Lily de Winter (5)

If his affection was a mirage anyway, then there was no need to cling to her father's love. Her father had never intended to give her any affection in the first place.

Shylock predicted the magnitude of her affection by recounting the things he had forcibly given her. Money, time, education, and more.

If what her father said was right, then all of that was truly evidence of love.

Wasn't it that she was truly loved by Vlad now?

What Vlad gave her was not mere wealth. There was the power that came from the things he had built up throughout his life.

The power I have is love. At least, I have it.

She pulled Dandelion, who staggered and ended up beside her.

Now, it means that Dandelion, whom I love, is far more powerful than you.

Whoa, sister

She stared intently at her father. The incompetent person is not me, it's you!

This.

To be compared to his second son, who was treated worse than the bugs that wriggled under his feet No matter how much of a genius he was as he maintained his rationality, there was a limit to what he could endure.

I raised a worn-out bitch! Shylock gritted his teeth and strode down the stairs.

Urgh! Dandelion flinched, screwing his eyes shut.

Hanging onto his sister's arm, he opened his eyes. His eyes widened.

Their father was as stiff as a man tangled in a spider's web. He saw fingers gripping Shylock's pale neck.

Slowly raising his head, a man a head taller was standing beside their father.

Vlad Lily murmured in disbelief, who had witnessed vividly what had just happened.

It looked like he fell from the sky.

Standing behind Shylock, he glanced at Lily with bright red eyes. He seemed to be watching closely for any injuries. His brow narrowed as he checked his wife's pale lips.

Vlad slowly tightened his grip on Shylock's nape. You crossed the line of family conversation, Shylock Isles.

Shylock shuddered.

It seemed that he had become prey on the verge of dying. From behind, the gigantic hand that wrapped around his neck were fangs embedded in the jaws of a predator.

He pulled Shylock back.

Argh! His back slammed into the stairs. He didn't even feel the pain.

A huge darkness covered Shylock, who had fallen on the stairs. It was Vlad's shadow.

The hair all over his body stood up straight. The sunlight reflecting off the chandelier couldn't reach him and he seemed to fall into the abyss.

Like the lord of the underworld, the cursed blood color was clearly imprinted on his eerie eyes.

He stepped on Shylock's chest.

Ugh!

It was as if there was a lump of iron on his chest, a broken rib piercing his heart.

Vladislav de Winter stared silently at Shylock, engulfed in fear. It was as if the predator was watching its prey writhing with broken legs.

There was neither sympathy nor interest. Rather, that gaze proved that Shylock's pain and life or death depended on his moods.

I can feel your pulse. Vlad tilted his head crookedly. You're asking me to save you.

It was a low-pitched voice, but it seemed to have a creepy smile.

From his lips to his mouth, Shylock was surviving like a traveler in the desert. According to Vlad's words, blood was on the nape of his neck and in his ears, answering his own thoughts.

You must have stopped thinking. Who did you think you were and what you could do? It won't come to mind at all, it's just

I don't want this situation to end, Shylock Isles.

Even in the dining room, Shylock realized that he had been showing mercy.

It was really bizarre. His heart, which never pounded even after many nobles put knives to his neck, struggled and ran wild.

It's scary, it's scary!

As if hearing a primal cry, Vlad raised the corners of his mouth. Then he slowly removed the foot that had rested on his chest.

A cold voice choked his breath as if thick ice had been applied to the blade.

That's the feeling of being threatened. Never forget it. Vlad let him go.

Shylock felt as if the pebbles that had been clinging to his neck had slipped out. His airway felt wide enough to breathe at once, and then a cough came out.

His silver hair was in an uncharacteristic mess.

His self-esteem was never crushed by helplessness. When he regained his strength, he only wanted to get out of this position. But there was no strength in his trembling legs.

Vlad, who was watching Shylock calmly, turned his head. Do you have any injuries, Lily?