Chapter 85: Different.

Days rolled into nights, and the day they all dreaded finally descended upon them. The day the curse would expire, when Steven would bid farewell to the world and those he held dear. In the fleeting days leading up to this moment, Steven poured his heart and soul into every interaction with Dua and Shane, savoring the time they had left together and preparing them for a future without him.

Dua’s mind raced with possibilities, struggling to concoct a plan that could defy fate. Yet, every idea felt futile, the chances of success hovering around zero. With a heavy sigh, she gripped the knife tightly, her heart pounding in her chest. A swift cut on her wrist sent droplets of crimson cascading into two cups, each one a desperate attempt to rewrite their tragic narrative. With urgency, she bandaged the fresh wound, rolling her sleeve down to conceal it from prying eyes.

As Shane strode into the kitchen, Dua's heart leapt. She quickly hid the cups behind her, forcing a casual demeanor. "You need anything?" she asked, masking her anxiety.

"Yeah, a chilled glass of strawberry juice," he replied, heading for the fridge.

"I'll get it for you," Dua interjected abruptly, eager to redirect his attention. Without thinking much, he shrugged out of the kitchen back to the living room.

Relief washed over Dua as she retrieved one of the hidden cups. Grabbing the bottle of strawberry juice, she poured it into the cup containing her blood, swirling the mixture as she offered a fervent prayer to whatever forces might listen, "I hope this works."

Carrying the concoction back to Shane’s side, she presented it with a smile that belied the turmoil inside her. As he downed the drink in one go and dropped the empty cup on the table, confusion danced in his eyes. “You need anything?” he asked, sensing her lingering gaze.

Dua hesitated before responding, “Do you feel... different?”

“In what sense?” he tilted his head, eyebrows knitted in suspicion.

Realizing that there was no discernible change in him, her heart sank. “Never mind,” she replied, attempting to mask her disappointment. As she turned to leave, Shane's grip tightened around her wrist.

“What did you put in the drink, and what were you expecting?” he probed, concern etching lines across his face.

“Nothing,” Dua replied, her tone neutral yet evasive.

"Don't hide it," Shane urged, his expression a mix of concern and impatience. With a reluctant sigh, she finally came clean. "I added a few drops of my blood into your drink."

Shane's eyes widened in disbelief. "What? Why would you do that?"

"To see if it works," she explained, her voice barely above a whisper. Seeing the disbelief in his eyes, she continued, "I'm sorry I didn’t tell you beforehand, but can you please keep it away from knucklehead... just until after I've tried it out on him?"

Her voice was laced with urgency, and for a moment, Shane hesitated, wrestling with his thoughts. Finally, he heaved another sigh and gave a reluctant nod. “Okay, but if anything goes sideways—”

“Thank you,” she interrupted, her smile brightening the dim room. The gratitude in her gaze was palpable.

Dua made her way to the kitchen, her heart racing. She retrieved Steven's favorite wine from the cellar and pulled out the second cup she'd hidden. Carefully, she poured a generous amount of the wine into the cup, the deep red liquid swirling as she mixed it with the earlier concoction.

With a determined stride, Dua headed toward the bedroom. However, finding it empty, she checked his study and still came up empty-handed. Frustrated, she returned to the bedroom and placed the wine on the table. Deciding to clear her mind, she stepped out into the garden for a stroll.

Meanwhile, Steven wandered through the garden, accompanied by Victoria, his accomplice in the Mafia and a dear friend. As they walked side by side, the afternoon sun cast a warm glow over their conversation. Steven turned serious, breaking the lighthearted banter. "Can you do me a favor?"

"Anything for my Mafia buddy," she responded, a teasing smile on her lips.

"You mean ‘Mafia King,’" he corrected, a playful glint in his eyes.

"You're more my buddy than my King," she shrugged, playfully and Steven shook his head at her.

"So what is it?" Victoria asked, curiosity piqued.

"I need you to take control of the Mafia for a while, and protect my wife and child..." His words hung in the air, weighty and revealing.

Victoria’s expression shifted instantly to shock. "Your child? Your wife is pregnant?!" Her eyes widened, and she momentarily forgot their serious conversation.

“Yeah, she is. I need you to…” he started, but she interrupted him again.

“Why didn’t you tell me?!” Victoria's voice was sharp, laced with concern.

“Well, I have told you now. Can you listen to me?” Steven replied, his patience wavering.

“Yeah, I heard you. I’ll grant you the favor,” she said, rolling her eyes but with a hint of vulnerability in her tone.

“But… are you dying? You sound like someone who's facing something grave,” she pressed, her concern deepening, the laughter fading from her eyes.

“What could possibly kill me?” he scoffed, attempting to mask the anxiety that bubbled beneath the surface.

“Yeah, what could possibly penetrate The Devil?” she laughed lightly, trying to ease the tension but feeling the weight of his silence.

“But whatever it is…” she paused, taking a step closer, her expression shifting from playful to earnest. “Wherever you go, just promise you’ll come back quickly,” she said, grasping Steven’s hands tightly, her eyes reflecting both worry and warmth.

“I’ll miss you,” she added softly, her voice almost a whisper.

Touched by her heartfelt words, Steven couldn’t help but chuckle, “Wow, I never thought anyone other than my wife and Shane would miss me.”

“Well, now you know you’ve got one more person on that list,” she said, holding his gaze with a mixture of sincerity and teasing.

“Believe me, you don’t want my wife to meet us like this,” he said, trying to lighten the mood.

“Oops, too late!” Victoria shot back with a playful smirk, wriggling her eyebrows at Dua, who was a few meters ahead, blissfully unaware of the emotional undercurrents swirling around them.

The moment hung between them, rich with unspoken words and the weight of unacknowledged feelings, each aware that their connection had grown in a way neither could quite grasp.