Ellen was wandering the castle alone, hoping to find Damian. Instead, she stumbled upon a hallway she hadn't noticed before.
Ellen (thinking): Weird... I don't remember this part of the mansion. Maybe it's a shortcut? Or maybe he's hiding here.
She pushed open a creaky wooden door—and froze.
The room was huge, covered wall-to-wall with old, dusty books. Shelves towered above her. Glass cabinets held glowing potions of every color. The air was thick with the scent of parchment and dried herbs. In the corner, cobwebbed scrolls and strange artifacts sat untouched.
Ellen (whispers): "Whoa… This place looks like a magical grandma's basement... if grandma was secretly a warlock."
She tiptoed inside, eyes wide, fingertips grazing the spines of spellbooks.
Ellen: "Why would a noble mansion have this creepy-ass wizard lab?"
Then something odd caught her eye: a slightly cracked bookshelf.
Ellen: "Huh? What's that?"
She pressed the edge—and the shelf creaked open, revealing a narrow, dark hallway.
Ellen (thinking): This just keeps getting better... or worse. Ugh. Screw it.
She stepped in.
Hidden Room
The air here was colder. Cobwebs clung to her shoulders as she brushed past old banners and fallen candleholders. Then she saw it.
A painting. A life-sized portrait of a woman with ethereal beauty—long silver hair, pale skin, and soft eyes that glowed with warmth. Damian's eyes.
Ellen (whispers): "Is that… his mom?"
Next to the painting: a small table with a single leather-bound diary, covered in dust.
She opened it.
[15th January]
I married the love of my life today… finally. He's everything I hoped for. Brave, kind, ambitious. I feel like the happiest woman alive.
[3rd March]
We've spent every night together reading and talking. He says my laughter makes the nights warmer. I think I love him more than I did yesterday.
[10th July]
I'm pregnant! Oh god, I can't stop crying. Damian… we're having a baby! He hugged me so tightly, I thought he'd never let go.
[24th December]
My little boy was born today. We named him Damian after my grandfather. He has his father's eyes. I've never loved anyone more.
Ellen smiled softly, her fingers tracing the neat handwriting.
Ellen (thinking): She loved him so much... Damian wasn't always this cold. He was loved.
Then—
[?? December]
I don't know the date anymore. Time is blurring. My body is weak. I think they poisoned me. My best friend… and my husband.
Damian, my sweet boy—if you're reading this... take revenge for me. Kill Marquees. Kill her daughter. Make the entire Marquees family suffer.
This is your destiny, Damian. If you don't… it will be your fault that I died. I'll haunt you. Forever.
Ellen's hands trembled. Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
Ellen (whispers): "What... the actual hell…"
She clutched the diary to her chest, trying to process it—when footsteps echoed from the outer room.
Ellen: "Crap!!"
She jumped into the shadow of the hidden room, barely breathing.
Outside
???: "Sir Damian, it may take me longer to finish the potion."
Damian: "I understand. You may leave."
She heard footsteps fade, then... the sound of a chair scraping.
Damian had sat down. Right outside the room she was hiding in.
Ellen froze. She clutched the diary tight, heart pounding so loudly she was sure he could hear it.
Ellen (thinking): If he finds me here… I'm dead. DEAD-dead.
Ellen sat huddled in the corner of the hidden room, knees pulled to her chest, gripping the diary.
Ellen (thinking): Has he read this? No… probably not. The room looks untouched. Dust everywhere. Maybe… maybe he doesn't even know it exists.
She heard Damian's tired voice outside.
Damian: "Haah… I'm exhausted..."
There was silence… then soft breathing. He'd fallen asleep.
Two hours passed. Ellen peeked out. Damian was slouched in the chair, fast asleep. He looked sick. His eyes were sunken, dark circles etched beneath them. His skin had a grayish pallor—thin, like he hadn't eaten in days.
Ellen stepped closer, heart aching.
Ellen (softly): "Oh Damian… You're not the villain. You never were. You don't deserve to die like that. No matter what, I'll save you. I swear I will."
She turned and quietly slipped out.
The Next Day
Damian: "What the…?"
Servant: "I apologize, my lord. But the princess insisted."
Ellen (appearing behind the tray): "Hehehe~!"
Damian (groans): "What do you want now?"
Ellen: "Eat! I made this for you!"
Damian: "I'm not hungry."
Ellen: "Maria said you haven't eaten in six days! That's practically suicide."
Damian: "...Who's Maria?"
Ellen: "Oh come on—you don't even know your servants' names?"
Damian: "Why would I?"
Ellen: "How rude!"
Ellen pulled out the chair beside him at his study table and began laying out the food.
Damian: "Get the hell off my study table, princess."
Ellen: "Not until you eat."
Damian: "Do whatever you want. I'm leaving."
Ellen: "Wait! Your food—"
Damian (snaps): "I said I'm not eating!!"
He left in frustration. But Ellen didn't move.
8 Hours Later
Ellen stayed right where she was. She watered the plant by his window. Cleaned off his dusty bookshelves. Organized the scrolls. Rearranged some books by color. Then by genre. Then by "vibes."
She lit a candle. Doodled on her napkin. Tried to hum the song she sang before.
Finally, with the last bit of willpower gone, she slumped onto the old sofa by the corner—and fell asleep.
Late Night
Damian returned to the room, expecting silence. Instead, he saw her—curled up, fast asleep on the dirty sofa.
He stood over her, annoyed.
Damian: "What an annoying woman... Let the mosquitoes bite you. Maybe then you'll gain some common sense."
He turned to leave—but paused. Looked back.
He sighed, walked over, and gently lifted her up in his arms.
Damian (quietly): "She's so thin…"
As he placed her on the bed in his room, Ellen unconsciously clung to his sleeve like a child.
Ellen (sleep mumble): "Mmm... chocolate cake... I want... choc'late cakes... hmmph..."
Damian stared at her. And chuckled.
Then he caught himself, slapped his cheek lightly.
Damian: "Idiot."
He left the room, walking back to his study. He saw the food she left behind, untouched but still warm in the box.
He stared at it a moment.
Damian (soft sigh): "...Fine."
He picked up the fork and took a bite.
Damian: "...Not that good. The cooking sucks… but it's not that bad either."
He took another bite..
To be continued...