Chapter 164: Inside Me Forever

​”You’re joking, right?” Matthias asked, staring at the raw, pulsating organ in his hand.

​”I am in full possession of my senses, Matthias,” Olivia replied coldly, not even looking up as she adjusted her gloves.

​”How exactly am I supposed to cook a human heart? I mean, I have the skills, but… this is beyond unconventional. It’s twisted.”

​”You said you were with me,” she snapped, her eyes flashing with a sharp, impatient light. “So do it and be quiet. I want to be gone before that brat Elvira arrives.”

​Matthias let out a long, weary sigh. “Fine. As you command, my Lady. I’ll do it, though I must say, this is a first even for me.”

​”Don’t worry,” Olivia whispered, a dark shadow crossing her face. “Elvira is quite accustomed to such… delicacies.”

​Matthias froze for a second. “What?”

​”Just do it and shut up, Matthias. Are we really going to argue now? The man is already dead. Since when did you develop a moral compass? Should I remind you of what she did to me?”

​”No need, darling,” he muttered, turning toward the stove. “I’m just not sure how long it takes for a heart to reach the right… consistency.”

​”Just do exactly what she did to me that time,” she said, her voice dropping to a flat, dead whisper.

​While Matthias began the grim task of cooking, Olivia sat at the desk, her pen scratching against parchment as she composed her final note. Kira finished scrubbing the floor, her face a mask of professional indifference, before slipping out into the night.

​Finally, the scent of seasoned meat filled the air.

​”The meal is ready, your ’Exalted Duchess,’” Matthias said, his voice dripping with dry irony.

​”I know you’re mocking me, Matthias.”

​”Let’s just finish this,” he countered, shaking his head. “Cooking a human being is a bit much, even for a soldier.”

​”Fine. Now put that fool in the upstairs bedroom.”

​Matthias grunted as he lifted the hollowed-out corpse. “I’m starting to feel more like your servant than your husband.”

​”Just do it. Why are you whining?”

​”Fair enough.”

​He carried Sylvester’s carcass up the stairs and sat him in the high-backed chair, posing him to face the window like a grotesque doll. Olivia stepped in behind him, placing the second note carefully in the dead man’s lap.

​She turned to find Matthias watching her. A strange, satisfied smile played on his lips.

​”What is that look for?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

​”Nothing,” he said, his gaze lingering on the ruin they had created. “I think I’m just satisfied with how this turned out. He deserved every bit of it.”

​Olivia stared at him for a long moment, a chilling realization settling in her mind. And here I was, she thought to herself, thinking he was the sane one. It turns out he’s just as deranged as I am.

​The rhythmic ticking of the hallway clock was the only thing that dared to break the suffocating silence of the house after Olivia and Matthias had vanished into the night.

​Elvira stood outside the heavy oak door, her patience fraying like a worn rope. She waited, her foot tapping a sharp, agitated beat against the stone.

​”What has gotten into that fool?” she muttered, her voice a low hiss. “Why is he taking so long?”

​She looked up. The amber glow of a lamp was still bleeding through the window upstairs, casting long, distorted shadows across the yard. With a huff of pure irritation, she didn’t bother reaching for a key. With a single, violent shove—a display of strength that made the wooden frame groan and splinter—she snapped the lock. It was laughably easy.

​She stepped inside.

​Everything appeared hauntingly normal. Sylvester’s leather-bound book sat undisturbed on the side table, and the cloying, sweet scent of roses hung heavy in the stagnant air. Even the dining table was meticulously set, the silver cutlery gleaming under the soft candlelight.

​Elvira walked toward the table, her eyes catching a small, elegant slip of paper resting beside a covered silver platter.

​”Bon appétit, my love,” the note read in a flowing script. “Finish your meal, then come to my room to see the grand surprise.”

​A slow, indulgent smile spread across Elvira’s face. “Oh, Sylvie,” she purred, tossing the note aside. “It seems you’ve crawled back to your old habits. Always so dramatic with your surprises.”

​She pulled out the heavy velvet chair and sat down. With a practiced grace, she lifted the lid and began to eat. The meat was tender, rich, and seasoned with an intensity that made her brow furrow for a fleeting second.

​”A strange taste,” she whispered to the empty room, savoring the richness as it coated her tongue. “But delicious, nonetheless.”

​She finished her meal with a predatory speed, the rich, metallic aftertaste lingering on her palate. Wiping her lips, she rose and climbed the stairs with a confident, swaying stride. She didn’t knock; she simply pushed the bedroom door open, a woman reclaiming her territory.

​He was there, seated in a high-backed chair facing the window. The room was shrouded in a heavy, velvet darkness, his silhouette barely visible if not for the pale, sickly silver of the moonlight cutting across the floor.

​A sultry, triumphant smile curved Elvira’s lips. She moved toward him, her footsteps silent on the rug, and wrapped her arms around him from behind. She pressed her body against his back and leaned in, planting a long, heated kiss on his cheek.

​”Oh, my man… my king,” she purred, her voice a low vibration of lust and power. “Did you miss me so much that you had to prepare all of this just for my return?”

​Then, her eyes flew open.

​His cheek was cold. Not just the chill of the night, but an unnatural, stony coldness that felt like pressing her lips against a grave.

​As her hands slid down toward his chest, her palms met something slick and viscous. Her fingers didn’t rest on firm muscle; instead, they dipped into a cavernous hollow, a void in the center of his torso where his warmth should have been.

​The scent hit her then—the sharp, iron-rich stench of fresh slaughter. It was a smell she knew too well to mistake.

​”What is this?”

​Her voice faltered, the sultry tone evaporating into a sharp, jagged edge of panic. “Sylvie? What is this? Are you alright?”

​There was no answer. Only the rhythmic, phantom creak of the chair.

​She stumbled back, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her eyes darted to the side table, finding a box of matches and a cluster of unlit candles. Her hands trembled as she struck a match, the flame flickering wildly before catching the wick.

​With the golden glow of the candlelight cutting through the gloom, she turned back toward the chair.

​”Sylvie?”

​Her eyes widened until they felt as though they would tear. The horror of the scene was a physical blow to her chest.

​There was a gaping crater where his heart had been—a hollowed-out ruin of bone and shredded tissue. His face, once her favorite masterpiece of vanity, was now a map of violent purple bruises and shattered features.

​Her hand reached out, shaking so violently the candlelight danced erratically across the walls.

​”Sy… Sylvie? My Sylvie… speak to me.” She grabbed his shoulders, shaking the carcass with a desperate, frantic strength.

​No answer. Only the silence of the dead met her pleas.

​Tears, hot and stinging, finally spilled down her cheeks. It wasn’t just grief; it was the raw, ego-bruising agony of someone who had never known what it felt like to have something that belonged to her snatched away.

​As her gaze drifted downward, it finally landed on a piece of parchment resting in his blood-soaked lap. Her vision cleared, focusing on the script for the first time.

​The handwriting wasn’t Sylvester’s. It never had been.

The words on the parchment were a toxin, more lethal than any blade. They didn’t just break her spirit; they dismantled her very reality.

​”Did you enjoy eating your lover’s heart? It was delicious, wasn’t it? I truly hope you liked my little surprise, darling.”

​Elvira’s hands shook with a primal, bone-deep terror. She looked back at Sylvester’s hollowed-out carcass, her eyes searching the ruins of his chest for a truth that wasn’t there. The heart was gone. The void was absolute.

​Suddenly, the lingering, savory saltiness on her tongue turned to ash. The richness she had savored moments ago transformed into a crawling, revolting slime in the back of her throat. A wave of pure, visceral nausea hit her like a physical blow.

​She collapsed to her knees, retching without mercy. She vomited onto the expensive rug, her body convulsing in a desperate, frantic attempt to purge the remains of the man she had claimed to love.

​The irony was a jagged shard in her mind. Years ago, she had forced Olivia to consume the unthinkable, a psychological torment intended to break the girl. Now, the wheel had turned. She had become the monster she once thought she controlled.

​”No… NOOO!”

​Her scream was a hollow, broken sound that died in the heavy drapes of the room. Her face, usually so vibrant with arrogance, was now a translucent, ghostly white.

​She crawled back toward the chair, her fingers trembling as she touched Sylvester’s cooling cheek. “I’m sorry, my love… I didn’t mean to… I didn’t know I was eating you.”

​Her voice cracked, her eyes burning with a new, dangerous light—a mixture of madness and grief. She clutched his lifeless hand, her nails digging into his cold skin.

​”It’s her. I know it’s her. It’s Olivia.”

​Elvira stared into the hollowed-out void in Sylvester’s chest, then down at her hands—stained with his blood and the remnants of her “banquet.” Suddenly, the sobbing stopped. She wiped her tears away with a violent, frantic motion, leaving streaks of crimson that painted savage, primal patterns across her ghost-white face.

​She leaned in close to his frozen, leaden ear, letting out a low, shuddering laugh that made the very air in the room turn cold.

​”Does Olivia truly think she stole you from me by ripping out your heart? The stupid girl…” she hissed, her voice trembling with a terrifying edge. “No one owns what belongs to me without my permission.”

​Then, she did something that made the shadows in the corner of the room seem to recoil in horror. She leaned forward and pressed her lips against the corpse’s cold, unresponsive mouth with a desperate, crushing force—as if she were trying to inhale whatever remained of his shattered soul.

​She pulled back, her eyes wide and glassy, staring into the dark void.

​”Now you are inside me forever, Sylvie,” she whispered. “And now… it is time to burn that whore’s world to the ground. She has destroyed every ounce of mercy I ever possessed. I will make her world a hell unlike anything she has ever imagined.”

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