Chapter 88 Chapter 88. Faye’s Deal with Devil
Lysander merely smiled at her without replying. He tapped his fingers against the tabletop in front of him, the dull thudding echoing through the spacious, silent room, sharp and unsettling.
Faye shrank back against the wall. Lysander didn’t speak, and she didn’t dare open her mouth either, barely daring to breathe. Perhaps he had toyed with her enough. He stood up and walked to the side of the bed, stopping less than a meter away from her. Looking at her pale, panic-stricken face, he spoke again in a gentle, almost negotiating tone.
“You said the one Zephyr cares about most is Zoria. But I’ve never even seen her. So tell me—how am I supposed to catch her?”
His voice was gentle, yet the Alpha pressure threaded through every word still sent a chill down Omega Faye’s spine. Faye swallowed hard. Even Zephyr was difficult enough for her to meet, let alone Zoria—someone he always kept close at his side like a mark of ownership.
Lysander casually dropped onto the bed. In a flash, he reached out and seized Faye’s chin, yanking her sharply toward him. The gold in his eyes shifted as he said, “So I can only sacrifice you.”
Faye’s pupils shrank, her whole body going rigid. “What… what do you mean?”
“Trade you for Zoria.” Lysander tightened his grip on her chin, so hard that clear finger marks bloomed on her pale skin.
“We’ll see whether Zephyr values you more or Zoria more.” He leaned in close, a cold smile on his lips. “Don’t worry. Whoever he chooses makes no difference to me. I only want Zoria.”
Faye stared at him, stunned. “Then… what do I have to do?”
Lysander’s voice turned hoarse as he let out a low chuckle. “You just need to get hurt a little.” He reached up and brushed her cheek, his smile half real, half fake, his tone deliberately ambiguous. “Don’t tell me you can’t even endure such a small sacrifice. You should know that if you want something, you have to risk your life for it.”
He released her. “Of course, you can refuse. But I can’t guarantee that what’s going on between you and Michael won’t somehow reach Zephyr’s ears.”
Faye clenched her teeth. “I agree. When do we start?”
“Wait for my call.” Lysander stood up, clearly in an excellent mood, the curve of his lips unmistakable.
Faye wiped away a sheen of cold sweat and watched him as he prepared to leave.
Lysander’s gaze shifted slightly. Just as he closed the door, he glanced back through the narrow gap and smiled at her. Standing against the light, his face sunk into a chilling darkness. Then he raised his hand and slammed the door shut with a loud bang, leaving.
That final look alone was enough to make Faye break out in a cold sweat. She braced herself against the edge of the bed and tried to stand, but her legs gave out, and she collapsed onto the floor. Trembling, she ran a hand through her hair, her face a mix of regret and fear.
She hardly knew Lysander at all, having met him fewer than five times. Her only impression was that he wore the skin of a refined gentleman, while underneath lurked a bone-devouring demon.
Faye lowered her head and drew a deep breath, an invisible fear spreading like a shadow and gripping her heart. What Lysander enjoyed most was stealing what belonged to Zephyr, then destroying with his own hands what Zephyr cherished above all else. No one knew why his hatred for Zephyr ran so deep.
Faye had always been afraid of death and wanted nothing to do with him. If Zephyr ever found out about this, she would surely die. An Omega who betrayed an Alpha would be dealt with according to pack law—no one could save her.
Yet she also didn’t dare tell Zephyr about Lysander’s threats. If Lysander truly leaned close to Zephyr’s ear and casually mentioned Michael, her life would be over just the same.
Faye curled up, resting her forehead against her icy knees. She couldn’t sleep at all that night. Lysander’s sudden appearance had swept away what little peace she had, leaving behind waves of cold that clawed at her chest.
It wasn’t until just before dawn that Faye finally saw things clearly. She decided to gamble. Michael had stood her up for far too long already. Waiting for him was no different from waiting to die, so she would rather place her life in Lysander’s hands.
If Zephyr chose to sacrifice Zoria to save her, then she had made the right bet. And if not, she would rather let Lysander beat her to death.
After leaving Faye’s room, disgust immediately surfaced on Lysander’s face. He pulled out a handkerchief, wiped his palm, then tossed it straight into the trash as if discarding filthy refuse. If he hadn’t ordered someone to investigate Faye, he would never have imagined that this Omega could be so revolting—both her body and her mind were filthy.
He could never resist snatching away what belonged to Zephyr just to toy with it. But a “dirty” toy like Faye made him feel nauseated after just a single glance.
Unbidden, Zoria’s image surfaced in his mind. His blue-gold eyes flashed with interest. He felt something strange toward Zoria. There was a kind of natural magic about her, something that made him want to draw closer without even trying to resist. What was more, when he was with her, he could unconsciously forget about his excessively troublesome obsession with cleanliness.
…
Ever since Zoria fell ill, Zephyr had moved his work home. He worked while keeping an eye on her. Zoria sat there in a daze all day, like a soulless rag doll. The Omega scent on her had faded unnaturally, leaving the entire house feeling cold and empty.
When Zephyr spoke to her, she only blinked a few times, offering no response at all. Zoria still talked to the servants and Dr. Luke, but the moment she saw Zephyr, she pressed her lips tightly together, as if shutting herself behind an invisible wall.