Chapter 4 Vladimirs Wrath
Wind drifted softly through the open window.
The faint scent of sunflowers lingered in the air, warm and nostalgic.
I slowly opened my eyes, drawing in a quiet breath. My body felt unbearably heavy—weak and sore, as if I had been submerged underwater for days. Even lifting my fingers required effort.
My gaze wandered across the unfamiliar ceiling.
...No.
Not unfamiliar.
My heart skipped.
This is Vladimir's bedroom.
blushes
gasp!
He approached without a sound and sat beside me. His dark hair was slightly disheveled, yet it only made him look more devastating—carelessly handsome in a way that could ruin countless hearts.
Why am I even noticing that?!
He leaned closer and pressed his palm gently against my forehead.
blush Gosh! So embarrassing, my cheeks are burning red!
Three days?!
How humiliating. This body is far weaker than I thought.
Despite the teasing, he didn't smile.
He only looked at me in silence.
And for a brief second... something in his eyes felt fragile.
The moment Vladimir sensed Estelle waking, he teleported to her side.
Three days had passed since the assassination attempt.
The shock had been too much. Estelle collapsed almost instantly, her body succumbing to a severe fever brought on by trauma. For seventy-two hours, she drifted in and out of delirium.
Vladimir did not leave her side.
He personally fed her medicine. Wiped her sweat. Stayed awake through the night.
When the assassin lunged at her—
He killed him before the blade could fall twice.
But that wasn't what haunted him.
It was the moment Estelle went limp in his arms.
Fear.
A foreign emotion.
His hands had trembled as he carried her.
Vladimir Russ—feared across Ghradeus—had trembled.
Now that she was awake, relief spread through him like warmth returning after winter.
And yet...
That relief birthed another decision.
The room went still. Estelle stared at him, searching for deception. For hesitation.
There was none. Ten silent seconds passed.
clears throat
He stood and walked toward the door. His hand paused on the handle.
The door closed.
And Estelle remained frozen on the bed.
-----
Estelle burned with fever beneath silk sheets.
Vladimir stood beside the bed, his expression unreadable.
A knock.
Sir Miller entered, bowing stiffly.
The temperature in the room dropped.
Even the shadows seemed to thicken.
Vladimir's ominous laugh echoes all over the room
His fingers brushed Estelle's burning cheek with surprising tenderness.
Then he straightened.
Miller's jaw slackened.
A flash of light—
And Vladimir was gone.
Ah.
So this is why.
He recalled nights when his master nearly destroyed the Tower simply because Lady Estelle refused to visit.
---
I don't believe him.
He wouldn't let me go so easily.
But... what if he did?
In the novel, I die at twenty-one.
I'm eighteen now. Three years. Three precious years.
If this friendship ends, maybe my death flag disappears too.
That should make me happy. So why does my chest feel tight?
Suspicious. Unsettling.
Like the calm before a storm.
The warmth of the bath seeped into my skin, washing away lingering weakness.
Fourteen-year-old Estelle stood in the Tower's garden, hands on her hips.
She smiled.
Brilliant. Unfiltered.
Vladimir felt something unfamiliar bloom in his chest.
The seed in his hand ignited.
smack
Only she dared speak to him like that.
Only she survived doing so.
---
I'll let you go this time.
Enjoy your fragile illusion of freedom, Estelle.
Ending our friendship?
That is merely the first move.
No assassin.
No kingdom.
No fate written in some foolish novel—
Will take you from me. I will bring you back to the Tower.
And when I do... You won't be leaving again.
evil smirk while watching Estelle from afar
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