Ascension Of The Villain-Chapter 285: House That Played Dead

She stared at him for a long beat, then exhaled slowly. "Ugh. I hate that you're right. There's no need to take unnecessary risks. If your instincts are ringing the warning bells, we listen to them."

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"Good." He offered his hand and wiggled his brows. "So… shall we go to the hotel now, my lady?"

———

As they stepped into the hotel room in Preaton, Iyana halted two steps in. Her sharp violet eyes scanned the suite—rose-tinted lighting, a velvet chaise by the window, a king-sized bed draped in silk sheets, and a lot of flower petals and heart-shaped pillows all around.

Her head slowly turned toward Vyan.

He had the nerve to smile.

"This," she said flatly, "is definitely a honeymoon suite."

Vyan gave a shameless shrug, his hands in his pockets like he hadn't just walked them into the den of sin with a 'who, me?' face.

"Aren't you the one who told me to take my mind out of the gutter?" she asked, raising a brow.

"That doesn't mean my mind wasn't there," he replied smoothly, voice rich and warm with that trademark, unrepentant smirk. "Like most healthy men my age, I too have sex, sleep, and money on my mind most of the time, my lady. It's only natural."

"Charming."

But before she could shoot back another line, he was already shedding his suit jacket with practiced ease, then unfastening his vest, and sitting on the edge of the bed with a kind of lazy confidence that made her throat feel dry.

He leaned back onto the heel of his palm, muscles stretching just enough to tease, then loosened his tie with one hand, eyes never leaving hers.

And then he reached out a hand toward her, fingers curling in a silent beckon that was equal parts invitation and challenge.

"You can't tell me," he said, voice low and coaxing, "that you don't want it too."

Iyana walked toward him, slow, casual, deliberately tilting her head. "What? Sleep and money? I'd love some of that," she replied innocently.

Vyan chuckled darkly, that crooked grin tugging at his lips. "No, my beloved. The first thing."

He caught her by the waist and pulled her gently forward until she stood between his legs, her hands resting against his shoulders. His thumb brushed along her bottom lip—soft, reverent, like he was memorizing the curve of it.

"You're really thinking about it," she murmured, her tone a mix of amusement and disbelief, "when death might be waiting for you tomorrow? When your home might be under attack right about now?"

"Can you really blame me?" he murmured, his hand sliding around her waist, caressing down to her hips before squeezing lightly. He leaned in, and his lips found the delicate hollow between her neck and collarbone, pressing a kiss that lingered. "When my fiancée looks so damn irresistible… I can't quite think of anything else."

It had been a while. Weeks, maybe. They had been drowning in duties, imperial councils, politics, plotting, and shadows creeping from every corner. But in this room, with no one watching and no one to interrupt—they could just feel.

Iyana's smirk curled, slow and wicked.

"Well," she said, giving him a firm push to the chest.

He fell back onto the bed with a soft grunt, propped against the plush pillows, looking far too pleased with himself.

She climbed on top of him, straddling him with fluid grace, her hair cascading like silk around her face. Her eyes met his with fire and tease.

"If you're really going to get me started," she whispered, voice sultry, "then you'd better be prepared to take responsibility for me the entire night."

"Oh?" Vyan's smile turned roguish. "Surprisingly, I had the same thing in mind. So you'd better not run out of breath, my lady."

She leaned down, her breath ghosting over his lips.

"You're the one who should worry about that."

———

Just as Vyan had predicted, they came like shadows at midnight.

When the Ashstone manor had fallen into its deepest silence—no light flickering in its windows, no hearth glowing with warmth—black-cloaked figures slipped through its boundaries like ink bleeding into paper. Their boots made no sound against the gravel paths. Not a single alarm was raised. No guards stirred. The world slept on.

Surprisingly, there was no resistance. No magical barrier. Not even a faint shimmer of protective runes.

One of the intruders paused, narrowing his eyes at the manor's hushed silhouette. He glanced around warily, his gloved hand tightening over the hilt of his blade. "Isn't this… suspicious?" he whispered, voice barely audible beneath his breath. "Weren't we told that the Grand Duke was a mage? Why was there no magical barrier?"

His fingers curled slightly over the insignia gleaming on his chest—an imperial crest. The silver glint caught the moonlight like a silent accusation: the personal army of an imperial.

Another scoffed softly. "There's no proof. His Imperial Highness is just guessing. For all we know, His Grace is telling the truth about being a disgrace to his powerful bloodline."

A third murmured, "All the better if he's telling the truth. A powerful mage alone can take on ten soldiers. So, let's be grateful that our target's not a mage."

Someone else rolled his eyes. "Let's just do our job. We weren't sent here to weigh whether he's a mage or not. We'll have to finish him, no matter what he is."

From the far end of the corridor, someone whispered triumphantly, most likely a mage, "I've sealed the knights' quarter. No one's getting out. Even if they hear the scream of their master, they'll never make it past the binding."

Most of them were relieved, well aware that they'd never be able to take on the Ashstone knights. The standard for passing their knight exam was way too high. They had a reputation to maintain, after all. Being the successors of the Late Grand Duchess, Natalia Audrey Ashstone's army.

As they moved forward in secrecy, one of them grunted. "Still… this whole setup feels off. A Grand Duke's estate with such lax security? It doesn't sit right."

Their leader, Kendrick—a tall, broad-shouldered man with eyes that had seen too much conspiracies and too little consequence—snorted. It wasn't the first time he was here. Sixteen years ago, he had come here as well. To do something similar as today. He had seen the little child that night, crying and sobbing, shielded and protected by his family who bled to save his pathetic life.

"That kid is new to the game. He was a child when he lost all the privileges of a noble. He probably thinks security means locking his bedroom door. Now move. We're wasting time."

He had chased after the five-year-old boy to take his life but had failed back then. He was ashamed and humiliated by the emperor. Was demoted to protecting a prince. Now fate was giving him another chance. To fulfill his destiny and prove his worth. Vyan Blake Ashstone was truly meant to die at his hands.

And so, they pressed forward. Through hallways that seemed too quiet. Past rooms that felt too empty. Not even a servant stirred.

The entire manor felt… abandoned.

Finally, they reached the Grand Duke's chambers. Not even locked.

The heavy oak doors creaked open, revealing a dim room with thick curtains drawn against the moonlight. On the massive bed lay a figure—still, quiet, breathing shallowly.

They moved fast. Efficient. A blade slid out.

It was over in seconds.

The body twisted, struggled, convulsed. Blood soaked the sheets.

Satisfied, Kendrick stepped forward and yanked the duvet away to confirm the kill.

Silence.

And then, he swore, "What the hell—"

It wasn't the Grand Duke.

It wasn't even a servant.

It was one of their own.

A knight. One of the men who'd entered the estate with them, now lying cold and lifeless in a pool of his own blood. His eyes frozen open in horror. His mouth parted as if he'd tried to speak.

A hush fell over the room. No one moved. No one spoke.

Until one of them yelled at the top of their lungs, "Fuck, run! It's a trap!"