Chapter 143 Hatred Rekindled
Morning light filtered softly through the heavy curtains, painting pale streaks across the bedroom floor. Veyra stirred, blinked a few times, and waited for the blurry ceiling to come into focus. Turning her head, she checked the clock on the nightstand, 8:47 AM.
Sitting up, her eyes immediately shifted toward the sofa. Dorian was still fast asleep, his chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. His jaw was relaxed, his usual tense brow completely smooth.
The essential oil had actually worked.
A tiny, private smile tugged at the corner of her lips. She slipped quietly out of bed, padded over to the bathroom, and refreshed herself. After washing her face, brushing her teeth, and pulling on a fresh pair of clothes, she walked back into the main room.
Dorian was awake now, sitting on the edge of the cushions while running a hand through his messy hair. His eyes were still heavy with sleep, and his voice sounded deep and rough when he spoke.
"Good morning."
"Good morning." Veyra grabbed her light jacket and headed toward the door. "I’m going out this afternoon."
He looked up at her, squinting slightly against the bright light. "Where?"
"Clara’s pizza shop. She’s finally reopening today, and I promised her I’d drop by to support."
Dorian nodded slowly, processing the information.
"I’ll probably be home late," she added without thinking. "Do you want me to bring you back some pizza?"
The second the words left her mouth, they hung heavily in the quiet room.
Veyra froze.
In a flash, the memory of that ridiculous phone call slammed back into her head. The fake marriage act, the overly sweet voice she had put on, the entire embarrassing performance. Honey, I’ll make it for you again today. Come home early after work, okay?
Her cheeks instantly flushed bright red, and her ears felt like they were on fire.
Dorian’s posture went rigid. His jaw tightened, and the lazy sleepiness vanished from his eyes. It was painfully obvious that he was remembering the exact same thing.
The room went dead silent.
Veyra cleared her throat, desperate to fill the agonizing quiet. "I mean, I’ll be back late," she said, her words tumbling out way too fast. "No pizza. Unless you actually want some? I can pick one up. If you want. But I really don’t have to."
She couldn’t stop rambling, her face burning hotter by the second. Dorian stared at her with an unreadable expression, though a strange flicker passed through his dark eyes.
"You don’t have to bring pizza," he said quietly.
"Right. Okay. Good." She nodded at him way too quickly. "I’ll just... I’ll be going now."
She spun on her heel and practically bolted out the door, not daring to look back over her shoulder.
Out in the empty hallway, Veyra leaned her back against the cool wall and pressed her cold palms against her burning face. She had almost casually brought up pizza to him as if they were an actual married couple. She felt like she was going to die of pure mortification.
Shaking off the cringe, she pushed herself away from the wall and headed toward the basement shooting range. She desperately needed a distraction, and shooting things seemed like the best option.
The range was chilly and smelled faintly of gunpowder. Veyra stood at the firing line, grips firm on her Nightblade pistol, and aimed down the sights toward the paper target.
Bang.
The bullet tore through the outer ring. She adjusted her stance, exhaled slowly, and pulled the trigger again.
Bang. Closer to the red center.
Bang. Right in the middle.
With every shot, her hands grew steadier and her breathing leveled out. The embarrassing sting from earlier was slowly fading under the rhythm of recoil and brass shell casings hitting the floor. She kept practicing for an hour straight, refusing to take a break until her shoulders and arms ached from the strain.
Leon Wei stood a few feet behind her, his arms crossed over his chest and his face completely unreadable as usual.
"Your grouping is getting better," he observed as she lowered the barrel.
"I’m just getting angrier," she replied, wiping a light bead of sweat from her forehead.
Leon raised a single eyebrow. "Angrier?"
"Punching paper with lead helps clear my head."
Leon didn’t argue with that logic.
Veyra set the gun down on the bench, engaged the safety, and flexed her sore fingers. "I’m done for today."
"We’ll pick this back up tomorrow," Leon said with a nod.
They left the range together, stepping out into the dim, quiet hallways of the main house. But as they turned a corner, Veyra caught sight of three figures slowly making their way down the corridor.
Two maids were carefully supporting a woman who could barely keep her feet under her.
It was Eleanor.
She looked terrible. Her face was gaunt and pale, her eyes sunken into dark circles, and her hair hung in limp, dull strands around her shoulders. She had just spent days locked in the isolation room, no light, no sound, and no way to keep track of time. She looked utterly drained and fragile, like a light breeze might knock her down.
Then Eleanor raised her head and spotted Veyra.
In an instant, the hollow emptiness in her face vanished, replaced by an intense, burning hatred.
"Get off me!" Eleanor snarled, violently shoving the maids away. The two women stumbled back, hovering nervously as Eleanor dragged herself forward. Her steps were unsteady and wobbly, but her glare was locked onto Veyra like a weapon.
"You," Eleanor spat, her voice raspy from disuse. "You did this to me."
Veyra stood her ground, her expression completely flat.
Eleanor’s voice rose into an unstable screech. "You ruined me! You locked me in that dark room and stripped away everything I had!"
"You ruined yourself," Veyra said, her tone icy and even. "No one forced your hand but you."
Enraged, Eleanor lunged forward with her hands clawed.
Before she could get close, Leon Wei stepped smoothly between them, extending an arm to block her path. "Step back," he commanded, his voice deadpan and firm.
Eleanor stopped, her eyes wide and wild. "Get out of my way," she hissed, her whole body trembling with rage.
"No."
"I said move!"
When Leon didn’t budge an inch, Eleanor lost control completely and swung her hand up to slap him across the face.
Before her palm could land, Veyra moved.
Her fingers clamped like iron around Eleanor’s thin wrist, catching it mid-air and shoving it backward. Veyra leaned in close, her eyes dark and cold.
"You really still don’t take me seriously, do you?"