Chapter3

For the next three years, I lived on the border between heaven and hell.

I finally found a clue to the bloodline seal: deep in the basement of the Moonshadow Sanctuary lay a complete bloodline sealing array. But breaking it required the blood of the Moonshadow Royals.

And Selena was my only chance.

Yet, my feelings for her had long morphed from cold exploitation into genuine love.

Selena began to torture me.

At banquets, she would force me to kneel beside her chair and pour her wine, humiliating me in front of everyone. But I saw through her facade—whenever I knelt beside her, I could feel the rigid tension in her body, could hear the frantic acceleration of her heartbeat.

She hated me.

Hated me for making her feel something, hated me for tearing her between her duties as Luna and her own personal desires, hated me for exposing the side of her that felt "unworthy."

She tortured me because she was a chaotic mess inside. She needed to trample me underfoot just to validate her own fragile superiority.

Darian was her Head Guard—and her lover. I knew she slept with him, but I also knew it was nothing more than a desperate escape from her true feelings. Every time she emerged from Darian's bedroom, I could see the hollow, unsatisfied void in her eyes.

What she was truly searching for, only I could give.

The monthly "Lunar Punishment" was my absolute agony. Bound to a silver pillar, I endured the vicious beatings of low-ranking werewolves.

Selena would sit on the high dais, her eyes devoid of pity, replaced only by a freezing indifference. She watched my torment without a flicker of emotion.

"Enough," she would sometimes abruptly order.

The brutal assault would instantly halt.

"That will be all for today." She would stand and walk away, not sparing me a single glance.

But I knew the truth. It wasn't out of heartache; she had simply grown bored of the game.

Darian was always pleased. "You're doing perfectly, Selena. Keep this up, and the mutt will be completely broken into submission."

She would nod sharply. "I know what I'm doing."

Once, a severe fever left me drifting in and out of consciousness in the storage room for two days.

Through the delirious haze, I felt someone caring for me. A cool towel gently dabbed my forehead; soft fingers tenderly brushed through my hair.

I thought it was her.

Lost in the fever dream, I grasped that hand and refused to let go. I pressed it against my cheek, murmuring her name into the dark.

"Selena..."

But when my eyes fluttered open, it was only the old servant, Mary, sitting beside me.

"Young Master, you're awake." She looked at me with kind, pitying eyes. "You were delirious with fever, calling out someone's name over and over."

My heart plummeted.

It wasn't her. It was never her.

On the bedside table sat fever medicine and plain porridge, but there were no Moonflowers.

That evening, as Selena passed by my room, she deliberately raised her voice. "If that useless trash dies, so be it. At least he won't waste our rations."

Hearing those words, the very last ember of warmth in my heart flickered and died.

Yet, I continued to pick flowers for her every single day.

Not out of love, but out of habit. A sick, self-flagellating habit.

She would always throw them away, or simply crush them under her heel.

"Don't ever let me see these pathetic weeds again," she spat coldly. "They disgust me."

I stared at the crushed petals, the light in my soul dimming with each bruised blossom.

But I kept picking them. Kept leaving them for her. Kept watching her destroy them.

This was my pathetic submission, my obsession, my ultimate self-torture.

For three years, I had been secretly collecting her blood. Every time she made contact with me, I covertly collected the faint traces of blood from her fingertips. It wasn't much, but it was enough.

I needed her blood to break the seal and restore my power.

I knew I was using her, but I was left with no choice. I had to become strong enough to survive—and strong enough to avenge my fallen clan.