Ruth’s heart had already closed off—so firmly and completely that it was impossible to reach. Only then did Ail realize what he truly wanted. Simply having Ruth alive wasn’t enough. His desires were far greater.

What he wanted was Ruth’s smiling face. He longed for the Ruth who would extend a kind hand, listen joyfully, soothe his anger, and speak to him softly and gently, as he did with others. He wanted Ruth to treat him with the same warmth he showed others: trusting him, depending on him, and inviting him to share meals. He yearned to capture Ruth’s gaze, which had never truly turned toward him, and he hated the fact that Ruth smiled so easily at everyone but him. Ail wanted that face, that attention, to be his alone.

“I don’t know… what to do with you anymore,” Ail muttered, lowering his head and covering his face with a hand.

Ruth responded calmly, “I’m tired. Please leave. You have a banquet to attend.”

“What will it take for you to change your mind?” Ail asked, his voice tinged with desperation.

“I have no intention of doing so,” Ruth replied.

“No matter what, I won’t let you go. It’d be better if you stopped being so stubborn.”

“That’s my concern.”

Talking to Ruth felt like speaking to a wall—an impenetrable fortress that wouldn’t crumble. Ail sighed in frustration. He had thought he was prepared for this, but he wasn’t. Letting go of something so desperately desired was never easy.

Realizing there was no breakthrough, Ail finally resigned himself to desperation. If Ruth refused to change his mind, then Ail would stop accommodating him. He had granted Ruth the northern palace and avoided making him a concubine, but such goodwill was meaningless. If kindness didn’t work, making Ruth a concubine might be a better solution. As a concubine, if Ruth tried to escape, it would give Ail the justification to punish him—and even harm his family.

“Tonight, I’ll announce my engagement to Salina,” Ail declared.

Ruth’s eyes flickered with faint disturbance, but Ail, who had his gaze lowered, didn’t notice.

“After the engagement, we’ll marry soon enough. And afterward, you’ll become a concubine. It doesn’t matter where you are—it’s all the same in the end.”

At this, Ruth lifted his head, his face aghast. Ail looked up as well, noticing the expression and laughing bitterly.

“Finally, I get to see an emotion from you.”

Ail found the situation absurdly ironic. No matter how much he tried to talk or even shouted, Ruth remained unmoved. Yet now, when Ail spoke of binding and controlling him further, Ruth reacted. It was deeply sad and amusing in equal measure. Whenever Ail approached with kindness, Ruth fled. But threats seemed to draw immediate responses.

Ail let out a sigh, wondering how things had reached such a state. They were locked in a cycle of hurting each other, exchanging wounds and distrust. Their conversations had devolved into threats and curses, the only way they could communicate. It was tragic.

But there was no turning back now. Everything had gone too far. Nothing else could worsen this situation, so it didn’t matter anymore.

Emotionally worn out, Ail slowly stood and turned to leave the room. Before walking out, he left one final remark.

“Prepare yourself.”

Even long after Ail left, Ruth sat frozen in place, unmoving, his eyes and body stiff.

He had known Ail would marry. It was inevitable—a necessary step. Yet, Ruth couldn’t understand why the announcement had shaken him so deeply. The shock at his own reaction was almost laughable.

It was supposed to be a natural procedure. Ruth had known all along that this would happen. If events had proceeded as planned, the bride would have been Erita. Yet the outcome was still the same—Ail’s marriage was unavoidable, an essential duty.

Ruth’s mind knew this, but his heart refused to accept it. His original plan had been to leave Karileum before the wedding. By distancing himself, he could avoid hearing about it or witnessing the ceremony. He had never imagined he’d be stuck here to see it with his own eyes.

Leaving Karileum wasn’t just about longing for Vera. It was also because Ruth dreaded the possibility of witnessing Ail’s wedding. Now it was all clear. Faced with the reality, Ruth finally understood why he had wanted to leave.

He hated the thought of Ail holding someone else’s hand. He couldn’t bear to witness him walk down a long aisle, hand in hand with a beautiful bride, exchanging vows of eternal love and pledging to spend a lifetime together. This was nothing more than lingering attachment—a foolish obsession, petty jealousy.

Ruth knew he could never have him. That’s why he had tried to escape from the start without letting himself hope.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t open Ail’s tightly locked heart, nor did he have the courage to embrace Ail’s cold soul. After all, Ail was someone who didn’t understand love, nor did he have any intention of loving. Even if by some miracle Ail desired him, Ruth knew he could never truly possess him.

So, he had resolved to cut off these emotions and flee. To disappear far away and gradually erase Ail from his memory, shedding one piece of him each day. He had thought that in four years, he would have forgotten their time together entirely. He believed that, eventually, it would no longer hurt. Time passes, and all memories fade into the past, losing their sharp edges.

They would dissolve into a distant blur, disappearing without a trace.

Ruth had believed he just needed to endure. If he could bear it and wait patiently, he thought he might live an ordinary life—marry, have children, watch them grow, and move forward.

Perhaps he would occasionally remember Ail, like stumbling upon an old letter, yellowed and fragile, and be swept by faint, blurry memories. The ache of longing, the pain sharper than carving away his own flesh—he had thought that by then, they would have dulled into faint scars, things to be remembered, revisited, and even smiled upon.

That’s what he believed. Like childhood memories, or the sorrow he felt leaving Vera behind, they would eventually settle into a place where he could recall them without despair.

But standing here now, trapped by Ail’s side, could he really smile while watching another woman take her place next to him? Could those memories really fade into harmless recollections in the distant future?

No. He couldn’t bear to watch it up close. He couldn’t endure that pain. His foolish heart would cling, become consumed with anger, hatred, and resentment. He would yearn for Ail and despise him, love him and loathe him all at once. Living out a life consumed by such conflicting emotions would be unbearable. To live forever hating someone would be insanity.

In that moment, Ruth wanted nothing more than to run away.

He couldn’t live confined as Ail’s concubine, forced to stand by as Ail and his bride shared a life. He couldn’t survive being forgotten, discarded, left alone in the palace while only able to watch him from afar. At that point, Ruth knew he might actually kill Ail. No—he would kill him. He was certain of it.

Even now, the hatred for what Ail had reduced him to was driving him mad. Just hearing Ail’s words had inflicted unbearable pain. If the day came when he truly lost everything, Ruth knew he would lose his mind. Perhaps this was the ultimate torment Ail could inflict—a deliberate plan to shatter him completely, to drag him into a bottomless abyss and suffocate him.

At this moment, for the first time in his life, Ruth felt a burning desire to kill someone. The intense, violent urge to erase the one who had driven him to this, the one who had taught him the depths of hatred.

He wanted to destroy the man who had created this situation, where he could neither have him nor let him go.

If only he could leave, then maybe he could forget. If only he couldn’t see him, the memories would naturally fade.

Then, perhaps he could live—live without having to kill Ail.

He had to run away—before he truly killed him. Anywhere, somehow.

He needed to leave this place, vanish to some faraway land where he could forget and start anew.

But how? Where could he go?

A thousand thoughts churned through his mind, and countless emotions thrashed wildly within his chest. His weakened body, strained from sleepless nights and hunger, sent shocks through his nerves, and his razor-sharp, frayed mind teetered on the edge of obsession. As the fragile thread of his emotions snapped, uncontrolled thoughts surged through his mind, leaving him paralyzed.

He needed to rest. Eat, rest, and think clearly. Before he acted on these volatile emotions, he had to regain his composure.

Clutching his head with trembling hands, Ruth squeezed his eyes shut, repeating to himself that he needed to regain control. While he still had a shred of reason, he had to suppress his impulses. Acting on them would lead to disaster. He needed to think it through, over and over, before making a decision.

Patience was his only virtue. He could restrain himself—he had to.

The thing Ruth feared most at that moment wasn’t Ail.

It was himself.