Joan’s heart raced as her eyes caught the blood on Roman’s shirt, her mind immediately darting to worst-case scenarios. Yet before she could even get a word out, Roman cut her off with a sharp question.
“What’s going on with you?” he asked, his tone suspicious but not in any way tired or worn out as his appearance suggested.
Joan blinked, taken off guard. “What do you mean?” she shot back, her voice steady, though the pulse in her throat quickened.
“The noise,” Roman said, his eyes narrowing. “I just heard a crash.”
His gaze shifted toward the gap between the door and frame, clearly wanting a glimpse of whatever chaos was inside. Joan quickly leaned against the frame, blocking his view, her body rigid as if she could physically stop his curiosity.
“It was nothing,” she replied, forcing a tight smile. “Just… just some rearranging.” She added.
Roman didn’t buy it. “You’re sweating. And your eyes are red.” His gaze was unflinching, his brow furrowing as if to unravel the lie she was trying so hard to sell.
“I’m fine, really,” she insisted, her fingers clutching the doorframe a little too tightly, her knuckles white. “Like I said, I was doing some rearranging.”
Roman’s eyes flashed with something unreadable, and he took a deliberate step closer, his presence looming. But realizing how he was covered in blood, he stopped advancing.
“You know there are servants here for that,” he reminded her, his voice dropping a notch. “If you needed help, you should’ve called them. You don’t need to do anything on your own.”
“Are there female servants? There are things I can’t let a man do for me.” She countered, and Roman didn’t know how to respond to that. Instead, he made a mental note to employ a female servant for her comfort.
With that, he backed off. He had a feeling that something was going on, but since she didn’t want to spill it, he didn’t want to force her.
He turned around to walk away, and Joan’s nursing instincts kicked in.
“You’re injured. You should go to the hospital.”
Roman paused his movement. “It’s not my blood.” He uttered, making Joan’s heart race. “But I’d appreciate it if you offer to clean me up just like the first time we met.” Roman added, and Joan frowned.
Without a word, she walked back into her room and shut the door.
Now in the comfort of her company alone, Joan sagged against the door, her legs weak beneath her. Anger surged through her as she thought of his last words. The audacity to remind her of the day she made the mistake that landed her in this mess.
Her eyes swept across the room as she remembered her dream and how the mess came about. As she tried to make sense of it all, her mind drifted back to her missing mother. The memories hit her hard, like a gut punch. Where was she? The gnawing confusion in her chest felt unbearable. She shook her head, forcing herself to focus.
“I need to find out what’s happening,” she whispered to herself, moving quickly to straighten the room. Her hands worked on autopilot, gathering the scattered papers and righting the overturned chairs. She knew she had to hurry.
Meanwhile, downstairs, Cody opened the door, already knowing someone was approaching. His eyes, however, narrowed when he saw who stood on the threshold.
“Irene,” he muttered, his frown deepening. Without thinking, he stepped forward to block her path. “You’re not allowed in here, and you know it.”
But before he could finish his sentence, Irene clenched her fist tightly, her eyes turning white and locking onto his with a cold, unwavering stare.
Cody felt it immediately. A force-a strange, invisible power-slammed into him like a brick wall. His body jerked backward, crashing against the hallway floor, his breath knocked clean out of his lungs. The door stood wide open now, a clear invitation for Irene to walk right in, unchallenged.
“I told you not to mess with me,” she said coldly, stepping over Cody’s sprawled body as if he were nothing more than an inconvenience. “And I told you not to try to stop me again.” Her voice carried a cold edge, one that echoed through the entranceway as she sauntered deeper into the house.
Cody, still gasping for air, clutched his throat, trying to steady his breathing. He writhed in pain, but managed to shoot a venomous glare at Irene’s retreating figure. The sound of his gasping drew attention from the next room. Daniel and Trevor appeared in the hallway, their expressions sharpening as they took in the sight of Cody on the floor, fighting for air.
Trevor, with bloodstains still smeared across his shirt, looked utterly drained, his body slumped from exhaustion. His face, pale and tense, contorted as he glanced from Cody to Irene, who was making her way toward the staircase.
“What the hell is all this for?” Trevor demanded, his voice thick with irritation. His brows knitted together as his gaze fixed on Irene, trying to read her next move. But Irene didn’t bother answering him. She continued toward the stairs as if nobody could stop her.
Trevor’s jaw tightened, his exhaustion making his temper even shorter. He moved to block her path, just at the same time as Daniel did.
“Are you crazy? You think you can just walk in here whenever you like despite knowing there’s an order not to let you in?” Trevor asked, being cautious when he saw her eyes were still white, and in that state, she was extremely dangerous.
“Get out of my way, Trevor. I have tolerated your bullshit enough. Don’t make me move you myself.” Irene spoke in an overly calm tone.
“Move me?” Trevor chuckled. “You overestimate yourself, Irene.”
“I don’t. I know I can’t stand you on a normal day, but right now I can sense your weakness. You’re exhausted because you’ve been fighting all night. And in your current state, you’re no match for me. Neither is this stupid werewolf trying to block my path.”
“Who are you calling a stupid werewol-aghhh” Daniel started to speak, but immediately switched to screaming because Irene suddenly attacked him with her spell.
Trevor tried to intervene, but he received the same attack, and let out a loud groan when they were both thrown away from before her.