgot what it means for a woman to hold onto her dignity."

She shook her head, voice quieter now. "If it were me... I wouldn’t be able to accept that either."

There were some things worth dying for. And a woman’s right to choose—her bodily autonomy—was one of them.

But just as Saoirse was finishing her thought, a subtle change occurred beneath the thick blanket.

Lyra stirred.

Then, slowly, she reached out with trembling hands, and gripped Veil’s wrist—then pulled him toward her.

She clung to him with surprising strength, wrapping both arms around him and burying her face in his chest.

"So cold... I feel like I’m turning into ice..."

She clutched at him desperately, searching for warmth, for something—anything—that could keep her grounded, keep her alive.

There was no hesitation in her anymore.

No pride. No modesty. Just raw survival instinct.

Saoirse blinked in disbelief, her lips twitching as she tried not to react.

She wanted to scoff. Say something sarcastic. Anything.

But then she saw the faint blush rising in Lyra’s cheeks... and the truth became glaringly obvious.

That girl still had the energy to act.

Saoirse’s expression stiffened.

Tch. If it weren’t for that blush, I might’ve actually fallen for it.

...Something wasn’t right.

Saoirse’s eyes widened as she watched Lyra trembling like she’d fallen into an icy abyss. At first, she’d felt pity—genuine concern. But now?

Now she was staring, dumbfounded, unable to believe what she was seeing.

Was this really Lyra?

The same woman who always carried herself with serene detachment, as if nothing in the world could stir her heart?

Because the way her fingers were sliding across Veil’s chest... the way she clung to him like that...

It didn’t look like desperation anymore.

It looked like a signal.

A blatant, unmistakable signal.

"I... I don’t want to die. I... I want to live. I’ll pay any price, any price, if it means I get to live..."

Lyra’s voice quivered against Veil’s chest, muffled by the fabric of his shirt. Her arms tightened around him, as if she were afraid he might disappear.

Saoirse was stunned.

Completely stunned.

Wasn’t she the one who just said she’d rather die than go through with that kind of treatment?

And now this?

When did the switch happen? Did someone send out a memo?

Had anyone asked Caden Voss how he felt about being made irrelevant so quickly?

Saoirse’s jaw twitched.

She didn’t know whether to be amazed, horrified, or impressed by the speed of Lyra’s reversal.

All she knew was—this night had taken a very strange turn.

...

Here’s the natural, fluid English translation that maintains the original’s sensual and emotional intensity while ensuring authentic Western phrasing and style:

---

Lyra clung to Veil, her arms coiled around him as if trying to fuse their bodies into one. She trembled violently, her fingertips blanched white from the cold, only finding respite in the searing heat radiating from Veil’s skin. Pressing her cheek against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat became the sole anchor in her storm—a lullaby against the frost gnawing at her bones.

Veil gazed down, his palm tracing slow, incendiary paths along her spine. His unique physiology could effortlessly thaw the glacial curse in her veins, yet tonight, he wanted to give more than mere warmth—he wanted to brand himself into her very cells. When Lyra tilted her face upward, their lips crashed together in a desperate collision, tongues tangling as if trying to carve pathways directly into each other’s souls.

Breaths merged. Bodies fused. Every inch of skin burned with the need to erase all barriers between them. Veil’s hands mapped her contours with possessive hunger while Lyra hauled him closer, her nails biting into his flesh as though she could physically stitch their skeletons together. In this moment, they existed only to consume and be consumed.

The shivering started deep in Lyra’s marrow, ice crystals fracturing through her bloodstream. She buried her face against Veil’s neck, inhaling him—scorched leather and iron-rich blood, a scent that seared her lungs. His hand abruptly gripped the small of her back, fingers digging into the old scar tissue there.

"Still cold?" Veil’s voice scraped rough against her ear. A taunt. His tongue swiped the roof of her mouth, deliberately pressing that one hypersensitive spot until her thigh jerked against his hip. Lyra’s claws raked down his shoulder blades, leaving crimson trails that made him groan-laugh against her collarbone: "Tell me, little blizzard... who’s saving who now?"

Sheets twisted into whirlpools beneath them as Lyra flipped their positions, her silver hair cascading like a gilded cage. Her knee wedged between his legs, icy toes dragging along the scar she’d left on his inner calf last winter—that half-moon of teeth marks over pulsing veins. Veil bucked up abruptly, hands vise-locked on her waist, and their shared gasp fractured the air. Between the slick friction of fabric, Lyra’s voice emerged in splinters:

"You’ve always been the cure. My soul, my flesh—none of it’s mine anymore. It’s yours to burn."

...

Ding! Congratulations, Host! You’ve claimed the Fate-Blessed Lyra. Villain Points +50,000!

Ding! Villain Points +1,000!

Ding! Villain Points +1,000!

Ding! Villain Points +1,000 ×2!

Ding! Villain Points +1,000 ×3!

...

The next morning, warm sunlight spilled across the soft bedding like a golden veil.

Veil gently stroked the stunning face nestled in his arms, his voice low and tinged with guilt.

"Lyra... I’m sorry. I really am. I feel useless. I’ve always mocked others for being shameless, and now I’ve become the very thing I used to sneer at. I used something this despicable... to get close to you."

Lyra’s cheeks flushed a deep red. She shook her head repeatedly.

"It’s not your fault. It all happened so fast... and I chose it, Veil. It was my decision. Something like that—you can’t plan for it. How could either of us have known my condition would flare up so suddenly, or that it’d get worse right at that moment?"

"I just... I wanted to live."

"Yeah..." Veil let out a heavy sigh, eyes clouded with remorse.

Lyra looked up at him, her beautiful eyes glimmering with a strange softness. Seeing the self-blame etched on his face, she couldn’t bear it.

"Veil..." She shifted, snuggling closer to his right arm, then gently pressed her lips to his cheek. "I meant it. I chose this. All of it."

"If it hadn’t been you, I would’ve rather frozen to death last night. But because it was you... I wanted to live."

"You don’t have to feel guilty. It was me. I wanted it... I even thought that maybe, just maybe, this could be the chance to bring us closer together."

"As long as you’re okay, that’s all that matters to me," Veil said softly, brushing his fingers across her smooth cheek with all the tenderness in the world.