Ella pushed open the heavy oak doors to her study. The room was suffocatingly opulent, filled with dark velvet drapes and towering bookshelves.

She stepped inside, and Kevan followed, closing the doors behind him with a soft click. The thick wood instantly muted the sounds of the estate.

Without a word, Kevan walked to the center of the expensive Persian rug. He dropped to his knees. He raised his arms, presenting his bloodied, ruined hands palms-up, offering them for whatever torture she had planned.

Looking at his pathetic, submissive posture, Ella cursed the original owner to hell and back. What kind of psychopath conditioned a man to do this?

She kept her face blank and walked around her massive mahogany desk. She opened a drawer, pretending to search for a weapon.

In her mind, she accessed the System shop. She spent the last of her newly acquired points on two low-tier Healing Sprays.

She turned around. In her right hand, she held a small, braided leather riding crop she had found in the drawer. Hidden in the palm of her left hand was a tiny, metallic aerosol canister.

She walked slowly toward Kevan. She used the wooden handle of the crop to tilt his chin up, forcing him to look into her cold eyes.

"You ruined my silk gown," she said softly, her tone dripping with malice. "Water won't wash away your sin. Only a potion of pure agony will do."

Before Kevan could brace himself, Ella brought her left hand down. She aimed the concealed nozzle directly at his open wounds and pressed the button.

A fine, cold mist sprayed over his sliced flesh.

The instant the liquid hit his exposed nerves, a blinding, searing pain shot up Kevan's arms. He convulsed, a sharp gasp tearing from his throat. His muscles locked up, and he bit down on his lower lip so hard it bled.

He thought she had sprayed him with acid.

But three seconds later, the burning vanished. It was replaced by an intense, soothing coolness.

Kevan stared at his hands. The deep, jagged cuts were literally knitting themselves back together. The bleeding stopped entirely, leaving only thin, pink scars.

His gray eyes widened in absolute shock. He looked up at Ella, his mind completely unable to process what had just happened. This wasn't agony. This was a miracle.

Ella didn't give him time to think. She kicked him hard in the thigh, knocking him off balance.

"Pathetic," she sneered. "You can't even scream properly. Get out of my sight. And tell that stupid wolf pup Daulton to get in here. It's his turn."

Kevan scrambled up. He clutched his healed hands to his chest, giving her one last, deeply conflicted look before hurrying out the door.

Five minutes later, the doors slammed open. Daulton was shoved inside by a guard.

He smelled strongly of horse manure and sweat. He stood in the center of the room, his fists clenched at his sides, glaring at Ella with pure defiance. He looked like a feral animal backed into a corner.

Ella looked at the gray wolf ears standing straight up on his head, twitching with aggression.

"Turn around," she commanded, slapping the riding crop against her palm. "Hands behind your head. Kneel."

Daulton's face flushed with humiliation. But he thought of Cordaro, still recovering in the dungeon. He couldn't risk angering her now.

He gritted his teeth, turned his back to her, and dropped into a crouch, lacing his fingers behind his head. He left his back completely exposed.

Ella stepped up behind him. She aimed the second canister of Healing Spray at the crisscrossing network of old, inflamed whip scars on his back.

She sprayed.

Daulton violently shuddered as the initial sting hit him, his breath hissing through his teeth.

While the medicine did its work, Ella's eyes drifted up to his fluffy, gray wolf ears. She reached out, intending to violently yank his left ear as a physical reprimand. But the moment her fingers clamped around the base, Daulton violently shuddered, a pathetic whine trapped in his throat. The raw, terrified reaction triggered a sudden, overwhelming flashback to a highly stressed rescue dog she had once treated. Her veterinary instincts completely short-circuited her brain. Instead of pulling, her grip accidentally softened. Her thumb subconsciously rubbed in small, firm circles over a cluster of sensitive nerve endings.

The sensation hit Daulton's brain like a lightning bolt.

It was a feeling of such intense, overwhelming physical pleasure that his body completely betrayed him. His eyes rolled back slightly, and a deep, vibrating purr rumbled out of his chest.

The second the sound hit the air, Daulton froze.

His face turned a violent, burning shade of crimson. The sheer humiliation of making a submissive, happy noise for his abuser shattered his pride. He spun around, scrambling backward like she had burned him, his eyes wide with horror and rage.

Ella bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing. She instantly contorted her face into a mask of pure disgust.

She pointed the crop right at his nose.

"You disgusting freak," she shrieked, her voice echoing in the study. "Making a filthy noise like that when I'm trying to punish you? You make me sick!"

Daulton's shame instantly morphed into a burning, toxic humiliation. He looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole.

[Ding. Animosity Points +150. ]

"Get out!" Ella yelled, throwing a heavy book at the door.

Daulton practically tore the doors off the hinges as he fled.

Ella leaned back against her desk, letting out a long, exhausted breath. She rubbed her aching facial muscles. Acting like a psychopath was exhausting.

Just as she closed her eyes, a heavy knock sounded at the door.

"Master," the head butler called out nervously. "An envoy from the Saintess Kendra Klein is here. She invites you and your consorts to the central plaza for the Blessing Ceremony."

Ella stood before the full-length mirror, adjusting the heavy, suffocating layers of her dark crimson and black gown. It was the traditional attire of the estate's matriarch, designed to look imposing and severe.

She stepped out of the estate gates, flanked by Kevan and Daulton.

The moment her boots hit the cobblestone street leading to the central plaza, the atmosphere shifted. The bustling noise of the market died instantly.

The beastmen and commoners lining the streets stopped what they were doing. They turned to look at her, their faces twisting into masks of pure, unfiltered hatred and fear. Mothers pulled their children behind them. Men gripped the hilts of their hunting knives.

Someone from the back of the crowd spat a wad of phlegm onto the cobblestones near her feet.

"Poisonous witch," a voice hissed from the shadows. "Harbinger of ruin."

Daulton walked on Ella's right. Despite his hatred for her, his warrior instincts kicked in. His muscles coiled tight, his amber eyes scanning the hostile crowd, ready to fight.

Kevan walked on her left. He kept his head bowed, the hood of his tattered cloak pulled low, hiding his face. He was used to this. Being bound to the tyrant meant sharing her infamy.

Ella kept her chin high and her face completely blank. Inside, she was screaming. Just how many people did this original body torture to earn this level of hatred?

They broke through the crowd and entered the massive central plaza.

In the center stood a raised wooden platform covered in thousands of expensive, blooming white roses. Standing amidst the flowers was a woman in a flowing, pure white dress. She had soft blonde hair and a face that radiated gentle innocence.

Kendra Klein. The Saintess.

When the crowd saw Kendra, their hatred vanished, replaced by a fanatical, feverish worship. Deafening cheers erupted, praising her name.

Ella rolled her eyes so hard they almost got stuck in the back of her head. It was the classic, textbook setup of a manipulative, two-faced villainess.

Kendra spotted Ella. Her face lit up with a brilliant, joyful smile. She lifted the hem of her white dress and practically floated down the steps of the platform, running toward them.

"Sister!" Kendra cried out, her voice dripping with sugary sweetness. She reached out, trying to link her arm affectionately through Ella's.

Ella didn't miss a beat. She violently yanked her arm away, slapping Kendra's hand back with a loud smack.

The crowd gasped in collective outrage.

Kendra stumbled back a half-step. Her large blue eyes instantly filled with unshed tears. She looked down at her red hand, the perfect picture of a bullied, innocent victim trying to stay strong.

"I'm sorry, sister," Kendra whispered, loud enough for the front row to hear. "I just missed you."

Kendra then turned her teary gaze to Daulton and Kevan. A flash of cold calculation passed through her eyes, gone so fast Ella almost missed it.

"Oh, by the Primal Deity!" Kendra gasped, covering her mouth. "Your wounds... they look so much better! I prayed all night for you both. I begged the Deity to let my holy water ease your suffering. It worked!"

The crowd erupted again, shouting praises for the Saintess's boundless mercy. She even heals the tyrant's dirty pets!

Daulton's ears perked up. The hostility in his eyes melted away. He looked at Kendra with profound, genuine gratitude, even bowing his head slightly in respect.

Ella ground her teeth together. She wanted to scream that she was the one who spent her points and risked her life to heal them, but the System's rules kept her mouth shut. She had to swallow the injustice.

But Kevan didn't bow.

He stood perfectly still, his gray eyes locked onto Kendra. There was no gratitude in his gaze. Only a cold, piercing observation.

Kendra stepped closer to Kevan. She raised her hand, a faint, glowing white light radiating from her palm. "Let me see your hands, poor thing. Let me finish healing them."

As her hand reached out, Kevan took a smooth, deliberate step backward.

He completely avoided her touch.

"I wouldn't want to dirty the Saintess's pure hands," Kevan said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion.

Kendra's hand froze in mid-air. A muscle in her jaw twitched with hidden fury, but she quickly masked it with a sad, understanding smile. "Of course. I understand your trauma."

Ella couldn't take the fake acting anymore. She let out a loud, mocking laugh that cut through the plaza.

"Prayers?" Ella sneered loudly. "Your little light show is nothing but cheap parlor tricks, Kendra. You couldn't heal a paper cut if your life depended on it."

The words were absolute heresy.

The crowd went feral. A massive beastman near the front roared in anger. He bent down, scooped up a jagged piece of cobblestone, and hurled it directly at Ella's head.

Daulton saw the rock coming. His instinct was to dodge, to let the tyrant take the hit.

But before the rock could connect, a shadow moved.

Kevan stepped directly in front of Ella, his face pale with the sudden realization that if she died here, the Beast Mark would instantly detonate his own core. He reached out, intending to shove her out of the trajectory, but he miscalculated the speed of the projectile. As he twisted to push her aside, he inadvertently exposed his own back to the angry mob.

Thud.

The heavy stone slammed into Kevan's spine. He grunted, his body jerking forward, but he didn't fall. He stayed planted firmly between Ella and the angry mob.

Ella stared at his back, completely stunned. Why would the man she had supposedly tortured for years take a rock for her?

Kendra quickly raised her hands, projecting her voice over the crowd. "Please! Stop! Do not hurt my sister, no matter how lost she is!"

The crowd slowly calmed down under her soothing voice, but their glares remained fixed on Ella.

Ella didn't care about the crowd anymore. She stared at the dust on Kevan's cloak, a deep, unsettling suspicion taking root in her mind.

Night fell over the estate, bringing a heavy, suffocating silence. Ella dismissed all the servants, claiming their breathing annoyed her, and sent them to the outer quarters.

Once the halls were empty, she summoned Kevan.

"Go to the dungeon," she ordered, keeping her voice sharp. "Drag Cordaro up to the second-floor guest room. Do not let anyone see you."

Kevan didn't ask questions. He bowed and left.

Twenty minutes later, Kevan staggered into the lavish guest room, carrying Cordaro's massive, unconscious weight over his shoulder. He dumped the wolf beastman onto the center of the massive, velvet-covered bed.

The room was a stark contrast to the dungeon. A warm fire crackled in the hearth, casting a soft orange glow over the thick carpets and silk drapes.

"Get out," Ella snapped at Kevan. "And lock the door behind you."

Kevan hesitated for a fraction of a second, his eyes darting to Cordaro, before he bowed and exited. The heavy lock clicked shut.

Ella was finally alone.

She let out a long, shuddering breath. Her shoulders slumped, the arrogant posture draining out of her body. She walked over to the bed and looked down at Cordaro.

The blue serum had done its job perfectly. His breathing was deep and rhythmic. The horrific wounds on his chest were sealed under thick, healthy scabs. The fever had completely broken.

But he was still covered in dried blood, dungeon grime, and sweat. His thick fur was matted and stiff.

As a veterinarian, Ella had a pathological need to keep her patients clean. She couldn't stand seeing an animal-or a beastman-in such a filthy state. It violated every professional instinct she had.

She walked into the adjoining washroom and filled a silver basin with warm water. She grabbed a stack of soft, clean cotton towels.

Returning to the bed, she sat on the edge. She dipped a towel into the warm water, wrung it out, and gently began to wipe the grime from Cordaro's face.

Her movements were incredibly soft, practiced, and precise. She wiped away the dried blood from his jawline, avoiding the sensitive areas around his eyes.

The warmth of the water and the gentle friction seeped into Cordaro's subconscious.

He was trapped in a dark, painful limbo between sleep and waking. But suddenly, the pain began to recede. He felt a soft, warm hand pressing a damp cloth to his forehead.

The hand moved to his ears. The fingers were skilled, pressing exactly into the pressure points at the base of his skull, releasing the deep, coiled tension in his muscles.

It was a touch so tender, so completely devoid of malice, that Cordaro's fever-addled brain thought he was dreaming of his late mother.

A tiny, fragile whimper-a sound he hadn't made since he was a pup-escaped his lips.

Hearing that sound, Ella's heart melted completely. She forgot where she was. She forgot she was playing a tyrant.

She reached out and gently stroked the soft fur of his gray wolf ears. She leaned in close, her lips brushing against the shell of his ear.

"You're going to be okay," she whispered in that same strange, soft, otherworldly cadence.

Those two foreign words, spoken in a tone of pure, unadulterated kindness, acted like a lightning strike in Cordaro's brain.

His consciousness violently snapped awake.

That wasn't his mother. And it absolutely, unequivocally was not the sadistic Ella Ortiz. The woman who tortured him didn't know how to be gentle. She didn't speak whatever strange, melodic language that was.

Cordaro fought the heavy lethargy in his limbs. He forced his eyes to open, just a fraction of an inch.

Through the narrow slit of his eyelashes, illuminated by the flickering firelight, he saw her face.

Ella was leaning over him. Her eyes weren't filled with the usual manic cruelty. They were soft, focused, and brimming with a pure, clinical empathy.

Just as his vision began to clear entirely, Ella noticed the slight change in his breathing pattern.

Panic spiked in her chest. He's waking up.

She jerked backward, her heart leaping into her throat. In her haste, the damp towel slipped from her hand and landed squarely over Cordaro's eyes, blinding him again.

Ella scrambled off the bed, putting five feet of distance between them. She mentally screamed for the System, ready to buy a stun gun if he attacked her.

Cordaro didn't move. He lay perfectly still under the towel.

He couldn't see her, but he could smell her. The sharp, metallic scent of the dungeon was gone. Instead, the air was filled with Ella's unique scent-a cold, crisp fragrance like winter pine.

His mind raced, processing the impossible data. The tyrant had moved him to a warm bed. She was cleaning him. She had touched him with a tenderness that made his soul ache.

Who is this woman? Cordaro thought, his heart pounding against his ribs. Because she is not my Master.

Before Cordaro could pull the towel off his face, a violent, frantic pounding echoed from the hallway.

"Master!" Daulton's voice screamed through the thick oak door, raw with panic. "Open the door! What are you doing to him? !"