The heavy double doors thudded shut behind them, sealing the bedroom in sudden, oppressive quiet.
Vernon crossed the room in long strides and threw Ira onto the vast bed. The white silk sheets billowed around her like a storm cloud. She landed on her back with a sharp gasp, immediately scrambling to sit up.
He followed instantly—looming, blood still seeping steadily from the gash across his abdomen. Before she could twist away, he caught both her wrists in his massive blood-slick palms and pressed her palms flat to the mattress beside her shoulder, caging her beneath him—knees bracketing her hips.
Ira thrashed. "Let me go! Let me go, you monster!"
Warm blood dripped from his wound, splattering onto her waist, soaking through the thin fabric of her school uniform in dark, spreading blooms.
Ira shrieked, twisting violently beneath him. "You're—you're bleeding— you are bleeding so much—"
Vernon's gaze burned into hers. His pupils were dark, and the whites of his eyes were veined with red, from the pain of bleeding.
His voice came out low and edged with something raw.
"Isn't this what you wanted?" He leaned closer until their faces were inches apart. "To see me bleed. To see me hurt. Are you satisfied now?"
Ira jerked beneath him, wrists straining against his grip. Tears spilled hot down her temples into her hair. "Let me go… please…"
He didn't move. His chest rose and fell in shallow, controlled breaths, the motion tugging fresh blood from the wound.
He leaned closer, breath ragged, the wound pulsing with every heartbeat. Blood dripping down.
"You can't even look at blood without screaming," he said, quieter now, almost mocking, almost pained.
"How exactly were you planning to kill the monsters, huh?"
Ira's sobs fractured. She hated him—hated him with every trembling inch of her body—yet the sight of the dark blood dripping from his wound, the faint tremor in his shoulders… something twisted painfully inside her chest. Hurt. Hurt for the monster. She didn't want to feel it.
Vernon kept his gaze fixed on her innocent face. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her head shaking faintly side to side—until he stepped closer. Too close. The movement stilled. Her eyes flew open, locking helplessly onto his.
Vernon spoke again, voice dropping to lethal silk.
"Get out of the city. As soon as possible. If you don't want a miserable death." He paused. "Understood?"
She stared up at him, lips trembling, saying nothing.
He continued, words carved and deliberate. "Take your family. Disappear. Never let me see your face again. Or it won't end well for you."
With that, he released her wrists and pushed himself upright. Blood dripped steadily onto the sheets as he stood. Ira stayed stiff, shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
Vernon turned and walked out without another word.
The corridor beyond was dim. Mr. Eldrin waited just outside the door, face ashen, hands clasped so tightly the knuckles stood white.
"Master—" His voice cracked as soon as he saw vernon. "You're bleeding far too much. Please, let me take you to the hospital now."
Vernon stared at him. "Take care of her," he said flatly. "Get her bathed. Get her dressed . Feed her properly. Then give her my card. Tell her to spend whatever she needs to leave the city as soon as possible."
Mr. Eldrin's eyes flickered with something close to anguish. "Master, please let's take you—"
"Take good care of her," Vernon repeated, softer this time. Almost pleading.
Mr. Eldrin stepped forward, reaching to support him. "At least let me call the car—"
-----
Inside the bedroom, Ira lay utterly still against the white sheets—now stained in spreading patches of red. Her uniform sticky with his blood. Tears slipped soundlessly from her eyes, tracing slow, glistening paths down her cheeks.
Some time later—minutes, maybe longer—the door opened quietly. Four maids entered, young women in crisp black uniforms, eyes downcast.
"Miss," one said gently, "please come with us. We've prepared a bath."
Ira was shocked. She didn't say anything.
The maids said , almost pleading, "Miss, please come with us."
Ira didn't say anything.
The maids freaked out.
They knelt beside the bed. "Please, miss. Come with us. It's master's orders. Or else we will be in great trouble ."
She nodded once, barely.
They helped her up, careful not to touch the stains, and guided her down a quiet corridor to a marble bathroom the size of a small suite.
A sunken tub—more like a private pool—steamed gently, scented with jasmine and rose, heavenly beautiful and expensive.
Ira was shocked to see such an expensive bathroom. Never in her life has she seen such a beautiful bathroom!
The maids urged , "Miss… please allow us to help you change."
Ira's breath hitched. She folded her arms tightly around herself, shrinking inward as if she could disappear.
"No," she whispered, barely audible.
The maids exchanged startled glances, worry flickering across their faces.
One of them understood Ira was feeling shy.
"Let Miss handle it herself," she said gently. "We should give her privacy."
She motioned for the others to leave. They bowed quietly and withdrew without protest.
When the door closed, silence settled over the room.
Alone, Ira removed the ruined school shirt, then the skirt, then the last of it—each piece falling into a damp, crimson-stained heap on the floor.
The bath was already drawn. Warm water shimmered beneath drifting rose petals, the air fragrant and almost unreal.
Slowly, she stepped in.
Heat wrapped around her body at once, easing muscles she hadn't realized were rigid with strain. The smooth stone beneath her fingers, the endless cascade of hot water, the soft golden light reflecting off marble streaked with veins of gold—it felt like another world entirely.
Her gaze drifted to the array of bathing oils and soaps arranged nearby. Each elegant bottle looked worth more than her family's monthly rent.
The maids returned quietly, carrying towels softer than clouds and a gown—cream silk that seemed to glow beneath the warm lights.
At the faint click of the door, Ira slipped deeper into the bath until the water reached the bridge of her nose. Rose petals drifted around her as only her eyes remained visible, wide and uncertain, watching them approach.
They placed the gown carefully over a velvet stand.
It was a long, flowing piece—sleeveless, with a graceful neckline and a fitted bodice that shaped the waist before cascading downward in a smooth river of silk. The skirt fell all the way to the floor, pooling slightly at the hem like spilled moonlight. The fabric was rich and heavy, yet it moved with liquid softness. Fine hand-stitched embroidery traced faint patterns along the waist and down the sides—subtle, elegant, unmistakably expensive. It was the kind of gown that cost more than most families lived on in months.
"Miss, please wear this and come out," one maid said gently before they withdrew once more.
To be continued....