"Boss, it looks like it's going to rain. Should we find a safe place to stay for the night?"
Liz glanced out the car window, her tone light yet edged with unease.
"But it's not that easy to find a safe spot on short notice. Night's already closing in."
Frederick sniffed, his jaw tightening as thunder rumbled far off.
"Seriously, what a headache… and those damn zombies keep chasing our cars every single time we pass through."
Liz exhaled softly.
"We've got more than six vehicles. With all this noise, those zombies will follow us no matter where we go. At least we're on the highway—it's relatively empty. There aren't too many zombies out here, otherwise we'd be in real trouble."
"Boss," Henry spoke up grimly, "everyone's exhausted after the last fight. I don't think we can handle another battle without consequences—or losses."
His sharp gaze flicked toward Cassel. He didn't need to say it aloud.
They were at their limit. Unlike the undead, they got tired. They bled. They broke.
They needed rest—or the next encounter would destroy them.
But the problem wasn't logistics.
It was orders.
Cassel's father had commanded them to head for the city without stopping.
And Cassel never disobeyed his family's commands. Never.
Henry knew that too well.
As Cassel's first subordinate, he'd seen the way his boss followed those orders with fanatical precision—like a man possessed.
He didn't treat them as instructions. He treated them as laws.
To Henry, it was madness.
To Cassel, it was duty.
To everyone else—it was tragic.
Henry always thought it came from a desperate, aching hunger for love.
Cassel did everything—risked everything—for a family that never wanted him.
Because the truth was clear to everyone but him.
The Zancrofts didn't see him as family.
He was a tool. A servant. A disposable weapon with their name stamped on it.
And yet… he kept obeying.
I knew what Henry was thinking.
And I knew he wasn't wrong.
But what could I possibly tell him?
That my "devotion" wasn't real? That my loyalty wasn't mine?
That something had always forced me to love them?
That from childhood, I had been nothing but a puppet—strung along by invisible laws that wrapped around my soul like chains?
The rules of this world had never protected me.
They had bound me.
Like a collar around a dog's neck.
My life, my choices, my everything—none of it had been mine to begin with.
And for whom?
For that despicable man who called himself my father.
For his bastard son born of betrayal.
A family built on greed and deceit. A mockery of the word "blood."
The son of the richest, most intelligent woman brought low by two worthless men—
Tell me, how could I not despise them?
Ever since my mother fell ill, I'd known something was wrong.
A shadow lurked behind her sickness… and behind the ruin of her family's empire.
I tried to uncover it. God, I tried.
But every time I reached for the truth, something stopped me.
My own body.
As if the very air conspired against me.
As if unseen hands held me back, whispering, Obey. Serve. Kneel.
That power terrified me as a child.
And as my mother's light dimmed before my eyes, that terror turned into helpless rage.
She'd been everything—my warmth, my sanity, my reason to breathe.
And I stood there, frozen, watching as life slipped away from her fingertips.
Even though I knew.
Even though I saw what was happening.
I was trapped inside my own flesh—an unwilling spectator of my servitude.
I gave them everything.
My strength. My fortune. My youth. My soul.
I worked. I bled. I killed.
For them.
And when I had nothing left, when even my heart had gone cold—
I signed away every company share, every last coin.
I gave them everything they'd ever wanted.
And the moment I surrendered, the world collapsed.
The apocalypse came.
Cities burned. The dead rose.
And I thought—foolishly—that maybe this was my freedom.
But I was wrong.
So horribly, unforgivably wrong.
Because even in this broken world… my chains still held.
"Boss? …Boss?"
Henry's voice snapped me back to reality.
I looked at him, face blank, voice steady.
"Call the cars behind us. Tell them we'll stop at a nearby building—a small parking complex. It'll be safe if we drive up to the top floor and camp there for the night."
Silence.
Every pair of eyes in the car turned to me—Liz's, Henry's, even the driver's.
Shock. Doubt. Relief. Fear. All mixed together.
Cassel Zancroft, disobeying a family order?
Impossible.
I opened my mouth to speak again—but then I heard it.
A sound.
Soft. Fragile. Trembling.
A whimper.
It came from beside me.
At first, it was faint—barely audible under the rain and the hum of the engine.
Then it grew, rising into a desperate, muffled cry.
A girl's voice.
"Help… help me…"
It was sweet, but cracked with pain. A sound that clawed straight through the chest and refused to let go.
I turned.
Rosalia's face was pale, her brows furrowed, her lips trembling.
Her breathing came in short, broken gasps.
Sweat clung to her skin like dew on glass.
"Hey…" I reached out, gently shaking her shoulder.
"Rosalia. Wake up."
No response.
Her body trembled harder, her fingers clutching at nothing.
"Mom… stop… it hurts…"
Then—suddenly—she screamed.
"I'll save you—save… my villain!"
Her voice shattered the quiet like lightning splitting the sky.
For a heartbeat, the entire car froze. Even the rain outside seemed to hold its breath.
What… did she say? Villain…?" Frederick muttered under his breath.
But I didn't have the luxury of thinking.
Her teeth were clenched so tight she was about to draw blood.
I slipped my fingers between them to stop her.
Her bite was weak—barely the strength of a kitten.
But when her tears fell, warm and trembling, onto the back of my hand…
It burned.
That pain wasn't physical.
It was deeper—somewhere inside the chest, where the heart still dared to feel.
Why did it hurt?
Damn it.
Why did she hurt?
My breath hitched. I hated this.
I hated losing control.
I hated the unknown.
And she—she was everything I couldn't control.
Her existence was a mystery.
Her words made no sense.
She defied logic, broke patterns, unraveled the order I lived by.
And yet, whenever she smiled…
Whenever she looked at me as if I were her world.
My heart trembled.
How ridiculous.
She's just a girl I've known for half a day.
A stranger, fragile and foolish.
So why—
Why does my chest ache like this?
Why does she look at me like she knows me?
Like she knows everything?
Who the hell are you, Rosalia?
Outside, the first drops of rain began to fall—cold, heavy, relentless.
The convoy slowed, engines growling beneath the storm's weight.
Lightning flashed over the ruined skyline, and for a moment, her reflection in the window looked small, weak, and fragile.
As if a small wind can take this little life away at any moment.
A whisper echoed in my mind, low and distant.
(I'll save you… my villain.)
I had the craziest thought that her words might be meant for me.
I looked down at her sleeping form, and something inside me cracked open.
Because for the first time in years, I was afraid.
Not of death.
Not of the undead.
But of the possibility—
that somewhere in this cursed world, someone might actually be trying to save me.
And that terrified me more than anything else.
The rain intensified, pounding on the roof like gunfire.
The horizon vanished beneath the storm.
Somewhere out there, beyond the thunder and ruin, something stirred—
something that had been waiting.
For us all.