Ever since regaining consciousness, Riven’s eyes hadn’t once looked away. His gaze followed every cruel act inflicted on his sister. Each threat, each insult, each flicker of fear that never left Melly’s eyes. He memorized it all, storing his fury in silence, as though every second that passed only added weight to the boiling vengeance within his chest.

And when that torturous interrogation finally came to an end, Daxon stood. He calmly adjusted his black gloves with a haughty air, then glanced at Melly, who was nearly collapsing from the exhaustion of fear and tension.

“That’s enough for today,” he said flatly.

With unhurried movements, he bent down and personally undid the ropes binding Melly’s small frame. The ties at her ankles and wrists fell away one by one, and her body nearly gave out—but she resisted, forcing herself to remain upright, to not appear weak.

Daxon gently grasped her shoulder and nudged her toward the door.

Just before stepping out, Melly turned her head. Her eyes met her brother’s, who remained tied to his chair, blood dried across his face, yet with a gaze still unwavering.

One look. One silent message: Don’t worry. I’ll come back.

Then the heavy door shut, and Daxon left with her, leaving Riven alone in the room with one other person.

Darien.

Silence swallowed the room once more, thick with breath and tension.

Darien’s footsteps echoed slowly as he approached, arms crossed, a cruel smirk curling on his lips.

“Look at you now,” he murmured, barely louder than a whisper. “Filthy lowborn, and yet you still dare to look at me with defiance?”

He stopped just inches away, staring down at Riven like a noble finally cornering the rat that had dared crawl across his parlor floor.

Darien leaned in. With deliberate slowness, he pulled the blood and spit-soaked rag from Riven’s mouth. A soft, wet sound accompanied its removal.

Once free, Riven didn’t speak. He merely took a shallow breath and raised his head.

His gaze locked with Darien’s—dark, calm, and filled with something far more terrifying than rage.

Pure hatred.

A promise of death.

For a moment, Darien stiffened. His eyes narrowed, as if feeling a sudden chill pierce his skin despite the stale, still air.

Then he laughed. It was strained.

“That repulsive look in your eyes, you truly are insolent,” he sneered, though his voice held a dryness that hadn’t been there before.

Straightening, he tried to reassert his dominance, though something in his gut squirmed beneath that cold stare.

Still, Riven said nothing. His eyes remained fixed, dissecting Darien’s every twitch, every blink, like a predator memorizing the weak points of prey.

Darien scowled. His features hardened like a marble statue carved from indignation. His nostrils flared as he exhaled sharply.

Without warning—

Smack.

The first slap cracked through the air, snapping Riven’s head to the side. His matted hair swayed with the impact. Red began to bloom on his cheek.

Smack. Smack.

Two more—harder, more brutal. Riven’s lip split, and blood began to trail down to his jaw. His nose followed, spilling crimson drops onto his tattered shirt.

“Do you even understand,” Darien hissed, voice honed like a dagger, “how low you are?”

He seized Riven’s jaw with an iron grip, forcing his face up. But there was no fear in Riven’s eyes. Only that same cold, dangerous thing—an ember that refused to die.

“How dare you look at me like that,” Darien growled, spittle clinging to his words. “As if you were equal. You’re nothing, filthy carrion pretending to be a man.”

He spat beside Riven’s foot, a calculated insult.

“Your parents must have been trash,” he added, his voice turning almost gentle—like a tutor speaking to a child. “They failed to teach you your place. But worry not…”

Smack. Smack.

More slaps—hard enough to leave welts, to swell flesh, to throb with blood beneath the skin.

“I’ll teach you. Until you remember.”

And through the pain, Riven… laughed.

It was a hoarse sound, like rusted metal scraping against itself. A low, broken chuckle that hung in the air like a curse.

Darien froze. His face darkened—not with rage, but with something subtler, colder.

Thud!

He kicked the chair, sending Riven crashing to the floor with a sickening crunch. The frame creaked beneath the impact. Riven landed hard, air knocked from his lungs.

Darien stepped forward, placing his polished boot on Riven’s chest, pressing down like a boy testing how many legs a bug can lose before it stops twitching.

“Where’s your voice now?” he hissed. “Where’s your precious defiance? Or have you finally realized just how small you really are?”

His heel dug deeper. Riven grunted, but his eyes didn’t break.

Darien pulled a dagger from his belt. Its blade shimmered silver in the torchlight, glinting like a promise.

He leaned in, resting the tip against Riven’s already broken lip. It drew a fresh bead of blood.

“I wonder…” Darien murmured, breath warm against Riven’s ear, “how long until you scream?”

“Choose,” Darien said, his voice cracking like ice. “Scream… or stay silent like the cowardly mutt you are.”

He stared down at Riven’s battered face—yet still, no submission. No plea. No retreat.

And for the first time in his life, Darien felt… unsettled.

There was something wrong with this scene—with the way this lowborn man refused to crumble. He should be begging, sobbing, or at least hanging his head in shame before someone of Darien’s stature.

But no.

Riven still met his gaze, with the same unyielding eyes. Eyes that refused to break. Eyes that rejected every ounce of noble authority.

“Remarkable,” Darien muttered, standing slowly and wiping his hands with a white embroidered handkerchief. “Filthy. Stubborn. Yet still so full of defiance… even in the face of death.”

He paced slowly to the side of the room, like a man deep in thought. He spoke more to himself than to Riven.

Truthfully, he wanted nothing more than to kill Riven right then and there. But they still needed him, needed his life to tame the little sister. To ensure the girl would submit to House Blackthorn.

Talents and affinities could be inherited, this was common knowledge. So they would nurture the girl, train her… until her body matured enough to bear the desired heir.

Then an idea surfaced in Darien’s mind, something that would surely shatter Riven’s defiance.

He stepped closer again, bending down until their faces were mere inches apart. His usually cold aristocratic gaze now radiated disgust veiled in false courtesy.

“You should thank your sister. Without her, you’d already be dead.” He suppressed a thin smile. “But you know what awaits her, don’t you?”

His voice dropped to a whisper.

“I once considered cutting out your tongue. But then I thought, let you keep speaking. Let you keep screaming. So your little sister can hear your voice from the next room… while I begin her education.”

Darien sighed, as if discussing something pleasant.

“I’ll take my time. Like unwrapping the most precious gift.” His fingers traced imaginary motions in the air. “First, button by button. Then…” His voice darkened. “I’ll show her what it truly means to become a woman. A Blackthorn woman.”

His expression shifted suddenly, cold and cruel.

“And you’ll sit there, bound like an animal, watching it all. I’ll force your eyes to stay open. You’ll remember every scream, every sob, and be powerless to stop it.”

A soft, refined laugh escaped him—the kind befitting a noble savoring a beautiful irony.

But the next second, that laughter vanished.

Riven, unable to contain the fury that had been boiling inside him for so long, tensed his body. Then, with an almost superhuman effort, lunged forward as far as his restraints allowed and bit Darien’s face, right below the eye.

“AARRGH!”

Darien screamed, staggering back several steps, clutching his bloodied face.

“YOU FILTHY—!”

Rage erupted. He charged back at Riven and began slamming his fists into the man’s face again and again. The first blow sent the iron chair Riven was bound to rattling. The second and third followed relentlessly—brutal, rhythmless.

“YOU… FUCKING… SAVAGE…!”

Riven couldn’t scream, couldn’t dodge. The world spun. His vision blurred. And in the last second before darkness swallowed him, he caught a glimpse of Darien’s blood, and felt satisfied.

The void embraced him like a curtain falling at the end of a play.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep