Acidity of Regret Ch 33
- Dec 27, 2025
- 6 min read
Updated: Dec 28, 2025
Vanessa flinched at the sound, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs.
Could it be?
She hurried to the glass door, her fingers trembling with the guilt of a child caught in a forbidden act.
She threw the bolt and pulled. A violent gust of wind rushed into the room, whipping her hair across her face. As the strands cleared, she saw a massive silhouette standing on the stone balcony.
Even though she’d been expecting him, seeing him perched there stole the breath from her lungs. This was the third floor.
[Elliot] “My Lady.”
He pulled back his hood.
Two days had passed since their first meeting, but seeing him now felt just as surreal—a ghost from a former life haunting the terrace of her new one.
[Elliot] “We have to go. Now.”
[Vanessa] “W-wait. Elliot, wait.”
He moved with a frantic, jagged energy. As he reached out to scoop her up, Vanessa stumbled back, her hands up in a silent plea.
[Vanessa] “I... I don’t know if I can do this.”
[Elliot] “My Lady.”
His eyes were a mix of desperation and raw frustration.
[Elliot] “The documents I gave you. Did you not read them?”
[Vanessa] “I did. I checked the seal. It’s... It’s his. But it doesn't make sense. Why would Declan do this to me? Why save me if he was the one who destroyed everything?”
The confusion that had been festering for forty-eight hours was etched into the lines of her face. She was drowning in a sea of conflicting loyalties—torn between the truth in her hand and the man in her heart.
[Elliot] “I told you, I don't know his motive. But there is no doubt he orchestrated the fall of your house. My Lady, please.”
[Vanessa] “...”
She bit her lip, the iron taste of blood blooming on her tongue as she hesitated.
Elliot’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides.
[Elliot] “If the late Count knew his daughter was sharing a bed with the man who tore the Rohawk name to shreds... imagine his grief. Imagine his shame.”
Her head snapped up at the mention of her father.
[Elliot] “That man murdered your father.”
The words were a serrated blade, twisting in her gut. She gasped, the air suddenly too thin to breathe.
Elliot had gone for the jugular, using her greatest trauma as a tether to pull her back to him.
The memory of that blood-soaked dawn was a recurring nightmare, a jagged fragment of the past that refused to be smoothed over by time.
[Vanessa] “Even if I leave... what then?”
Her voice was a hollow shell of itself, sinking into the floorboards.
[Vanessa] “I’m already the Grand Duchess. The world sees me as his.”
[Elliot] “The Crown Prince will handle the fallout.”
He checked his pocket watch, his eyes darting toward the bedroom door. He held out his hand, a silent command for her to take it.
But Vanessa remained frozen.
In the dark hours of the last two days, she had thought of Hayden.
If Elliot was here as a knight of the Imperial Guard, it meant the Prince was bankrolling this rescue.
If Elliot’s story was true, she owed Hayden a debt she could never repay. He was her true savior, and she had treated him with nothing but scorn and suspicion, accusing him of the very auction he had tried to prevent.
How can I ask for his help now? After everything?
[Elliot] “My Lady, I beg of you.”
His voice cracked with a rare, raw emotion.
[Elliot] “We leave the Duchy first, then we think. This place is crawling with Vinkart’s dogs. If we miss this chance, I may never get to see your face again.”
Vanessa looked at his hands. They were calloused and crisscrossed with new scars—physical maps of the months he had spent hunting for her across the Empire. His loyalty was a blinding, unwavering light.
But still...
A suffocating weight pressed down on her chest, and her features crumpled in agony.
Knock. Knock.
The sound at the bedroom door was like a gunshot. Her shoulders hunched, her gaze flying to Elliot.
[Vanessa] “Wait—Elliot!”
[Elliot] “Forgive me, My Lady.”
Elliot didn't wait for her consent. He lunged forward, sweeping her into his arms just as he had in the garden, and vaulted over the stone railing.
Her stomach plummeted as they free-fell three stories. She buried her face in his cloak, her fingers locking into the fabric.
In all the years he had served her, Elliot had never once disobeyed her. She knew that if she screamed for him to stop, he would. But the words died in her throat.
Part of her—the cowardly, broken part—wanted him to choose for her. She didn't have the strength to choose between her love and her vengeance. Whatever path she took, she was destined for a life of regret.
Elliot was a man of few words and singular purpose: her protection. She had always trusted his intent, even when his methods were harsh. And if he said Declan was the architect of her father's death...
Yet, she couldn't let go of the love. It was a pathetic, stubborn thing.
The memory of Declan’s touch, the way his breath hitched when he kissed her, the feeling of finally being cherished—it was a trap. A beautiful, thorn-covered vine that had wrapped itself around her ankles until she couldn't run even if she wanted to.
The love was a snare. It had dulled her mind and paralyzed her will.
Vanessa bit her lip to keep from sobbing as Elliot hit the ground with a soft thud. He moved like a predatory cat, ghosting across the first-floor gallery.
Their shadows stretched long and thin against the gray stone, flickering and vanishing as they raced through the darkness.
They were nearly at the servants’ wing when Elliot skidded to a halt.
The air grew heavy, charged with a sudden, lethal tension.
Vanessa looked up. A silver blade was leveled at Elliot’s throat, the tip so close it nearly grazed the skin.
She followed the length of the steel. Standing in the mouth of the darkened corridor was Shiron, Declan’s most trusted knight. His eyes were like chips of ice.
[Shiron] “And where exactly do you think you’re taking her?”
[Elliot] “Move.”
Elliot’s voice was a low, guttural snarl. But as he spoke, more figures emerged from the gloom—knights in Vinkart livery, their swords unsheathed and gleaming.
Elliot was a master of his craft, but the math was simple. He couldn't fight a dozen elite knights while holding a woman. He faltered, his grip on Vanessa tightening.
[Declan] “Vanessa.”
She shivered at the sound of the familiar baritone.
The circle of knights parted, and Declan stepped into the light.
Vanessa stared at him as if he were a stranger.
He stood taller than the rest, his presence swallowing the hallway. His gaze traveled slowly—from Elliot’s face, to Vanessa’s, and finally to the hands holding her.
[Declan] “Come here.”
His voice was terrifyingly level. There was no heat in it, no anger—just a flat, absolute command.
Vanessa hesitated, and Declan’s brow twitched.
The knights took a collective step forward, the circle tightening.
Elliot scanned for an exit, but there were no gaps in the formation.
Unlike the Imperial troops, who had grown soft in the capital, the Vinkart knights were seasoned by constant skirmishes with the monsters of the mountains. They moved with the terrifying precision of a machine.
Vanessa turned a sickly shade of gray.
If Declan gave the order, those blades would turn Elliot into a pincushion.
But she knew he wouldn't touch her.
[Vanessa] “E-Elliot. Put me down.”
[Elliot] “My Lady, no.”
[Vanessa] “It’s alright. Please... let me go.”
Elliot’s expression was one of pure, unmitigated defeat. He slowly lowered her to the ground, his face contorting with a pain that had nothing to do with physical injury.
Declan’s expression softened, but only a fraction. He reached out a hand to her, despite the distance between them.
[Declan] “Come here, Vanessa.”
In that moment, a sickening sense of déjà vu washed over her. It was the same feeling she'd had on her first night in the Duchy—sitting in his room, waiting for a master to return. She felt like a pet. A beautiful, precious thing kept in a gilded cage.
[Declan] “I said, come here.”
The calm was gone, replaced by a low, simmering urgency. His eyes flashed in the darkness. It was the first time his voice had ever sounded predatory to her.
Vanessa forced one foot in front of the other.
Walking toward him through the gauntlet of drawn swords felt like stepping into the maw of hell.
When she finally reached him, Declan reached out and cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing her skin with a tenderness that made her skin crawl.
[Declan] “I was worried when I found the room empty.”
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