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Chapter 3
Did you think of something?
Yes.
She had.
And she had, against all odds, managed to remember it.
Vivianne stared at Reyden’s bare torso.
On his left chest, there was a distinct, pitch-black scar.
A cursed wound.
And she knew exactly where it came from.
In the original story, when Reyden had tried to kill his own elder brother and male lead—로건 발데르—he was struck by a curse from a shaman who served the male lead. After falling from a cliff, readers were led to believe he had died.
Only in the side story did it become clear: he had survived.
The curse’s aftereffects were horrific.
It stripped away his humanity. At night, he suffered recurring heart pain, and when the pain intensified, he experienced hallucinations—feeling as though someone was trying to kill him. Each outbreak of madness led him to commit increasingly violent acts.
Before he killed Vivianne, it was the same. He was already unstable…
She slowly knelt in front of him.
Reyden leaned back on the bed.
This woman’s heart is about to explode.
He didn’t say it out loud.
His curse heightened his senses—especially hearing. Now, her heartbeat wasn’t a steady “thump… thump,” but a frantic “thump-thump-thump-thump.”
“What I’m about to do may not qualify as a talent…”
“…?”
“Excuse me…”
Flinch.
Before Reyden could react, she climbed onto his lap.
…What?
His suspicion deepened as he watched her face flush red, her movements awkward and uncoordinated.
The rumored depravity of Lethe’s women didn’t seem exaggerated after all. But this one… was different.
Her hands moved uncertainly, brushing over him with no clear intention. Not seduction. Not strategy.
And yet—
Each accidental touch landed somewhere dangerously sensitive.
“Forgive me,” she whispered.
Her trembling fingers touched the black scar on his chest.
The moment her fingertips made contact, Reyden’s breath caught.
This wasn’t like anything before.
Most women either threw themselves at him or cried in front of him. Both were unbearable in their own way.
But this woman… was strange.
And strangely disarming.
Hmm?
Her touch grew slightly bolder—but her face was turned away, as if she refused to even look at him. Not seduction. Not calculation. Something else entirely.
Yet every time her pale hand brushed his body, something inside him twisted.
Warm. It felt warm.
And wrong.
Meanwhile, inside her mind
If only I had read the later chapters…
The side story wasn’t even finished. She was working with incomplete information.
Still, she had to try.
She carefully continued touching him.
“At that moment, Reyden Valder had effectively thrown away his only chance. He would realize this far in the future. If Vivianne Lethe—the strange, flamboyant woman—had been embraced even once, his curse and misfortune might have ended sooner.”
That was a narration from after Vivianne’s death.
A fifty-fifty gamble.
Either this woman truly had something special… or the author had simply been criticizing Reyden’s failure to regain his humanity.
The curse is a secret. Only a few know it.
If a captive princess from a fallen kingdom somehow knew it, what would he think?
She bit her lip.
Reyden looked like he had a lot to say—but was holding it back. That alone was surprising.
Vivianne forced herself not to look at his body.
It felt instinctively wrong.
“This… isn’t a form of seduction I recognize.”
“I-it’s not that…”
“It was effective.”
I’m doomed.
He drew the sword from the wall.
The blade glinted.
“Eep!”
He pressed the sword under her chin.
“Look away again and I will kill you.”
“I’m sorry—!”
Before she could finish, he shoved her backward onto the bed. The blade remained at her throat.
Then—
He grabbed her clothing and tore it.
“Ah—!”
Cold air hit her exposed shoulder.
His fingers traced from her shoulder to her collarbone, slow and deliberate.
The atmosphere shifted.
Reyden’s thoughts became disordered.
What is this?
Her scent.
Her trembling.
Her refusal to look at him.
None of it matched anything he had seen before.
And that irritated him more than anything.
“Stop…”
A faint whisper slipped from her lips.
Reyden froze.
Just for a moment.
Then he clicked his tongue.
“…So even rejection now?”
“P-please…”
“Enough. Do that thing again.”
“…?”
“That pathetic massage. Do it.”
He grabbed her hand and pressed it against his chest—directly over the black curse mark.
The moment her fingers touched it again, something shifted.
Her touch wasn’t skillful.
It wasn’t seductive.
It was hesitant.
But—
His heartbeat steadied.
“…This mark,” she said carefully.
Reyden narrowed his eyes.
“The wound is not from battle.”
“…What did you say?”
“It is a curse.”
Silence.
The air froze.
“…Who told you that?”
“No one. I felt it.”
Reyden’s grip tightened.
“Felt it?”
“Yes. When I touched it… I could feel your pain.”
The sword pressed slightly harder against her throat.
A thin line of blood appeared.
“…Are you a witch?”
Hooked.
Vivianne forced herself to continue.
“I am not a witch. But I can feel it.”
“You think it can be removed?”
“…If I try. I may be useful.”
“Useful?”
“If you keep me alive… I will find a way.”
“How long?”
She hesitated.
“Two years.”
Silence.
Then—
“Ha.”
Reyden laughed.
Not softly.
Not politely.
He laughed like it was the most absurd thing he had ever heard.
“Two years? You want me to wait two years?”
“…It is not an easy curse…”
“Lethe’s last princess really is bold.”
His face slowly moved closer.
“Your negotiation skills are worse than zero.”
“…!”
“From top to bottom, you are lacking.”
His voice lowered.
“Zero.”
The distance between them shrank.
