The Villains Must Win-Chapter 88: Valerian Cross 8

"So . . . now that we’re all buddy-buddy, can you untie me?" Evelyn asked, shifting uncomfortably. "Because lying here on this cold stone floor, shackled like some overgrown pet, is not exactly the luxurious experience I signed up for."

Valerian stood, dusted off his coat, and . . . walked away.

Evelyn blinked. "Wait. Wait. You’re not seriously—hey! Hey! Are you just gonna leave me here? Cross? Cross?! Valerian Cross!"

The only response was the heavy clang of the iron gate slamming shut.

Evelyn stared at the ceiling, completely dumbfounded. ". . . That bastard."

And then a much more pressing thought struck her.

"Wait—where am I supposed to pee?! I need to pee!"

Her outraged voice echoed through the dungeon. No response. If anyone had heard her, they were either ignoring her . . . or just enjoying the show.

=== ===

"That damn Valerian . . . he actually left me there?" Evelyn muttered as she trailed behind the maid leading her through the grand halls of the mansion. Her wrists were still sore from the shackles, and she swore she could feel the cold dungeon floor haunting her bones.

"My lord did not leave you, my lady," the maid corrected stiffly. "He ordered me to fetch you and bring you to your quarters."

Evelyn scoffed. "Oh, how thoughtful. He couldn’t be bothered to do it himself? Isn’t that what gentlemen are supposed to do?"

The maid hesitated. "My lord has many important duties—"

"Yeah, yeah. Brooding on a balcony, sharpening a dagger menacingly, looking down on people—very time-consuming, I’m sure."

The maid bit her lip, clearly uncomfortable. Evelyn could sense it—she wasn’t welcome here. Not that she cared. People fearing her wasn’t exactly new.

"I hope you don’t take offense," the maid added carefully, as if picking her words like one might handle a venomous snake. "My lord only wishes for your comfort."

Evelyn smirked. "Oh, honey, I live for offense. It’s like breakfast for me."

What she didn’t know was that while she’d been left to stew in the dungeon, Valerian had made a little . . . announcement to the entire household.

"I know many of you disapprove of my decision to bring a witch into our ranks, but desperate times call for desperate measures. I will take full responsibility for her presence. Do not worry—I have ensured her compliance with a blood contract. She is bound by magic to follow the terms we’ve set.

"That said, be extremely cautious around her. Though she cannot kill humans, there is nothing in the contract that says she won’t curse you, hex you, or turn your hair into live, hissing serpents just for fun. This woman is a menace. A trickster. A vile, cackling, spell-slinging lunatic. Choose your words carefully. That is all."

The maid shuddered just remembering that speech. No wonder she was treating Evelyn like a ticking time bomb.

Meanwhile, Evelyn yawned dramatically. "So, does my room come with a bathtub? Because I reek of dungeon smell, and I’d like to wash off the betrayal."

The maid didn’t answer. She just walked faster.

As soon as the maid pushed open the door to Evelyn’s room, she practically sprinted away like any more time in Evelyn’s presence would turn her into a frog. Maybe a particularly ugly frog, just for amusement.

Evelyn smirked as she watched the maid disappear down the hall. "Charming."

Turning her attention back to the room, she took in the sight before her. It was luxurious—lavish, even—like something meant for a princess. Soft, elegant furniture, golden candle sconces, plush bedding fit for royalty.

Valerian actually gave me a room like this?

She was touched. Almost.

"It seems you like it."

She didn’t need to turn around to know who had spoken.

Valerian Cross. His voice was like smooth velvet wrapped around steel, deep, and emotionless. When she finally glanced at him, he stood in the doorway, his usual expression—a deadly mix of brooding contemplation and mild irritation—plastered across his face. He looked like a man who spent most of his time thinking about war and occasionally about murder.

"There you are." Evelyn crossed her arms. "If you were going to check on me, you could have freed me and brought me here yourself. What was the point of leaving me shackled to the floor for an hour? I could’ve died. Of boredom, obviously."

Valerian barely blinked. "I’m glad you like the room." His voice was even, completely dismissing her complaints. "This is where you’ll be staying from now on. Rest tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll show you around HQ. After that, you’ll start working."

"You?" Evelyn grinned. "You’re going to be my personal tour guide?"

"It’s to make sure you don’t run around cursing people the moment I take my eyes off you." He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "At least with me watching, I can personally ensure you’re behaving."

Evelyn tilted her head, her lips curling mischievously. "If you’re so worried about me, why don’t you just tie me to your side forever?" Her expression was unreadable, her voice teasing—but her poker face only made it sound more sinister.

Valerian’s jaw twitched. For a brief moment, something flashed in his eyes—annoyance? Amusement? Interest? It was gone before she could decipher it.

"I’ll have clothes delivered to your room," he said instead, as if he hadn’t heard her. "Get some rest. Breakfast starts at seven."

Then he turned, walking away without another word.

Evelyn watched his retreating form, her gaze trailing down from his broad shoulders to his tapered waist and—

Damn it.

Even his back was ridiculously attractive. His long, slender legs moved with effortless grace, the kind of controlled power that made women swoon and men wary. He was the definition of a workaholic—dedicated to his cause, unshakable in his resolve, tragically indifferent to romance.

Women had fallen for him before, plenty of them, but none had ever dared to voice their feelings. He was the type to prioritize duty over love, saving humanity over finding a partner.

But Evelyn knew one thing for certain—if you wanted a man like that, you didn’t go for romance.

You made yourself indispensable.