Chapter 3
The infection had set in completely.
Fever. Chills. Vision swimming in and out of darkness.
I was dumped back onto the rough concrete floor of the basement like a sack of trash.
The gouged hole in my thigh wept black blood. Every breath tugged at inflamed nerves, sending convulsions sharp enough to kill through my body.
And directly above my head, a lavish banquet was in full swing.
Through the thin floorboards, violin melodies and the crisp clink of champagne glasses rang crystal clear. Then came Caspian's voice over the microphone, tender and devoted:
"Tonight, let's toast to Isabella's perfect recovery. She is our family's irreplaceable lady."
Thunderous applause.
They celebrated her flawless new skin beneath glittering chandeliers. While I lay in the sunless basement, torn and bleeding, fever burning my consciousness to ash.
He knew my thigh was still bleeding. He just didn't care.
As long as his obsession remained perfect and unmarred.
Until the third night, when a dull explosion tore through the celebration overhead.
Screaming. Chaos. Piercing sirens.
Minutes later, the basement door burst open with a metallic bang.
Caspian stormed in. His tailored suit was wrinkled, eyes bloodshot. For the first time, I saw uncontrolled panic on his face.
He grabbed my collar and yanked me up from the floor with brutal force.
The fabric dragged across the unhealed wound in my thigh. I convulsed like a fish out of water, gasping out a strangled sound.
He didn't even notice. Slamming me against the damp wall, his voice actually trembling:
"Isabella's been kidnapped. Russians. They asked for you by name."
My unfocused pupils struggled to see him clearly.
"They know... about the monster's secret?" My voice came out as a rasp.
"Shut up!"
His fingers tightened around my throat, nearly crushing my windpipe. "Listen, Aria. If Isabella gets so much as a scratch because of you, I'll cut you into pieces and feed you to the dogs."
I was shoved into the armored car. Tires screamed through the night, stopping at an abandoned dock warehouse.
Under harsh white lights, the Russian mob boss Ivan toyed with a revolver.
Isabella was tied to a support beam, hair disheveled. The instant she saw Caspian, she broke into desperate sobs: "Caspian—please!" Her voice cracked, eyes wild with terror.
Just that broken plea, and Caspian's breathing turned ragged, veins bulging on the back of his hand.
He shoved me forward without hesitation.
"She's all yours. Bleed her, skin her—whatever you want."
Ivan surveyed me with greedy eyes: "So this is the unkillable walking blood bank? How do I know she's not defective?"
He suddenly raised his arm, gun pointed at my right shoulder.
Bang.
The bullet shattered my shoulder blade cleanly. The impact sent me flying. Blood sprayed in a radiating pattern.
"Ngh..." I curled up in the spreading pool, cold sweat stabbing through my spine.
And my husband stood one step away, didn't even frown.
His gaze locked onto Isabella tied to the pillar, voice flat:
"See? Cut wherever you want. She won't die."
Ivan walked over, using the gun barrel to prod my mangled wound like it was garbage.
No miracle came.
My right shoulder didn't heal. Fresh blood mingled with the festering wound on my leg, spreading across the floor in a horrifying dark red.
"Lucchese, you playing me?" Ivan's face darkened. "Her bone's not growing back at all!"
Caspian finally glanced down at me.
When he saw my body showing no signs of clotting, he froze for a heartbeat. But the flicker of surprise was instantly buried under irritation.
"She needs recovery time. You'll get what you want—just release her." His tone sharpened, all business now. "She's here. Let Isabella go."
Ivan let out a cold laugh: "If she can't heal on the spot, let's test her limits."
He snapped his fingers. Two vehicles were rolled out. One was Caspian's armored Maybach, the other a beat-up abandoned van.
"The van's got a timed bomb strapped to the undercarriage. Goes off in five minutes." Ivan pointed at both vehicles. "Pick one to take. The other stays here to die."
Caspian's jaw clenched instantly.
"Caspian—don't leave me!" Isabella's voice rose to a desperate pitch. "I'm so scared! Take me home!"
Caspian looked at the breaking Isabella, then down at me, dying in a pool of blood.
My heartbeat slowed to nothing. Some part of me knew—this was the last time I'd ever ask him for anything.
"Caspian..." I used every ounce of strength to grip his pant leg, knuckles bone-white. "I really... don't have healing powers anymore... If you leave me... I'll burn to ash..."
He looked down at me. Eyes like he was watching a blood bag throwing an unreasonable tantrum.
Then, one by one, he cruelly pried my bloodstained fingers off.
"Save your strength, Aria." His voice was ice. "The bomb will tear you apart. You'll pull yourself back together in a few days. But Isabella's terrified—she'll have nightmares."
In his world, my agony meant nothing compared to her fear.
He strode toward Isabella without looking back, cutting her ropes and cradling her like a recovered treasure.
"Seal her inside."
My death sentence.
Two thugs dragged me like wreckage into the van's back seat. The heavy door slammed shut.
Through the dust-covered window, I watched Isabella nestle into Caspian's embrace. As he helped her into the armored car, she glanced back at me—dying—and smiled. Sweet and poisonous.
The armored car's engine roared to life.
The window cracked open slightly, wind carrying his final dismissal:
"Aria, just hang on. You'll survive this."
The tires kicked up dust as they sped away.
Inside the van, the timer's red light blinked painfully: 00:30.
Thirty seconds.
No fear. No tears. I collapsed in the blood, hearing only the bomb's faint ticking.
Everything was eerily calm.
This life—stripped of all power to rise again, scales shed for him, leaving the deep sea behind—had finally been drained completely dry.
00:03.
00:02.
00:01.
BOOM—
Towering flames instantly consumed this riddled body. In the deafening blast, the pain lasted less than half a second.
On this midnight when he believed I'd still "come back," I sank into a darkness more final than the deepest ocean—and finally, I was free.
Half an hour later, the armored car tore back down the same road.
Tires screeched. Caspian slammed the door open and charged toward the burning wreckage.
The van was a twisted, charred skeleton reeking of burnt flesh. In his mind, she was a monster—felt pain but couldn't die. She had to be curled under some metal right now, waiting to regenerate.
"Aria! Get out here! Stop playing dead!"
He roared, shoving aside his guards, tearing into the scalding wreckage with bare hands.
Sharp metal shredded his pampered palms, searing deep burns, but he felt nothing—just kept digging frantically through the ashes.
Silence. No response.
No bloodied woman weakly calling his name.
His hands suddenly froze.
In the back seat wreckage, no flesh was reassembling.
Only a charred piece of delicate bone.
Beneath it lay several mermaid scales, baked brittle by the heat. A breeze scattered the last trace of her essence into powder.
Caspian's pupils shrank violently. Ringing pierced his skull.
No miracle. She'd burned to ash.
The man who'd always stood above it all suddenly dropped to his knees in the scalding ruins. He stared at the ash that would never reform into flesh, voice breaking:
"Impossible..."
"You're a monster... you can't die... you can't..."
