Chapter 9
Elise's POV
"Leave Liam."
I looked at Victor, moonlight streaming through the shattered floor-to-ceiling window, falling across his meticulously buttoned shirt.
His expression was calm.
But I could hear it—this wasn't a request.
"No."
I said.
Victor's eyes didn't change.
He only tilted his head slightly, as if confirming he hadn't misheard.
"No?" He repeated the word, his tone still flat, but the temperature within it had already dropped below freezing.
"I'm not considering that right now."
I tried to keep my voice steady. "About Miller—thank you for your help. But leaving Liam has nothing to do with Miller."
Victor said nothing.
He watched me, those gray-blue eyes like two bottomless wells, dangerous undercurrents churning beneath their calm surface.
The living room was quiet.
The faint tinkling of broken glass, the whimpering of the night wind, the occasional distant sound of cars—everything became extraordinarily clear.
"Why?"
He finally spoke.
"I told you, Liam doesn't treat you well. He brings other women home, makes you pour water, humiliates you in public. His parents insult you to your face, tell you not to harbor any delusions."
His voice wasn't loud, but each word was like a nail driven precisely into my most vulnerable places.
"What can you possibly gain by staying with him?"
I didn't answer.
Because hidden in his question was a fact I couldn't refute.
I truly gained nothing.
Everything Liam gave me—money, housing, tuition—none of it was because of love. He needed an obedient, beautiful collectible he could display at will. And I happened to fit the requirements.
I knew all this.
But some things can't be measured simply by "worth it" or "not worth it."
I thought back to when I was thirteen.
That night, someone broke into my house and killed my parents.
When I crawled out from under the bed, I was trembling all over, covered in blood—not my blood, theirs.
Later the police came and sent me to my aunt's house. But my aunt and uncle didn't want me. They said they were ordinary people who couldn't afford to raise a child, especially since the people my parents had offended might come looking for me.
They wanted to send me to a foster home.
Liam found me.
We didn't know each other then. He'd seen me once at a school-organized charity event, knew I was that "poor student whose parents died."
Three days after my parents' death, he had someone deliver money to my aunt's house.
Not much, but enough to make my aunt and uncle change their minds.
Later, he came to find me himself, said he could pay my tuition, give me a place to live, so I wouldn't have to depend on others anymore.
I was only thirteen that year. A girl who had just lost all her family, rejected by all her relatives.
Liam was the first person who reached out his hand to me.
I know he changed a lot later. The cheating, controlling me, treating me as a possession. Maybe when he helped me, it was just overflowing sympathy, like casually rescuing a stray cat or dog on the roadside.
But that didn't matter.
He helped me. That was real. What I owed him, I acknowledged.
"This is between him and me."
I said.
Just that one sentence.
Those memories from age thirteen, I didn't speak them aloud.
Not because they weren't important.
Precisely because they were too important—so important that once spoken, they would become cheap.
The living room was quiet for a few seconds.
Victor stood in place, motionless, watching me.
His expression showed little change, but I noticed his hand hanging at his side clenched slightly, then released.
"Do you know what he considers you now?"
"……"
"A dog." Victor's voice suddenly deepened. "An obedient dog that can be discarded at will."
"You remember how he helped you at thirteen, but he's long forgotten. He doesn't even remember how you became what you are today, and he doesn't care. All he knows is that you're attractive, useful, and won't cause him trouble."
How did he know about what happened when I was thirteen?
I froze, but quickly realized that since Victor had already investigated my background, these things weren't difficult for him to find.
It was just that when he brought it up, his tone made me uncomfortable.
Not because what he said was wrong.
But because he was too right.
Every word was like a precisely aimed blade.
But I didn't let them draw blood.
His eyes changed.
Not anger, but something deeper, colder.
Like disappointment.
But it passed in an instant.
He withdrew his gaze.
"Fine."
He said.
Just one word.
Then he turned and walked toward the shattered floor-to-ceiling window.
Moonlight stretched his shadow long across the floor covered in broken glass, like a knife sheathed in its scabbard.
He reached the window and stopped, not looking back.
"I have patience."
He said.
His voice was scattered somewhat by the night wind, but I still heard every word clearly.
"But my patience isn't infinite."
Then he climbed through the window and disappeared into the night.
Just as when he arrived—quiet, composed, without any hesitation.
Only I remained in the living room.
The floor covered in broken glass, the overturned wine glass, Professor Miller's unfinished drink, the disheveled traces on the sofa.
And the lingering scent of pine in the air.
I leaned against the window frame and slowly slid down to the floor.
The cold marble floor pressed against my spine, but I was too lazy to move.
I looked up at the ceiling and blinked.
Something slid from the corner of my eye and dripped onto the back of my hand.
Warm.
Not blood.
I raised my hand to wipe it away, then hugged my knees.
Was I crying?
I was just a bit tired.
Since I was thirteen, I'd been acting.
Playing the obedient niece in front of my uncle, the compliant girlfriend in front of Liam, the normal art student in front of classmates, a woman with ulterior motives in front of Victor.
I played every role well.
So well that sometimes even I forgot what the real Elise was like.
Victor told me to leave Liam.
He said Liam didn't deserve me.
He said staying with him would get me nothing.
He was right about everything.
But I couldn't.
Not because I still loved Liam.
But because if even Liam left, I would truly have nothing.
His money, his house, the identity he gave me—they were the foundation of all my pretenses.
Once removed, I would be nothing.
An orphan whose parents died, a poor student who entered school on donations, a bottom-tier tattoo artist working for others in a basement.
I had to hold onto something to stand firm in this man-eating world.
Even if it was just one person.
Even if that person wasn't worth it at all.
The night wind rushed in through the broken window, cold enough to make me shiver.
I looked down at myself—clothes disheveled, covered in blood and bruises, hair falling across my shoulders.
No different from someone who had just experienced a robbery and sex.
I smiled bitterly.
My phone vibrated in my dress pocket.
I took it out and glanced at the screen.
A message from Liam.
【Where are you? Come back.】
I stared at that message for a long time.
Then I locked the screen and put the phone back in my pocket.
I slowly stood up from the floor, straightened my clothes, picked up my handbag, and walked out through the front door.