Vampire's Veil Of Obsession-Chapter 28: The Devil’s Embrace

Tears streamed down Lilia's face as the weight of her realization sank in. The person she had been desperately trying to escape from was the same person she now felt compelled to seek out.

Her breaths came in short, ragged gasps, a mix of exhaustion from running and the dryness clawing at her throat. Every inhale burned her lungs, but she didn't stop. All that mattered was escaping the sight of that old, disgusting man. Her legs moved faster, fueled by fear and desperation, even as her muscles screamed in protest.

She risked a glance behind her. The sight of him clutching his head sent a fresh wave of revulsion through her. He looked disoriented, stumbling slightly, yet the danger he represented was undeniable. A shiver ran down her spine.

What did he even want from her? She had no idea. What could a man like him possibly need from someone like her? The questions swirled in her mind like a storm, but there was no time to dwell on them.

"Z... Zethan."

The name tumbled from her lips, startling her. It was almost instinctual, as though some unseen force had pulled it from deep within her. In this moment of sheer panic, it was the only name she could think of—the only person she felt could save her.

Had she been foolish? Foolish to think she could escape this nightmare unscathed? A bitter laugh almost escaped her. What was she even doing? Running into a world she thought was a fairytale, only to be slapped with reality.

The irony of it all twisted painfully in her chest. Zethan, the man she had run away from, was the person she was now trying to run back to.

If only she had chosen him. If only she had gone through with the engagement. At least then, she might have had the time and resources to plan a proper escape. She could have gathered money, prepared herself for freedom. Instead, she had clung to a naive dream of independence, unprepared for the harsh reality that awaited her.

No apartment. No job. No plan. What kind of escape was this? The thought gnawed at her, eating away at the confidence she had once possessed. Was she truly just a... rich brat?

The evening breeze bit into her skin, chilling her to the bone. Tears streamed down her cheeks as her body trembled, her resolve crumbling with every step. Loose strands of her hair whipped against her face, escaping from the claw clip that once held them in place. She barely noticed. Her vision blurred, the world around her spinning.

She stumbled, nearly falling, but caught herself at the last second. Everything felt like it was slipping away—her strength, her hope, her sanity.

And then she felt it.

That dangerous aura.

It was unmistakable, a presence that commanded attention and demanded submission. A chill ran down her spine, but strangely, it wasn't fear that washed over her. It was something else entirely—a sense of safety, of reassurance, as though she had found the eye of the storm.

Her lips quivered as she stammered, "Z... Zethan..."

Slowly, she looked up, her tear-filled eyes meeting his. Her vision was still blurry, but there was no mistaking him. The silver hair that shimmered under the moonlight, those dark, piercing eyes—there he was. And yet, something about him had changed.

Gone was the playful yet calm aura she had always associated with him. In its place was something far more menacing, far more... primal.

Zethan's face darkened as his gaze settled on her tear-streaked face. Displeasure flickered in his eyes, sharp and fleeting, before disappearing as quickly as it had come. He stood motionless, his expression unreadable, as she stumbled toward him.

Her steps were slow, deliberate, as though each one took all the strength she had left. He watched her silently, his body still as a statue. For a brief moment, he wondered—wasn't she afraid of him? Everything about him exuded danger, yet here she was, closing the distance between them without hesitation.

To his surprise, she reached him, then wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug.

His body stiffened, frozen by the unexpected gesture. She clung to him desperately, her trembling form pressed firmly against his. Her sobs broke the silence, raw and unfiltered, each cry resonating with a pain that cut deeper than words.

Damn it.

This Loris had already placed so much faith in him—too much faith.

The danger she was running from was bad enough, but Zethan... he was danger itself. He was the fire in hell, the predator that others feared to name. And yet, here she was, clutching him as though he were her salvation.

She couldn't explain it. Even now, with her body trembling against his, she didn't understand why she felt safe in his arms. There was something about him, something inexplicable, that made her believe she could trust him.

"Zethan..." she sobbed, her sweet voice barely audible.

He opened his mouth to respond but stopped as her cries grew louder, each sob wracking her body. For the first time in his life, Zethan felt truly out of his depth. He didn't know what to do, how to comfort her. The sound of her pain was unlike anything he had ever encountered, and it unnerved him.

Her sobs turned to hiccups, her cries tapering off as exhaustion began to take hold. She hiccupped again before raising her tear-streaked face to meet his gaze. Her hands trembled as she wiped at her cheeks, her movements weak and unsteady.

Something flickered in his eyes—displeasure, sharp and lingering this time. It stayed, simmering just beneath the surface, and he didn't know why. All he knew was that he needed to find out who had hurt her.

Leaning in slowly, he bumped his forehead against hers in a gesture that was surprisingly gentle. He lingered there for a moment before straightening and tilting her face toward him, his fingers brushing against her skin with deliberate care.

"Tell me, Loris," he said, his voice low and serious. "What do you want?"

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"I... I want to go home. Please, Zethan," she begged, her voice trembling with desperation.

He paused, the silence between them stretching into eternity. His gaze searched hers, unreadable yet intense.

Finally, he spoke, his voice smooth and unwavering, sending a shiver down her spine. "You said it yourself—the deal is sealed." His smirk deepened, dark and intoxicating. "You're mine now... and mine alone."

Her trembling subsided slightly at his words, her body gradually calming. Zethan, despite his cold and commanding presence, had one unshakable rule: he never forced anyone against their will. But for those who dared to cross him, the consequences were absolute.

"Y-yes..." she stammered, her voice weak.

Before he could say more, her body swayed dangerously to the side. He reacted instantly, his arms darting out to catch her before she could hit the ground.

As he scooped her up, his eyes darkened, noticing how her gym outfit clung to her figure, accentuating her hourglass shape. His jaw tightened, a shadow of something unspoken crossing his face.

Just then, a voice shattered the fragile silence.

"You... b*t..."

The old man's words faltered, his eyes widening in terror. The suffocating aura around Zethan had intensified, a pressure so overwhelming it felt as though death itself had descended upon the road.

The man's lips trembled, his body shaking violently.

Then he heard it—a sound that made his blood run cold.

Slow, chilling laughter.

"I see," Zethan said, his voice like ice. "You're the one who made my wife cry, huh?"

The old man's face drained of color, his lips trembling uncontrollably. "W-wife?" he stuttered.

Zethan's smile widened, cold and devoid of warmth. It was a smile that promised only one thing: doom.

"You made her cry," he continued, his tone even more menacing, "and now you've made me laugh."

He chuckled again, the sound low and haunting, sending a dangerous shiver down the old man's spine.

"So, tell me," Zethan said, his grin widening, "what figure of speech is that? Irony... or sarcasm?"

The old man's lips quivered as he struggled to form words, but nothing coherent came out.

"I... I... I..." he stammered.

"Lucas," Zethan called, his voice sharp yet calm.

From the shadows, a figure emerged, moving with quiet precision.

"Take Loris with you," Zethan ordered. "Make sure the doctor checks on her."

Lucas hesitated, his hand moving to scratch the back of his head. "Boss, I don't think that's necessary—"

Zethan's gaze turned icy as he interrupted, his tone cutting. "I wouldn't mind if you and Mr. Oldie here became partners."

Lucas fell silent, stepping back quickly without another word.

Zethan's attention shifted back to the old man, whose face had turned as white as a sheet. The smile on Zethan's lips widened, but there was no humor in it—only the promise of something dark and inevitable.

"Now," Zethan murmured, his voice low and chilling, "this is what I call fun."