Chapter 58: Chapter-58

Ashton lurched forward and slapped a hand over her mouth, genuine panic flashing across his face. “Are you insane? Why are you announcing that out loud?” he hissed, ears going pink at the tips. “It was only three or four times, not *every* time! And there were extenuating circumstances!”

Heena peeled his hand off her face like it was something particularly dirty she’d found stuck to her shoe, holding it away from her with two fingers before dropping it.

“Three or four is enough,” she said dryly, wiping her mouth with her sleeve in an exaggerated gesture of disgust. “You’re still the only host in Bureau history who managed that particular achievement. They literally had to create a new category in the database just for you. I believe the official designation is ’Statistically Improbable Patterns of Host Mortality: Subset Venereal.’”

He shrugged, looking away with an expression caught between embarrassment and defiance. “Not my fault. I was just trying to get revenge on some bastards who deserved it. Creative revenge. If I’m going down in certain worlds, I’m taking the targets with me in the most ironically appropriate way possible.”

She stared at him like he was irredeemably stupid, which—fair enough—he probably was in this particular regard.

“Do whatever you want,” she said finally, turning back to her work with an air of dismissal. “I don’t care. Just keep your questionable life choices at least two meters away from me at all times.”

Ashton recovered his grin, resilient as always, and tilted his head in that characteristic gesture. “Anyway. What are you planning for later? My mission here wraps up in, oh… four weeks. Give or take a few days depending on how cooperative the targets are.”

Her pen paused mid-stroke, the only sign that his words had registered as significant. She lifted her gaze to him, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Four weeks, huh?” She set down the brush with deliberate care. “And what’s *your* wish, then? What are you really after, Ashton?”

His expression softened into that deceptively shy, fox-like smile she’d learned to distrust on sight—the one that appeared right before he orchestrated something catastrophically chaotic. The smile that meant he was three steps ahead and enjoying every moment of keeping her in the dark.

The moment she saw it, Heena knew with absolute certainty that she wouldn’t get a straight answer. And that whatever he was plotting, whatever favor or alliance or insane scheme he was about to propose, it was going to be very, very bad.

Probably for everyone involved.

And somehow, despite her better judgment, she was already curious.

Heena didn’t go back to her room.

Her condition was bad—she could feel the familiar heat building beneath her skin, that inconvenient inheritance of the Ravencourt bloodline making itself known—but it wasn’t *too* bad. Not yet. She could manage. She’d been managing for years.

Even though Heena had initially used Ashton as a cover, a convenient excuse to avoid her useless husbands and their pathetic attempts at… whatever it was they thought they were doing, she was starting to realize she really did need to find some kind of outlet. An actual solution to this problem.

Yes. An outlet. That’s what she’d call it. Clinical. Practical.

She wasn’t going to get married again—five husbands were already four too many, and she’d only agreed to those arrangements because of political necessity. If she ever *did* marry again, of course she could marry another vase-like husband, another decorative piece of furniture that looked pretty and stayed out of her way.

But right now? Right now, let the green tea bitch work their charm on the leads. Let Seraphina and her system scramble to maintain that precious favorability rating while Heena dismantled everything from the shadows.

Suddenly, she paused mid-step.

She turned slowly, eyes narrowing as she looked at Ashton, really *looked* at him. He was lounging against her desk like he owned the place, that infuriating smirk still playing at his lips.

“Wait,” she said, voice dangerously quiet. “You damn bastard.”

Ashton raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by her tone.

“I called you here to *help* me,” Heena continued, her voice rising slightly. “But I don’t think you’ve done anything actually *useful* until now. You’ve given me information, sure, but what about action? What type of green tea are you if you cannot even shake the male lead’s faith? If you can’t make him question Seraphina’s existence, her authenticity, her worth—then what good are you?”

Ashton, who had just picked up the cup of water that had been set out for Heena earlier, paused with it halfway to his lips. He looked at her for a long moment, something calculating flickering behind those silver eyes.

Then he took a deliberate sip, set the cup down with a soft *click*, and smiled.

“You really will never know the difference between a white lotus and a green tea, will you?” he said, voice smooth as silk and twice as dangerous.

He pushed off from the desk, straightening to his full height, and suddenly the lazy, chaotic energy that usually surrounded him shifted into something more focused. More predatory.

“Do you really think that just like a white lotus, I would be constantly crying and running around here and there?” He tilted his head, and his smile widened, showing teeth. “That I’d be throwing myself at the male lead, clinging to his arm, sobbing prettily about how misunderstood I am?”

He took a step closer, and Heena held her ground, refusing to be intimidated.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he purred, and the endearment sounded like a threat. “White lotuses are loud. They’re obvious. They paint themselves as victims and wait for everyone to rush to their rescue. They’re the heroines, the pure maidens, the ones who suffer beautifully and win through innocence.”

Another step.

“But green tea?” His voice dropped lower, more intimate. “Green tea is *subtle*. Green tea doesn’t cry—green tea makes *others* cry. Green tea doesn’t beg for attention—green tea makes people desperate to give it. Green tea doesn’t proclaim innocence—green tea is so convincing that even when you *know* they’re guilty, you can’t quite bring yourself to believe it.”

He stopped just outside her personal space, respecting that boundary she’d set earlier, but his presence filled the room nonetheless.

“You want to see the male lead question Seraphina’s existence?” Ashton’s smile turned sharp, fox-like, absolutely delighted. “You want to see her favorability rating crumble? You want to watch her scramble and panic and lose everything she’s built?”

He leaned in just slightly, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

“Then wait, sweetheart. Wait and watch. Just sit back and see how this green tea is *greener* than any white lotus could ever dream of being pure.”

The promise in his voice was absolutely vicious.

And despite herself, despite every instinct telling her that getting involved with Ashton’s schemes was a terrible idea, Heena felt a smile curve her own lips.

“Show me,” she said simply.

Ashton’s grin widened until it looked almost feral.

“With pleasure.”

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.

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On the other side of the palace, Raphael was alone in his room. Still in pain—yes, pain—because the famous pure priest had never once imagined he would *personally* taste this kind of suffering.

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