Beast Gacha System: All Mine

"...what if there’s no Ruby between us? There’s no my mother either. Just... us, learning to love each other?"

Cecilia’s eyes faltered.

"Then everything would be different, right?"

That was what she used to think, too. For years, she had turned that question over in her mind like a worn stone, smoothing its edges with the constant friction of her own hope.

If there was no Ruby, no Elara, no Saintess thing hanging over their marriage like a guillotine, would he love her? Would they be the couple Cecilia had always wished they could be?

Perhaps this was what Arzhen was talking about now. Of her saving him. Of making him... good, making him whole, making him the best version of himself.

The version that had always been buried beneath his mother’s poison, beneath Ruby’s shadow, beneath everything that had taught him all the wrong lessons about love and power.

Perhaps he was asking her, in his own broken way, to finish what she had started all those years ago.

But did Cecilia still think the same way?

No.

"I came here not to change my mind about us." She said. "Give me what you promised. It’s the only reason I came here with you."

Arzhen chuckled softly, rueful in a way that seemed to acknowledge the inevitability of her resistance. "Alright. I’ll give it to you."

He snapped his fingers. Igor materialized from wherever he had been waiting at a discreet distance, the manila folder clutched in his hands. He passed it to his master, and Arzhen held it out to her. But when Cecilia reached for it, his grip tightened, preventing her from pulling it away.

"On one condition," he said.

Cecilia frowned.

Seeing her expression, he smiled. That same gentle, adoring smile that still sat so strangely on his face. "Just unblock my number. That’s my one condition. This investigation is not completely over yet. There’s still a lot of mystery behind it. If you want to know more, I am your only option."

Cecilia didn’t say anything.

"Cecilia, you can’t trust Damon Iondora." Arzhen’s voice dropped, becoming earnest, almost protective. "Contrary to his public persona, he’s a very dangerous man. You are smart. You must’ve known how suspicious he is."

Damon was indeed a very dangerous man. He was suspicious and notorious enough for anyone to think twice before placing their complete faith in him.

Arzhen was sure Damon himself would say the same thing to Cecilia. He was that kind of person. Self-aware. Candid about his own moral flexibility. Not to mention, in this world, Cecilia had never known or been close to the Hunter Association Director before the dam incident.

Whatever relationship the two had built since then, it couldn’t possibly compare to years of history. She couldn’t have put her whole trust in that man.

Whoever the father of her baby was, whether the white-haired man on the truck bed or the black-haired wolf beside her in court, they couldn’t be as powerful as Arzhen was.

They couldn’t offer her the resources, the connections, the reach of the Vasiliev empire. So the only man she could trust about things as private as her mother’s murder investigation was him.

Arzhen.

She had known him longer than everyone else in this world. She was married to him for years, and she had loved him once. Even though she had managed to divorce him, she should still be somewhat emotionally dependent on him.

And he was right. If Cecilia was still the original Cecilia from this world.

The problem was, this Cecilia came from a world where she had trusted Damon Iondora like a brother.

But Cecilia didn’t need to expose the flaw in his logic. She simply took out her phone, navigated to her blocked contacts, and showed him the screen. His number, unblocked.

Arzhen smiled. He released the manila folder into her hands.

"Let me drive you home—ah, you... might not want me to know where you’re staying... huh?" He chuckled, gesturing to Igor to bring the car around. But Igor just bowed, his phone buzzing and couldn’t attend to him immediately.

"You can drive me to the Hunter Association building." Cecilia tucked the folder under her arm. Then, with a sneer, she said, "Ah. You just told me I shouldn’t trust Damon Iondora. Aren’t you afraid of him?"

Arzhen’s jaw tightened. His tiger ears flattened briefly before he controlled them. "Cecilia, if you don’t want to listen to me, then fine. Find out what kind of man he is yourself."

"Whatever kind of man he is, any kind is better than you."

"Cec—"

"Sir!" Igor hurried back, his face pale, his phone extended toward his master. The screen glowed with a live broadcast, a press conference, the familiar seal of the Vasiliev family behind the podium, and at the center of it all, a mighty weretiger. "P-please look at this."

Anton Vasiliev.

Alive.

He was—

Arzhen’s eyes widened. His father was—

Speaking into a forest of microphones. In front of hundreds of journalists—

"And even if Damon couldn’t find what you found," Cecilia said, "your father will find it for me."

Arzhen slowly raised his face from the screen, his dark eyes wide with horror. The mask of gentleness cracked. The soft adoration drained away.

"You—"

"Arzhen." Cecilia looked at him with pity. "You never had power over me."

The cherry petals continued their slow, dreamy descent around them. The distant violin played on. The ducks in the pond jostled for breadcrumbs.

And Arzhen stood frozen, his hand still half-extended toward a woman who had already left him behind.

"The only power anything had over me was the love I had for you." She said, like the gentleness of a door closing for the last time. "And it’s gone."

A cherry blossom petal drifted down between them. It was a small thing, pale pink and fragile, spinning slowly in the golden afternoon light as it descended. It passed in front of Arzhen’s eyes, and in the split second that his vision was obscured by that tiny, weightless fragment of summer—

She was gone.

Arzhen didn’t even blink. He hadn’t looked away. His eyes had been fixed on her face, on the finality of her expression, on the way the sunlight had caught the silver cloud at her throat.

But the petal fell, and when it passed, the space where she had stood was empty. Just the gravel path. Just the golden light. Just the distant sound of children laughing and the violin playing its melancholy tune and the ducks splashing in the pond. She—

"Cecilia...?"

She had been gone for a long time.