Into the Apocalypse: Saving My Favorite Villain-Chapter 107: Where the Truth Can No Longer Hide

Cassel — POV

I know Rosalia is someone special.

I’ve known it from the very beginning.

There is something about her presence that refuses to blend into the background, something that disrupts the natural order of our world.

And I know—somehow—that she knows far too much. Far more than she should. As if she’s standing half a step ahead of fate itself.

I also know she has probably never met this man face-to-face before.

And I know—without a doubt—that she doesn’t harbor any romantic feelings for him.

I can see that clearly.

Her heartbeat doesn’t change for him.

Her breath doesn’t falter.

But still...

I can’t stand the way she looks at him.

Why?

Because that look—brief, focused, filled with recognition—doesn’t belong to just anyone.

Because somehow, impossibly, he seems special to her.

And that... that is what claws at my chest.

My brows knitted together before I even realized what I was doing. My hand moved on instinct, clamping firmly over Rosalia’s mouth.

She stiffened in surprise before her fury exploded, her eyes blazing as she glared up at me like I had committed an unforgivable crime.

Call me childish.

Call me petty.

I don’t care.

I don’t want her talking to him.

I don’t want her acknowledging him.

I don’t even want her eyes drifting in his direction.

Her teeth grazed my skin—a warning bite, sharp enough to send a spark racing through my nerves.

Heat surged violently through my body, flaring without permission.

It didn’t hurt.

It was worse than that.

It awakened something reckless.

Something dangerous.

Her gaze alone—focused, furious, unyielding—was enough to unravel me.

Yes.

Look at me like that.

Only at me.

Me—and no one else.

Don’t ever look at anyone else.

"Boss," Frederick’s voice cut through the tension, oblivious and irritating, "what should we do with this man? Miss Rosalia seems to know him. Doesn’t that make him our friend?"

The air in the room froze.

A suffocating silence swallowed everything.

I had been so completely consumed by Rosalia—by the warmth beneath my palm, her familiar scent, the way her body reacted to mine—that the rest of the world had momentarily ceased to exist.

Until that sentence dragged it all crashing back.

My anger surged violently to the surface, tearing through the fragile restraint I had forced upon myself.

All because of that idiot.

"What?" Frederick added, glancing around nervously. "Why are you all looking at me like that? Am I wrong?"

From the corner of my eye, I caught Henry’s lips twitching.

That bastard.

He was enjoying this.

They all were.

Testing me. Provoking me.

For a fleeting moment, I genuinely considered teaching them a lesson—one they wouldn’t forget.

Then pain flared through my foot.

Rosalia stomped down hard and angrily pointed at her mouth again and again.

Fine.

I inhaled deeply, forcing the rage down. I had pushed too far. One step further and she would shut me out completely.

And worse—

She wouldn’t let me sleep with her.

And speaking of sleep—

I removed my hand from her mouth.

She sucked in a sharp breath and immediately exploded.

"Cassel, you idiot! Are you trying to suffocate me—!"

I ignored her weak blows, my attention shifting to the man she had called Matthew.

I studied him carefully—every restrained movement, every unreadable expression—before turning to Henry.

"We’ll deal with this tomorrow," I said coldly. "Everyone, return to your duties."

Before anyone could react, I bent down and slung Rosalia over my shoulder.

Like a sack of potatoes.

I won’t deny it—I did it deliberately.

I wanted to embarrass her.

She was delicate by nature.

Shy.

Easily flustered.

Who told her she could look at another man like that while I was here?

"Cassel! What are you doing?!" she shouted, fists pounding uselessly against my back.

"Put me down! Let me go! I can walk on my own! What the hell is this—put me—!"

"Ah."

"Cassel... you dare—"

"If you move one more time," I said calmly, "I’ll spank you again."

She froze instantly.

The fight drained out of her body as she clutched my shoulders tightly, burying her face against my back.

The sudden silence was louder than her protests could be.

"Leave that man tied up for the night," I ordered. "We’ll deal with him tomorrow morning."

I left the room amid Frederick and Robin’s stunned stares—and the sharp, calculating gazes of Henry...

...and that disgusting man called Matthew.

Once inside our room, I tossed Rosalia onto the bed.

Hard.

Fast.

I knew exactly what I was doing.

The mattress was soft and elastic.

Her small body bounced twice before settling safely.

But—

She didn’t move.

She lay completely still, face buried in the bedding.

Only her hair and the slight rise and fall of her back were visible.

A sharp panic stabbed through my chest.

Had she fainted?

No—impossible.

"Rosalia. Rose. Look at me."

I rushed forward, kneeling on the bed, hands trembling slightly as I tried to lift her.

She struggled.

Hard.

Relief flooded me so intensely that my heart nearly gave out.

She was fine.

I turned her over.

Her face was flushed a deep, furious red—like a ripe tomato. Her eyes glistened, damp with emotion, anger burning fiercely within them.

To me, it looked dangerously close to an invitation.

An invitation that stirred the devil sleeping inside my chest.

"Stay away from me," she snapped. "I don’t want to talk to you anymore."

So that’s what this was.

She yanked at her hand, failing to break free, and glared at me.

We needed to talk.

If we didn’t, these misunderstandings would rot us from the inside out.

Especially with my obsession.

With the anger that consumes me every time she smiles at someone else.

With Henry, I barely managed restraint—he’s my superior, my oldest friend.

But now there’s someone new.

And I don’t think I can control myself.

Not again.

After deciding, I looked down at her.

She had rested only briefly before resuming her struggle.

"Rosalia. Let’s talk."

"I don’t want to. Go away. I want to sleep. Leave me alone, you stupid villain."

Her arms flailed wildly, face burning with anger and humiliation. She refused to even look at me.

But if I let this chance slip...

I wouldn’t get another one.

And I might explode before then.

With that thought, I tightened my grip—careful, controlled—and pulled her firmly into my arms.

Her back pressed against my chest.

One arm wrapped around her waist.

My legs pinned hers.

One hand held her wrists while the other lifted her chin, forcing her to face me.

"Rosalia," I said lowly. "We need to talk. Now."

Just as I expected—once our eyes met, she couldn’t refuse.

She went still.

Confused.

Staring into my eyes.

I think she really likes my face.

Good.

I should thank my mother—for her beauty...

...and for the fact that I inherited it.

After a moment, her body relaxed further in my hold.

I won’t deny it—I liked that she didn’t resist. That she accepted being restrained without fear.

As if some part of her agreed.

Even her body didn’t reject me.

That realization sent my thoughts spiraling into dangerous territory.

Then her voice reached me—soft, breathless, almost intimate.

"I—I... if you want to talk," she whispered, "then let go of me first."

"I won’t," I replied honestly. "You’ll just run away again."

"You—"