Secret Love Affair between a Former Saint and a Dark Hero - Chapter 55
“Why, why on earth…?”
Arcanda’s red lips drew a curve, and she tossed her head back. With an utterly indifferent attitude, she said, “You annoyed me.”
Iora’s eyes glazed over. She shook her head furiously. “I, I didn’t do anything.”
“Yes, you idiot. That’s right. Because you didn’t do anything! You should have! You were supposed to do something, but you didn’t!”
“What?”
Each word was unimaginably vile. With eyes that seemed to be dripping with venom, Arcanda gritted her teeth as she glared at Iora like she was going to kill her.
“You were supposed to be jealous of me and desperate to have Ovid for yourself. You should have made me shine. What I should have done was pity the helpless and pathetic Iora with such greedy desires, begging for mercy and sparing her life! But you ruined everything! Why, why, why!”
Her searing eyes were filled with nothing but greed. The whispered voice was so low that it could barely be heard from the outside, creating an atmosphere like a scene from a horror movie. The hairs on the back of Iora’s neck stood on end as Arcanda’s fingers gradually moved down Iora’s throat and gripped it with both hands.
Iora whimpered, her voice hoarse and fractured, “You tried to kill me for that, for that reason alone. Is that what you’re saying?”
“It’s not just that reason. If you had played your role properly, there wouldn’t have been any reason for me to cause that kidnapping commotion. Come to think of it, it’s all your fault. Yes, your suffering was self-inflicted in the end, right?”
“…Was the kidnapping self-inflicted too, then?”
Arcanda, smiling like a blossoming flower, was too eerie.
“You are so dull and stupid. Iora, this world was created for me—there’s no reason for it to ever be a threat to me.”
For a moment, surprise flickered in Iora’s eyes, but as she continued to listen, her words became more and more sense. Sometimes, it did happen like that—strange incidents would happen whenever she was with Arcanda.
How Arcanda had a way of making Iora feel guilty, the way she could manipulate the people around her to be on her side, how she pressured those she didn’t like—Iora didn’t just imagine it and Arcanda knew all about it. It was all done to trample on Iora and make her hated.
“You look like you’re dying to tell everyone the truth, but what can you do? Who would ever listen to you? Everyone will be on my side, cursing and hating you.”
“If you keep talking, at least one person will listen.”
Like Vigros. Vigros would listen. It seemed likely. She thought back to the horn in her bedroom. The arrogant and cute voice that promised to listen if she called and made a wish.
But Arcanda scoffed sharply, as if to dash that hope.
“Let’s make a little wager, shall we? Let’s see if people really listen to your words. Oh, in case you’re spouting those words because counting on Ovid, who’s been treating you well lately… ”
Arcanda wickedly lifted the corners of her lips.
“Oh, no. It almost brings tears to my eyes to see the pitiful state you’re going to be in. Just look at the difference between the reputation you’ve built and what I’ve built. And who the Ovid belongs to.”
As soon as she finished speaking, Arcanda tore her own clothes apart. Smack! She slapped her cheek so forcefully that anyone watching would wince at the sight. Once, twice, three times in a row. Soon, her skin was raw and her lips burst open, allowing a stream of red blood to flow.
The events happened so quickly that there was no time to make a sound. Iora could only stare, mouth agape.
“Kyaaah, ah! Why are you doing this, Iora! Kyaaah!”
Then, Arcanda screamed loudly and rolled on the ground alone.
“…What the…?”
“Kyaaah!”
It felt like watching an incredible scene from a daytime soap opera, but being the actual participant in that situation was vastly different from viewing it on a screen.
“Arcanda, what’s going on!”
And just on cue, someone had typically burst in through the door upon hearing the commotion. Of course, it was the male lead of the novel who came to rescue the female lead. Now, all that remained was for Iora to laugh bitterly at the absurdity of everything. She wondered again if this was, in fact, all just a dream… A terribly vicious nightmare.
“Cough, cough. Oh, Ovid.”
“Arcanda! Is that blood…?”
Arcanda sobbed with a profoundly mournful expression in Ovid’s arms. Even Iora, who knew the entire situation, was momentarily moved by the sadness in her voice and tears.
“Don’t blame Iora, please. I made her angry. Ugh! This is all from a misunderstanding… Aah.”
“Arcanda!”
It was such a perfect, well-scripted act, right down to the helpless fainting.
Perhaps the person in that body was an actor who played a villain in a daytime soap opera.
