Ascension Of The Villain

Iyana stared at him. No words. No expression. Just silence—blank and heavy, like her soul had forgotten how to function for a moment.

Her eyes didn't move. Her lips didn't twitch. Even her breath seemed to halt, as though her body was trying to catch up to what he had just said.

And Vyan let out a small awkward chuckle—trying to fill the silence with something other than the sound of his own nervous heartbeat.

"Okay, yeah," he began, his hand still on the back of his neck, "this might be the most impulsive, stupidest, and most outrageous suggestion to ever come out of my mouth—and I've said a lot of outrageous things."

No reaction.

"But hear me out," he pushed on, voice softer. "I know you probably dream of a grand wedding, a celebration with all the people you love, time to plan it all, look like a goddess, make a thousand memories. And I swear to you, I'll give you that. I'll give you everything. I'll give you the wedding of the century—carriages, flowers, music, fireworks, all of it."

Still, her silence pressed against his chest like a weight.

"But… I also want to make it official. Right now. Just the two of us. No fuss. A little formality. Just a signature, a few whispered vows under the sky. So you'll be mine—officially mine. Not just in the eyes of the world, but in every damn sense of the word."

That's when she finally spoke.

"…Why?"

He was surprised. "What do you mean, why? It's because we love each other, and—"

"No," she interrupted quietly, her voice trembling with something raw and wounded. "Why is it so important for you to sign a piece of paper?"

He opened his mouth but had no answer ready. Just a confused silence.

Iyana's gaze remained lowered, lashes hiding the storm behind her violet eyes. "Is a piece of paper going to change anything between us?" she whispered, almost as if the words hurt to say. "I don't understand why you're trying to rush it."

Her tone was calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that came from trying very hard not to fall apart.

"It's not like we don't already live together," she continued. "Not like you or I care about the whole 'out of wedlock' thing. The servants—they already treat me like I'm the Lady of the house. Not some random woman you sleep around with. They know. I know. Everyone knows you're going to marry me. I don't doubt that for a second, Vyan."

She bit her bottom lip hard, trying to keep the tremble from turning into a sob.

"So why… why the rush?"

Vyan's throat dried. Her words carved themselves into his chest like etchings on stone.

"Iyana—"

She looked up then, and he wished she hadn't. Her eyes were glassy, shimmering with unshed tears, her expression twisted in a heartbreak she hadn't even fully shown yet.

No, no… He didn't want to make her sad, not today of all days. She had just been crying out of happiness a few minutes ago.

"…Is it because you think you're going to d-die tomorrow?" she asked, voice cracking, unraveling. "Is that what this is about?"

Her question knocked the wind out of him.

She took in a shaky breath and looked down, as if she couldn't bear seeing his face. "Is that why you want to marry me so quickly? So that if something happens to you, I'll have a title to keep me safe?" Her tears slipped down her cheeks silently, like rain falling into still water. "Is that what you're trying to do? Leave me with enough to survive on while you… disappear?"

"Iyana, no—"

"Because you know I'll never—ever—marry anyone else," she whispered, her voice trembling like a leaf in a storm. "Not after you. Not when you've made me feel like this."

Vyan felt like the sky had cracked above them.

Because she was right.

Every word—right.

And hearing it from her lips made it sound worse than he ever imagined. Like he was giving up before the battle had even begun. Like he'd already prepared his goodbye.

And it shattered him.

He had nothing to say in his defense.

Because she wasn't just reading between the lines—she was reading the very soul he tried to shield from her. And now that she saw it, it felt like she'd peeled him open and exposed the terrified boy underneath the brave mask.

"If your answer is yes…" Iyana whispered, "then… no, Vyan."

Vyan's breath caught in his throat.

"I don't want to marry you tonight."

Her words were soft—but they landed with the weight of thunder.

"Even though," she continued, eyes welling up once again, "being called your wife would be one of the biggest pleasures of my life."

She looked up at him then, and through the tears clinging to her lashes, she smiled. A fragile, tremulous smile—like cracked glass reflecting the sunlight.

"I don't want to marry you with the fear of becoming a widow the day after."

A lump formed in Vyan's throat. Her voice was quiet, but it had an ache that made his heart feel like it was bleeding out in slow drops.

"I don't want our most important day to feel like a farewell ceremony," she said, wiping away a stubborn tear as it rolled down her cheek. "I want our wedding to be the happiest day ever—even happier than what today has been."

Her eyes locked with his, glistening and honest. "Will you please let me have that?"

Vyan looked at her, the love of his life—the only person who was there for him when he was a nobody—and felt like he was being torn in two.

Because everything in his gut was screaming that something bad was going to happen tomorrow. The shadows were moving strangely. The wind had an edge to it. His instincts, which had never once failed him, were thrumming in warning.

From a logical standpoint, marrying her now made sense. If something did happen to him… she'd be protected. She'd become the Grand Duchess. She would inherit his estate, his business, his land, his title—everything that had ever belonged to him would be hers.

It was the safest thing to do.

And yet…

He looked at Iyana.

Her soft face, her tear-stained cheeks, the brave little smile that trembled at the corners of her lips as she tried to hold herself together.

His heart ached.

She didn't want to be married out of fear. She wanted to be married out of love. Not as a precaution. Not as a legal transaction. She wanted to walk down the aisle with hope in her heart, not with dread clinging to her spine.

And she deserved that. More than anyone.

"Iyana…" he began, but she reached out and gently cupped his face.

"If after everything I've said," she whispered, brushing her thumb softly along his cheek, "you still think that getting married tonight is the best decision, then I won't say no."

Her voice cracked, but she didn't look away anymore.

"Because no matter what the circumstances are… marrying you would never be a decision I regret."

She leaned in and rested her forehead against his, her fingers still cradling his face with all the gentleness of someone holding something breakable.

"I love you so much, Vee," she breathed. "So, so much… that I'd do anything to put your mind and heart at ease."

He closed his eyes at her words, as though her love physically washed over him.

"So please," she whispered, "evaluate carefully."

Vyan said nothing.

The only sound between them was his shallow breathing—fragile, uneven. His hands trembled where they rested on her waist, a small tell that gave him away to her completely from the start.

He was always the logical one. The planner. The one who thought ten steps ahead and had backup plans for his backup plans.

And now he was standing at a crossroad, being pulled in two directions. Heart and mind. Love and fear.

He had promised her, over and over again, that he would never leave her.

But she knew—deep down—they both knew that was a hollow promise. A desperate attempt to calm her heart when he couldn't even calm his own.

He was scared.

Gods, he was so scared.

But even in her own fear, Iyana held faith. A fragile little flicker of it glowing somewhere inside her chest. That he would live. That they would survive this storm. That he would walk beside her, hand-in-hand, into a future filled with love, not loss.

She didn't need certainty. She just needed him to believe it too.

Then she heard it—a soft sigh. A tiny sound, like surrender.

And then she felt it.

His lips.

Soft, warm, brushing against hers like the slow bloom of sunlight through rainclouds.

When he pulled back, she looked into his eyes.

He smiled—tired, gentle, but sincere.

"We've spent enough time on this boat," he said quietly, brushing her cheek with his knuckles. "Shall we go to the hotel now?"

She let out a teary laugh, something between a sob and a giggle, and nodded.

Maybe the world would still fall apart tomorrow.

But tonight… they still had each other.

And that was enough.