Arabella wanted to watch him masturbate, and Nicholas was so excited that he trembled all over. The huge erection practically jumped out at once, so large and erect that it was right in front of Arabella's eyes. It bristled with menace, exuding a murderous aura, but the moment Arabella's fingers brushed against it, all its defiance vanished. Like a mischievous child caught red-handed, it stood upright in the air, meek and subdued, as if silently nodding in apology for its misdeeds.
A soft chuckle escaped Arabella's throat. "Come on—do it yourself."
When he took over from Arabella, the moment her fingertips touched, Nicholas felt his blood boiling. He could feel his round, large penis through the look in Arabella's eyes, and it was already leaking sticky, transparent fluid due to excitement. His shirt wasn't fully removed, the fabric half-slipped and tangled around his wrists. The black sleeves subtly traced the lean, taut lines of his waist. His sharp features, usually striking with an air of detachment, now carried a shadowy allure, exuding an ambiguous sensuality. The pair of eyes that typically held a hint of warmth were now steeped in desire, as though stained by its intensity, pouring forth an unrestrained, overwhelming wave of passion.
"Your eyes are truly beautiful," Arabella murmured, her fingers lightly brushing the corner of Nicholas's eye. His body jolted violently, trembling uncontrollably, teetering on the brink of a breakdown. He knew all too well—through his eyes, Arabella was gazing at someone else. Lowering his gaze, his lashes veiled the storm brewing in his eyes, concealing the seething violence churning within his heart. A pair of similar eyes was enough to capture a fraction of Arabella's attention—then wouldn't the counterfeit, rescued and placed before her, be capable of stealing her very soul?
Yet before he could let his malicious thoughts churn any further, in the next moment, Arabella kicked him onto the bed. She stood at the edge, looking down at him sprawled out, her gaze calm and composed. The faint smile on her lips betrayed no trace of mockery, yet under her unyielding scrutiny, Nicholas felt every thought within him ignite like a blazing fire. A thin layer of sweat broke out on his forehead as his mind spiraled uncontrollably. Holding his penis, he actively moved up and down, rubbing and massaging it. Arabella was fascinated by his large penis in his hand, listening to his passionate low breathing, and her lip corner curled up with a carefree hint of indifference, issuing a new command: "Get up and crawl over here." She waved her hand with the locking ring, as if summoning a well-behaved dog.
Nicholas's face was etched with pride and untamed defiance, yet his eyes, brimming with an undeniable allure, wove together desire and nobility. In this moment, the contradiction dissolved, creating an inexplicably harmonious blend of elegance and raw sensuality. Nicholas did not let go of his penis he was holding, and he obediently got up, with his black shirt nearly hanging halfway down his waist. He knelt on the bed and moved his knees forward, even as he was engaged in such lewd activities, but Nicholas's eyes were fixed solely on Arabella in the distance, his gaze carrying a chilling, obsessive intensity. His focus on her was unwavering, unwilling to look away even for a moment.
"Arabella, can't you see how stirred I am for you? I beg you, won't you indulge me to fxxck you fiercely?" Though his words were crude, his voice carried a trace of tender yearning, murmured low like a wistful dream.
The invincible and formidable Arabella was the very source of all his sordid desires. His vein pulsed at the temple as he gritted his teeth, muttering to himself, clenching and loosening his hands under Arabella's focused gaze, and he ejaculated. The next moment, Arabella struck, her hand wrapping firmly around the throat Nicholas had bared as he arched back in climax. In her grasp, the neck of a grown man felt as fragile as glass; with just a slight application of force, she could snap his bones like a twig. Yet, she merely curled her fingers lightly against his throat. The suffocating lack of air was agony, and yet, crimson streaked across the corners of Nicholas's eyes—a vivid flush of exhilaration as if his pleasure thrived in the shadow of death. His body trembled involuntarily, caught in the grip of physiological surrender. However, the penis beneath him was standing up again in an exaggerated and grotesque manner.
As Arabella released her grip, Nicholas coughed and laughed simultaneously, a reckless yet reverent sound. He leaned forward slightly on his knees, his face pressing against Arabella. The eyes that once resembled Cyrus's gentle, watery gaze were now tinged with a crimson hue, unsettling and deranged. They clung obsessively to the goddess of his heart, warped and sticky with his twisted devotion.
When he put on the locking ring, Nicholas took a deep breath, finally able to thrust his overly excited genitals into the coveted flesh vagina. Because he was so impatient, he pinched her slender waist and pushed in so hard that he could almost feel his penis ramming wildly inside. Since her vagina was naturally narrower, she had her own way of adjusting her body's capacity to endure, embracing both extremes—whether intense or gentle—with effortless grace. The sudden impact caused the orifice to be suddenly opened, and Nicholas's fingers played with the exposed meat bud, as Arabella has fair skin, and the meat bud was fair with a hint of pink, making him unable to resist the temptation to bite into it.
Arabella was pinned beneath him, with her buttocks squeezed tightly, and the vicious penis was thrusting in and out of the already red vagina. He was completely out of control, and the forceful thrusts seemed to be tearing her apart and swallowing her whole.
The kiss between them was fierce. Nicholas's eyes were filled with obsession and infatuation, but when he looked into Arabella's gaze, he saw the cold mask of pretense lurking within. Arabella didn't understand love. Luckily, she was adept at feigning a convincing smile. Without it, her inherently lifeless and insincere demeanor would have been far too transparent to deceive anyone.
Nicholas had always believed that Arabella's lack of affection and emotion was ideal; she needed only to revel in the splendor of carnal pleasure, untouched by the desolate ocean of longing that could weigh down the heart. Of course, he knew that Cyrus was the unattainable figure from Arabella's youth, and it was his death that had haunted her for a lifetime. But life was so long. Even without Cyrus, she could still find fulfillment. There were plenty of people, himself included, willing to give her everything she desired.
Nicholas couldn't help but close his eyes, exhaling a deep, heavy breath. From the moment his restrained fascination turned into an uncontrollable longing, transitioning from distant admiration to intimate infatuation, his fate was sealed—he was destined to fall completely into Arabella's grasp.
It wasn't that he didn't want Arabella to understand love. He just wanted her to love him—and him alone. A truly delusional dream.
When Raven opened the door and entered the room, he frowned slightly. The walls were covered with drawings. The person inside heard the sound and immediately cowered into a corner in terror.
Raven, with his upright posture and firm physique, exuded a sharp and solemn air. His aloof demeanor stood in stark contrast to the trembling, terrified figure in the room. Raven had never met Cyrus, but he later learned that Merrick bore an uncanny resemblance to him. He recalled the time when Arabella leapt from a tall building during a chase. The fleeting excitement in her eyes was something he had never seen before in all the years he had known her. That moment had been utterly captivating to him.
"Merrick?" Raven called softly as he stepped closer. His memories of Merrick were from years ago when the man was still lucid. The idea of him going mad was something Raven couldn't fully grasp.
The figure in the corner didn't respond. With arms wrapped tightly around himself, he crouched in the shadows, shivering violently.
Raven had no patience for dealing with a madman. Seeing no reaction, he reached out to grab him, but a sharp scream erupted near his ear. The cornered man lashed out wildly with punches and kicks, his hoarse voice desperately protesting, "I'm Cyrus, I'm Cyrus! Arabella, Arabella, where are you?"
Raven froze. He hadn't expected Merrick's madness to run this deep. Back then, Nicholas and Julius had conspired against Arabella, all because of Merrick's face. He had been administered a slow-acting hallucinogen, clouding his thoughts and blurring the line between reality and illusion. Coupled with deliberate manipulation by those around him who repeatedly fed him false narratives about Cyrus, Merrick was inevitably driven to madness. Even after more than three years of treatment, his condition showed no signs of improvement. It was clear that at the time, Julius and Nicholas had acted with ruthless intent, determined to see him destroyed.
Arabella had parted ways with him at the Fandel Hotel, not allowing him to follow. Raven had a good idea where she was headed. Nicholas was also in Fandel; she was likely going to see him. At the thought of Nicholas, Raven's expression darkened. Compared to the cowering, defenseless madman in the corner, Nicholas—mad and twisted as he was—seemed far more dangerous and worthy of attention.
Raven had lost interest in probing Merrick further. What value could a deranged substitute possibly hold? Even if Arabella kept him by her side, it was merely to gaze at the stars in her heart through his shell. When he was lucid, he caused trouble, but in this dazed state, he was actually easier to manage.
Raven cast another glance at Merrick, curled up in the corner, before turning and leaving the room.
As Raven stepped out, he turned a corner and spotted Taras leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette. Taras's tall, muscular frame carried a mix of smoke and alcohol, evidence he had already drunk quite a bit before arriving. Hearing Raven exit the room, he looked up, his eyes harboring a suppressed intensity. He flicked the cigarette to the ground and asked in a low voice, "Did you see him? Still crazy?"
Raven kept his gaze straight ahead, clearly unwilling to engage with Taras. Taras, annoyed at being ignored, spat and cursed, "Damn it, are you deaf?" His sharp jawline tightened, and his eyes glared at Raven with hostility.
"Do you want to fight me?" Raven's cold gaze locked onto Taras, as though he were already a dead man. Although Taras had grown up in the underworld, armed with both courage and cunning, his skills were insignificant compared to those ranked on the single-combat list. In the end, he and they were worlds apart, and Raven often wondered why Arabella bothered keeping him around.
Taras was unfazed, letting out a cold snort. Standing three to four centimeters taller than Raven, he leaned down slightly and taunted, "Your Master Unknown can't bear to let me go. Want to test your luck with a fight?"
Raven cast a calm, indifferent glance at Taras, whose gaze brimmed with defiance—a stark contrast to the sharp, cutting intensity in Raven's own eyes.
"If you want to know if he's still crazy, why don't you go in and see for yourself?"
Taras frowned instinctively, glancing at the nearby door. Irritated, he rubbed his temples and muttered, "Arabella even keeps a lunatic around—she really isn't picky."
Raven ignored his comment and walked away. Arabella keeping someone like Taras around only reinforced her lack of selectiveness.
Taras glanced once more at the tightly shut door, then pulled another cigarette from his pocket and lit it. He felt his craving for nicotine surge, his throat itching slightly. A stifling sense of irritation weighed heavily on his chest, gnawing at him from within. He imagined grabbing Arabella, pinning her down, and taking her slender waist under him—his favorite position. Her pale, supple skin begged to be slapped and gripped. That woman—always unrelenting, never sparing anyone, not even a madman.
"Damn it, Arabella, that ungrateful bastard. She uses me to do her dirty work and then runs off to flirt with whoever she pleases." Taras cursed under his breath before heading off in the opposite direction from Raven.
Silence finally enveloped the room. No one knew another figure had appeared inside, now standing by Merrick's side. Merrick was curled in the corner, the fragmented light casting a broken arc across the figure's face—half shrouded in shadow, half illuminated by a faint glow. It was Arabella.
Arabella reached out, placing a finger gently against Merrick's lips. The once-mad Merrick suddenly became eerily calm upon seeing her. His handsome features, tall frame, and his usual turmoil melted into serene clarity, his gaze turning as pure as a vast blue sky.
Arabella shed all traces of her usual facade. A naturally cold and ruthless person, devoid of sentiment or mercy, she gazed at Merrick beside her and felt as though the stars in the sky had finally returned to her side.
