Ascension Of The Villain

The bathroom door creaked open with a soft click, and Vyan stepped out, towel-drying his damp hair with one hand. His skin was still flushed from the heat of the bath, his chest bare, droplets of water trailing down to the waistband of his pants. His wine-red eyes scanned the room, and there she was.

Iyana had already taken the bed, curled up at the farthest corner like she was clinging to the edge of a cliff. Her back was turned to him, her presence distant and silent, like she had drawn a line in invisible ink and dared him to cross it.

Vyan quirked a brow, arms crossing loosely over his chest. "May I ask," he drawled, "why are you hanging off the edge like the bed might explode if you use the center?"

From her cocoon of duvet came a voice, clipped and calm: "If you don't want to sleep on the couch, don't ask."

Vyan was surprised. Oof. That was cold, even for her.

He discarded his towel in the laundry basket and dried his hair with the heat from his palm, then he climbed onto the mattress with deliberate slowness. He settled behind her, close enough to feel the faint warmth radiating off her body but careful not to touch her.

"Are you seriously not even going to look at me?" he asked, lowering his voice, almost playful.

She didn't respond. Just shut her eyes like that was her answer.

He blinked at her dramatic silence. "Wow," he huffed. "And here I thought you wanted it more than me. You literally said, and I quote, 'you better still want me after I've devoured everything you sneaked in.'" He scoffed lightly. "Maybe I should've been the one to take your word for it."

Still no reaction.

"Oh, come on," he groaned. "Forget sex, that's not even the point. It's been a whole year since you've had me by your side. Are you really going to waste that by staying mad at me?"

Iyana didn't stir. Not even a twitch.

"Don't you want to cuddle with me?" he added with exaggerated hurt. "Because I know I do."

Her hand reached up slowly, which made him hopeful for a second—only to pull the duvet over her face.

"You don't want cuddles?" he asked in disbelief. "Are you serious? Have you perhaps grown to like solitude? Is that it?"

"Sleep on the couch, Vyan," came her uncaring voice.

He reeled back as if physically wounded. "Ouch. Vyan? You're calling me by my actual name?"

She mumbled from beneath the covers, "Yes. Because my Vee listens to me. Unlike a certain stubborn man."

"Wow… Wow. I'm hurt. How could you estrange me like this? You're just going to throw me out of the bed like some stranger you met at a bar?"

She didn't skip a beat. "Just sleep on the couch, mister. I don't know you."

That stung more than it should've and amused him even more.

"Love," he whined, inching closer, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder, "come onnnn. Don't be like this."

She instantly jerked away from his touch. "Don't touch me either. My Vee will kick your ass if you do."

He gasped. Full offense taken. "You're threatening me with… me?! I'm really going to cry now."

A deadpan: "Yeah, okay."

"Iyanaaaaaa," he whined louder, his voice taking on a singsong quality as he flopped dramatically on his back onto the mattress.

Her reply was muffled but firm: "Please can you just go~"

Vyan exhaled, his shoulders slumping in quiet surrender. His voice was gruff, but there was no fight left in it anymore.

"Alright. Fine," he muttered. "I won't take you back with me."

The duvet shifted.

Iyana peeked out from under it, glancing at him over her shoulder, eyes gleaming with a kind of expectation that was impossible to miss. Her silence spoke louder than anything—and?

He rolled his eyes with a theatrical sigh. "And yeah," he added, defeated, "I won't stay here myself, either."

A smile instantly broke out across her face—soft, bright, triumphant. She turned around in a heartbeat and threw her arms around him, hugging him tight. "I knew my Vee would agree," she beamed, her voice muffled against his bare shoulder. "I love youuuu."

Vyan scoffed fondly. "Now you say you love me? You selfish woman."

She grinned up at him, shameless. "But you can't help it, can you?"

His arms wrapped around her almost automatically, like muscle memory that had never faded. He muttered, "I hate you."

"And I love you," she whispered sweetly, nose brushing his jaw.

A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, that small, familiar smirk she knew all too well.

Still holding her, he added, "But I'm staying one more day. I want to gather some intel from around here. And… I missed you far too much to leave this soon."

She leaned up and kissed him. "Alright," she murmured. "That's fine by me. Just… be careful, okay?"

"Of course."

Her hand trailed gently over his chest, warm against his skin. She raised a brow, a teasing glint lighting her expression. "Also, just so you know… it was insanely unfair of you to walk out shirtless while acting all cute."

He let out a low chuckle, his hand brushing down her back. "Is that why you covered your face and pretended to sleep?"

She didn't answer right away. Instead, she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his throat, her voice a soft hum against his skin. "By the way… can you please put a soundproof veil around the room?"

He grinned, smug now. "Already did. Before dinner."

Her head lifted, a slow smirk blooming on her lips. "Perfect."

———

The room was quiet.

Too quiet.

Iyana's eyes fluttered open to stillness—not the kind that brought peace, but the kind that slithered. There was no warmth beside her, no arm draped around her waist. The space where Vyan had been was cold. Empty.

Her brows furrowed faintly.

She shifted.

Then she froze.

There was someone at the foot of the bed.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Standing completely still.

She squinted through the dark, confusion flickering… and then her breath caught.

No.

Her stomach twisted violently.

It was Élliot.

Her chest tightened, breath trapped in her throat as every muscle in her body turned rigid. Why was he here? How had he gotten in?

She'd locked the doors. She was in her room. In her bed. Vyan had been beside her. She wasn't supposed to be afraid anymore.

And yet—

He was moving.

Towards her.

Slowly, deliberately, as if he had all the time in the world. As if she were something already his.

"No…" she whispered, trying to back away, her spine pressing hard against the headboard. "No—get away from me."

Her limbs scrambled for movement, but she was sluggish—like her body was working against her. Fear spiked sharp and fast. She tried to reach for something, anything—

Clink.

Cold metal bit into her skin.

She looked down.

Chains.

Her wrists were shackled—iron restraints dug into her skin like they belonged there.

No—no, no, no—

The room shifted. Reality twisted cruelly beneath her.

The walls were stone now. The air, damp. The smell hit her like a slap—mildew, rust, sweat, blood.

The prison.

She was back in the underground prison.

"No," she whimpered. Her voice cracked. "This isn't real. I left this place. I left—"

But Élliot was still there.

Unbothered.

Still coming closer.

She was on the ground now—cold stone pressing into her knees, her hands bound behind her. He crouched in front of her, eyes raking over her like he was trying to memorize her fear.

"Don't you fucking touch me," she spat, her voice shaking with fury and terror.

He smiled.

Then he reached out and brushed his fingers against her face.

She flinched like she'd been scalded, the touch setting off a visceral wave of revulsion. Her skin crawled. Every nerve screamed to pull away, but she couldn't move—she couldn't even move.

She felt sick.

Not just fear—disgust. Violent, choking disgust.

He was touching her like he had the right to. Like her body wasn't hers. Like her silence was an invitation.

Tears burned at the edges of her vision—not from weakness, but from fury. From helplessness. From the unbearable violation of it all.

Her body locked up, breath stuttering, heart beating out of rhythm, as the nightmare swallowed her whole—

"Iyana…"

The voice was soft.

Familiar.

Her eyes fluttered.

"Iyana, it's me. Hey, it's okay…"

And then she jolted up.

Sweat clung to her skin, the chains were gone, the dungeon faded—and Vyan was there. Real. Alive. Kneeling beside her with worry etched across his face.

"Hey, it's just me. I'm here. You were dreaming."

She stared at him, blinking hard, chest heaving as the air finally returned to her lungs. His face. His voice. His warmth. It was real. He was real.

Without a word, she threw herself into his arms, clinging to him with all the strength she had left.