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? !"

The pounding on the heavy oak door was relentless.

"Open the door!" Daulton roared, his fists hammering against the wood. "If you hurt him again, I swear to the Deity I'll kill you!"

Ella's heart slammed against her ribs. She stared at Cordaro, who was still lying motionless on the bed with the towel over his eyes. She had to fix this. She had to get back into character immediately.

She took a deep breath, forcing the panic down, and twisted her features into a mask of cold, furious rage.

She marched to the door, unlocked it, and yanked it open.

Daulton stumbled forward, his fist raised to strike the wood again. He barely stopped himself from punching Ella in the face.

Ella didn't hesitate. She slapped her palm hard against the doorframe, the loud crack echoing in the hallway.

"Are you out of your mind? !" she shrieked, her voice echoing with tyrannical fury. "Banging on my door in the middle of the night like a feral beast?"

Daulton's amber eyes were wild. He tried to look past her shoulder into the room, but Ella shifted her weight, using her body to completely block his line of sight.

Kevan came running down the hallway, his face pale. He grabbed Daulton's arm, trying to pull him back from the edge of suicide.

Just then, the cold, mechanical voice of Lex Cantor chimed in Ella's brain.

[Warning. Host's recent acts of kindness have caused Animosity Points to drop below the critical safety threshold. Please generate points immediately to avoid punishment. ]

Ella cursed the System. She needed to do something incredibly cruel, right now, to save her own skin.

She scanned her memories, looking for a target. She remembered the other consorts.

She reached out and grabbed Kevan by the front of his tunic, yanking him forward.

"Where is Cato?" she demanded, her voice dripping with venom. "Where is that crippled leopard? He's been gone for weeks."

Kevan trembled, his eyes dropping to the floor. "He... he was sent to the outer villages to trade for supplies, Master. He hasn't returned."

Ella let out a harsh, cruel laugh. "Good. That useless cripple was probably eaten by a low-tier slime monster. Saves me the trouble of feeding him."

The words were vile. Kevan flinched as if she had struck him. Daulton's wolf ears flattened completely against his skull, his chest heaving with suppressed rage.

[Ding. Animosity Points +50. Threshold not met. ]

It wasn't enough.

Ella's eyes darted to Daulton. Specifically, to the thick, silver-gray wolf tail extending from the base of his spine. It was currently rigid, sticking straight out in pure aggression.

For a wolf beastman, the tail was a point of immense pride and extreme physical sensitivity. Touching it without permission was the ultimate violation of dignity.

Ella didn't think. She just acted.

She let go of Kevan, stepped forward, and reached around Daulton. Her hand clamped down hard on the base of his wolf tail.

Daulton's entire body went rigid. His eyes blew wide open in absolute shock. A strangled, high-pitched yelp tore from his throat.

Ella didn't let go. To maximize the points, she deliberately ran her fingers up the sensitive fur, giving it a firm, mocking squeeze.

The physical overstimulation hit Daulton's nervous system like a freight train. His legs instantly gave out.

He collapsed onto his knees on the hallway floor, his face burning with a heat so intense he felt like he was on fire. Tears of pure, unadulterated humiliation pricked the corners of his eyes. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. He was completely paralyzed by the shame.

Kevan stared in horror. This was a new level of psychological torture.

Ella looked down at Daulton and let out a loud, mocking cackle.

"Look at the great wolf warrior," she sneered, her voice echoing down the hall. "I touch your tail and you fall to your knees like a weak little pup. You are pathetic."

A massive cascade of notifications exploded in Ella's vision.

[Ding. Animosity Points +300. Safety threshold exceeded. ]

Ella internally screamed apologies to the boy, but outwardly, she kicked his boot away in disgust.

"Get this embarrassing trash out of my hallway," she ordered Kevan.

Kevan quickly hauled the trembling, paralyzed Daulton to his feet and dragged him away down the corridor.

Ella watched them go, her chest heaving. She stepped back into the guest room and closed the heavy oak door, leaning her forehead against the cool wood. She was exhausted.

She turned around.

The breath left her lungs in a rush.

The towel was gone. Cordaro was sitting up against the headboard. His deep, intelligent eyes were wide open, staring directly at her.

He had heard everything. And he was fully awake.