Chapter 23: Body Of Retired Villain

After dinner, I walk down the hallway alone.

My shoes click against the marble floor, each sound echoing sharply through the empty space. I stretch my arms slightly, exhaustion settling deep into my bones. Today has drained me—physically, mentally, emotionally.

I just want to reach my room.

Suddenly, a hand grips my wrist.

Before I can react, my back slams against the cold wall. The impact knocks the breath from my lungs. My eyes widen as I look up—

Zyke.

His presence is overwhelming. His pheromones surge without restraint, heavy and oppressive, crushing the air around us. His dangerous gaze pins me in place, sharp and burning.

“What the hell are you doing?” I snap, panic flashing through my chest.

His grip tightens instead of loosening.

“Leave me,” I say again, my voice strained. “Big brother—my hand hurts.”

He leans closer, his voice low, cold, venomous.

“What did you call me at the table?”

I swallow. My wrist throbs under his strength.

“A pathetic alpha,” he continues, eyes locked on mine. “The one who punched you without reason.”

“Let go first,” I say, forcing steadiness into my voice. “Zyke—”

His hand presses harder, pain shooting up my arm.

“So now,” he murmurs, “I’m acting like the pathetic alpha you described?”

I try to shove him away, but it’s useless. His strength overwhelms me easily. My patience—already worn thin—finally snaps.

“Yes!” I shout. “You are a pathetic alpha!”

His grip falters for a split second.

“You hurt your own little brother,” I continue, my voice trembling now, breath uneven.

“You’re always looking for reasons to beat me. You never listen—never!”

His hand loosens.

Silence stretches between us, thick and suffocating.

“We’re brothers,” I say quietly. “Why do you hurt me like this?”

He releases me completely and steps back.

I rub my wrist instinctively, a sharp flinch crossing my face. It hurts—burning, aching—right where his fingers were. My chest rises and falls rapidly as I try to steady myself.

Zyke stares at me, unreadable.

Then, after a long pause, his voice drops—low, cold, dangerous.

“You still call yourself my little brother?”

My breath catches.

He steps closer.

I step back.

His eyes darken as he advances again, forcing me back until my spine presses against the wall. His presence looms over me, suffocating.

“Do little brothers,” he says slowly, “push their big brother from heights?”

My heart slams against my ribs.

“Do little brothers,” he continues, closing the distance even more, “try to kill their own big brother?”

I stare at him, frozen, his words slicing deeper than any punch.

Before I can respond, he straightens abruptly.

“Don’t call yourself my little brother again,” he says flatly. “You lost that place a long time ago.”

Then he turns and walks away.

I remain where I am, staring at the empty hallway, my wrist throbbing, his words echoing relentlessly in my mind.

The marble floor feels colder than before.

I lie on the bed, my body sinking into the softness beneath me.

The mattress feels almost unreal—too soft, too gentle—like heaven itself.

And yet, no matter how exhausted I am, my eyes refuse to close.

I stare at the ceiling, unmoving.

Thoughts run wild in my head, crashing into one another.

Zyke’s words echo again and again, loud and sharp, refusing to fade.

He hates Zyren—so deeply, so completely.

A slow, tired breath leaves my lips.

I thought being a good person would be easy.

I truly did.

But being a good person while wearing the body of a retired villain…

That feels impossible.

A sad sigh escapes me before I can stop it.

“I should try harder,” I murmur into the silence.

Maybe one day—just one day—I’ll succeed.

Maybe I’ll win Zyke’s trust.

Maybe I’ll earn his brotherly love.

But before any of that…

I need to survive him.

I close my eyes.

Knock. Knock.

My eyes snap open instantly.

Who is it this time?

My heart starts racing as I turn my head toward the clock beside the bed.

Midnight.

Slowly, I sit up and slip my feet into my slippers, my movements careful, tense.

A thousand thoughts flood my mind.

What if it’s Zyke?

The knock comes again.

I flinch.

Is he here to beat me again?

“God… please have mercy on me,” I whisper.

My footsteps feel heavy as I walk toward the door.

My hands turn cold, fingers trembling as I reach for the handle.

I open the door slowly.

My eyes widen.

It’s Angel.

For a second, my mind goes blank.

What is he doing here at this hour?

Did Zyke punish him again?

My gaze drifts over him instinctively—from head to toe—before I notice what he’s holding.

A cake.

Angel hesitates, his grip careful around the box.

“Young master,” he says softly, “I’m sorry for disturbing your sleep.”

I shake my head quickly.

“No, it’s fine. Come in.”

He steps inside, and I close the door behind him.

“Angel,” I ask, worry creeping into my voice, “why are you here at midnight? Did something happen? Did someone say something to you? Did Zyke—”

“No,” he interrupts gently, shaking his head. “No, young master.”

I stare at him, confused.

“Then… what is it?”

He looks nervous now, fingers tightening slightly around the box.

After a brief pause, he speaks again.

“That night… you brought a strawberry cake. But because of me, you couldn’t eat it.”

He swallows.

“So tonight, I baked one for you.”

He lowers his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he adds softly. “I came a little late.”

Carefully, almost nervously, he offers the cake to me.

I freeze.

Angel… baked a cake for me?

For a moment, I just stare—at the box, at his hands, at the way his eyes remain lowered as if afraid of rejection.

“Young master, if you don’t want to—”

I don’t let him finish.

I quickly take the cake from his hands, a bright smile spreading across my face before I can stop it.

“Thank you so much,” I say sincerely.

Angel finally looks up, his eyes widening slightly in surprise.

I glance down at the cake again, my smile softening.

“It looks really delicious.”

And for the first time tonight…

My chest feels warm.

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