Chapter 20: Chapter: 20 She is gentle only towards me.

In a spacious, luxurious chamber crafted exclusively for the princess of the Indrath Empire, Charlotte sat on the floor, leaning wearily against her bed.

Her gaze lingered on a familiar book, the same elemental tome she had read countless times, her silent companion in moments of solitude.

But today, her swollen eyes and tear-streaked cheeks betrayed the storm within her.

For two days she had been unable to close her eyes, unable to rest. The reason lay only a few steps away.

On the bed, a young man slept soundly.

At first, his condition had been grave, and Charlotte had feared the worst. But just yesterday, the physician assured her he would recover fully, without any lasting harm.

Out of causion, she hadn’t even informed his family of what had happened.

Deep down, Charlotte knew the truth, no matter how hard she tried to persuade his father, his mother… no, she would never listen.

Worse, she might act rashly and try to kill Kafrik herself, turning the matter into a far greater tension.

For that reason, Charlotte decided it was wiser to keep everything hidden, at least for now.

“Haa…”

She exhaled a weary sigh, gently closing the booklet in her hands.

Resting it on her lap, she let her eyes fall shut for a brief moment, only to force them open again, unwilling to let herself drift away.

Though she had decided not to tell anyone, fearing what they might do, but would she abandon Kafrik? No. Never. She would make him pay for whatever words had driven Vivian to this fury.

“Just you wait,” she promised herself, the thought like a blade behind her teeth.

At first she had vowed to kill them the moment she learned they were responsible for Vivian’s illness; now her promise burned bigger. She would erase them.

She would eradicate the Tramplins from the face of the empire… no, from the world itself.

And to achieve that she needed power, because power was the currency of vengeance, and the throne was where it gathered.

If Charlotte wanted to keep her promise she would need that power, seize the throne, brand the Tramplins as traitors, and then strike.

The plan sat cold and precise in her mind, every step folding into the next.

She was still mapping the road to the crown when the motion at the edge of her awareness snapped her back.

Her hand, which had been resting on the bedspread, trembled as the figure beneath the sheet stirred.

She looked down. Vivian’s fingers twitched; his eyelids fluttered as if pulled by a dream.

A small sound escaped him — a hum, almost a question — and Charlotte’s thoughts scattered.

For a heartbeat the throne, the Tramplins, the promises, all of it drifted away, replaced by the life before her.

His lashes fluttered, and slowly his eyes opened, blinking at the ceiling as if the world around him were still blurred.

He drew a shallow breath, his chest shifting as though he meant to rise.

But before he could lift his upper body, Charlotte moved, without thinking, without restraint.

She threw herself onto him, wrapping her arms around his chest in a desperate embrace.

Her weight pressed against him, her trembling shoulders betraying the days of fear and sleepless nights she had endured.

Tears welled in her eyes as she pressed frantic kisses against his cheek, his forehead, even the bridge of his nose, as though to assure herself he was truly alive before her.

Vivian froze, dumbfounded, his mind struggling to catch up with the sudden flood of affection.

Heat crept across his face, his body stiffening as he tried to push her gently away.

But Charlotte only clung tighter, burying herself against him as if letting go would mean losing him forever.

After holding onto him for what felt like an eternity, Charlotte finally loosened her grip.

With a faint, shuddering breath, she shifted to the side of the bed and sank onto the mattress.

Her gaze drifted upward, fixing on the ornate ceiling above, though her thoughts were far away from its painted patterns.

Silence lingered between them, heavy and unbroken, until Vivian cleared his throat with an awkward cough.

“Ahem… so… should we get married?” he asked, his eyes flicking toward Charlotte.

For a moment, she simply stared, the tension in her face easing into something more puzzled than strained.

Turning her head slightly, she looked at him with questioning eyes.

“What are you talking about? It’s not the time yet… we haven’t even gotten engaged yet,” she replied, her voice caught between disbelief and a faint trace of amusement.

“No, I mean… what you just did.” Vivian’s voice stumbled over the words, his face turning crimson. “So… isn’t it only appropriate for us to get married?”

The memory of her desperate kisses flashed in his mind, each one burning hotter than the last. Just recalling it made his cheeks glow as if set on fire.

“Well, it doesn’t make much of a difference,” Charlotte said lightly. “We’re going to be married in a few years anyway, so it doesn’t matter.” Her lips curved into a grin, her eyes gleaming with amusement as she looked at him.

“Ahem…” Vivian coughed again, averting his gaze for a moment before it inevitably returned to her.

No matter how or when he looked at Charlotte, she radiated a beauty that left him breathless—like a goddess descended into the mortal world, more dazzling than any jade beauty described in the novels he had once read.

What he felt most grateful for, however, was the simple truth that she loved him—madly, fiercely, without restraint.

She would do anything for him, he knew that now. And while the thought warmed his heart, it also weighed heavily on him.

Because no matter how much he tried, he wasn’t sure if his love could ever match even a fraction of hers—let alone fill a third of the boundless devotion she carried for him.

Shaking himself free from the spiral of thoughts, Vivian lowered his gaze.

“I’m sorry… I couldn’t hold back when he insulted Mother,” he said quietly, guilt lacing his tone.

When he finally looked up, Charlotte’s eyes were fixed on him, steady and unreadable. Her gaze made his chest tighten, though another thought gnawed at the edges of his mind.

Why was Kafrik so different from the character he had written? The Kafrik he knew, kind, noble, honorable—was gone, replaced by someone cruel and twisted.

Could it be that the world itself had changed from what he had created? After all, even Charlotte, whom he had once shaped as manipulative and cold, was nothing like that here.

She was gentle, devoted. And Kafrik… a piece of trash.

Charlotte snorted. “You should’ve gone for his head,” she said bluntly. “He deserved it.” Her voice was flat, almost amused as she described how easily a neck could be cut, how there’d be no second chances.

At those words, Vivian froze. He replayed his own apology in his mind and felt it shift under her gaze.

The gentle woman who had kissed him clean of fear wasn’t soft in the way he’d expected, her tenderness was selective, reserved only for him.

Outside that circle she could be ruthless. The realization left him oddly steadied and more afraid than before as he thought.

’She is gentle only towards me.’

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