He pulled out a bitter smile at the corner of his lips, carrying an almost self-destructive honesty. "This life of mine—it was Malachi Arcanus who salvaged it. Perhaps only in this way, can I redeem the sins I bear."
He did not justify himself, did not shirk responsibility. It was as if a thick darkness clung to him, and he simply stood there, tightly wound, self-mocking and desolate.
What he had once tried with all his might to protect had long been twisted beyond recognition—had even become the very source of calamity.
And now, the female he wished to guard for a lifetime stood here before him, eyes filled with compassion and regret—yet missing the warmth he so desperately longed for.
That faint hope, which had sustained him through countless days and nights, was now reduced to ashes.
To protect her?
He had already lost that right; he had stained that intention.
