To His Hell and Back-Chapter 512: Taken Away-I

Esme’s patience had finally snapped, and Arabella could see it in every sharp movement, every flare of her nostrils, and every spark of her eyes.

She no longer cared about disguising the truth, about keeping her intentions veiled behind polite politeness or false concern.

It was almost reckless, the way she moved and spoke, as if she had forgotten or outright dismissed all pretense.

Arabella’s brow furrowed, and she studied Esme carefully. This wasn’t just jealousy. at least, it couldn’t be. Jealousy alone didn’t make someone so frantic, so careless, so willing to risk exposure by letting the truth slip.

No, there was something deeper driving Esme, a fear or urgency that she couldn’t mask even if she wanted to. And Arabella realized, slowly, that it wasn’t just Esme who was racing against the clock. They weren’t the only ones trying to manipulate time; Esme and Morpheus were running their own game, running toward some hidden goal that Arabella didn’t yet understand.

Unlike Esme, Morpheus seemed confident in his control, his certainty allowing him to linger, to toy, to pretend that the world was entirely under his hand. He treated time as if it were infinite, as if there were always another moment to pull strings, another chance to manipulate events, another chance to mislead her.

Esme, in contrast, acted as though every second counted. Every word she spoke, every step she took was rushed, impatient, betraying the invisible pressure that weighed upon her. Arabella could feel it like a shadow pressing down, a silent reminder that they were all running out of time— and that the stakes were higher than she had guessed.

What were they planning?

Arabella’s mind raced, piecing together the fragments of Esme’s behavior, the hurried steps, the careless words, the flashes of something unguarded that threatened to reveal the truth.

They were crafting a plan just as she and her allies had been doing, but the problem was, Esme and Morpheus had already begun their moves, and she had no idea what they were.

And yet, unlike Morpheus, Esme lacked patience or subtlety; she believed herself untouchable, confident that her schemes could never fail within the castle walls, not realizing that Circe had already been smuggled in, not realizing that in just a few days, Morpheus would be facing a reckoning of his own making.

Arabella’s gaze sharpened, narrowing on Esme’s face as the other woman took a step forward. There was a smugness in her eyes, a certainty that Arabella had never seen in her before. But Arabella also noticed the fissure beneath the surface, the slight hesitation, the momentary falter that betrayed Esme’s composure. The calm mask of control was cracking.

"Remembered?" Arabella’s voice was low, steady at first, but underlined with a sudden tension, her frown deepening. "What do you mean by remembered? Was there something I... have forgotten?"

Esme’s lips curled into a scoff as she moved forward, her movements sharp, almost aggressive. "Lord Morpheus said I must have mistaken what happened that night," she said, as though repeating a justification to herself, "but I know what I saw. I know you were trying to trick me into opening that room for you."

Arabella froze, her eyes narrowing as a chill ran down her spine. "That room?" she asked, the single question dripping with disbelief and growing anger. "Esme, are you... are you implying that I have been fooled? That someone has lied to me? That Morpheus and you have hidden something from me, that I’ve forgotten something?"

Esme’s scoff deepened, harsh and venomous. "Stop your pretentious act. It’s far too disgusting to watch. You think Lord Morpheus didn’t notice your moves, but we all saw. Your actions have already begun to change things, and that... that speaks volumes. If you hadn’t remembered anything, you wouldn’t suddenly turn so daring. Your true self has never been so daring but just a meek peasant girl who only know how to cower when you feel fear."

Arabella’s pulse quickened. Her hand clenched into a fist at her side as she took a deliberate step closer to Esme, her green eyes blazing, her voice rising in ferocity. "What room?" she demanded again, this time with an intensity that brooked no hesitation. "Which room are you talking about? What is it? What are you trying to imply?"

Something shifted in Esme’s expression at that moment.

For the first time, she faltered. Arabella could see it, a subtle tightening around the eyes, a hesitation in the stance, a flicker of uncertainty behind the usual arrogance.

Esme had counted on the facade, the composed mask of knowledge that Arabella would never break. But now, Arabella’s eyes, once skeptical and cautious, were desperate, probing, hungry for the truth. She had a clue, a thread of understanding, and she would not allow it to slip through her fingers. Not this time.

It was as if... as if Arabella hadn’t remembered anything at all.

But when she felt that flicker of doubt, Esme angrily bite down her cheeks.

No. She wasn’t going to be fooled again.

She knew it. She could feel it.

That Arabella has remembered everything and that she has planned on doing something secretly while Morpheus try to please her into the marriage.

A smile crept over Esme’s face, small at first, twisting with amusement and malice, curling the corners of her lips into a grin that was more warning than delight.

"Well, no matter," she said softly, almost teasingly, though her eyes burned with a fire of restrained fury. "I think I should also remind you that... not everything will go the way you plan."

Her words lingered in the air and Arabella’s gaze sharpened, ready to demand an explanation, to know what she meant by that haunting warning.

But before Arabella could speak, Esme’s hand moved with a sudden swiftness.

She bit down on her thumb, drawing a bead of blood that fell onto the polished floor. The moment the crimson droplet struck, it spread across the ground like ink in water, forming a glowing red circle that pulsed and throbbed with dark energy. It shifted, moved across the space with terrifying precision, and then, with a sudden snap of its invisible boundaries, trapped Cassius inside a sphere of writhing red magic.

Arabella’s eyes widened in alarm and disbelief.

No. This wasn’t possible.

The magic... this blood magic!

It was the same as the one she had used on Morpheus during the second test, a spell that none of Circe’s writing ever had.

And yet here Esme was, wielding it with ease, only with a flick of her wrist and a drop of her own blood as if she was the one who had crafted the blood magic and learnt it for years when she should have just known about its existence less than a weak ago.

Arabella felt the disbelief coil in her chest like a snake. How could someone who wasn’t even a witch perform such a feat? How could she tap into this power with such ease?

"Surprised?" Esme’s voice rang with a cruel delight, snapping Arabella out of her shock. "I can do everything you can do too." There was a glint of mischief in her eyes, a silent challenge that dared Arabella to act.

Arabella’s fingers ignited with a burst of radiant light, shooting forward toward Esme’s face.

The light flared, illuminating the dark corners of the room, and for a moment, Esme’s feet lifted from the ground, suspended by the same water-step magic that Arabella had perfected months ago.

But Arabella knew better than to rely on that alone. Her mind raced even as her body moved, summoning every ounce of skill she had honed. The blood barrier circling Cassius flared in protest, struggling to return to Esme’s control, yet Arabella wove her magic carefully, drawing it into herself, bending it to her will even as it resisted, feeding on the tension and fear in the room.

"What did Morpheus do to you?" Arabella demanded, her voice sharp with concern.

Cassius, trapped in the sphere, stared at her with a calmness that belied the danger. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to attack back. It was him waiting for her sign when he could.

They were so close to ending everything without being noticed but if he was careless, they were going to just redo every single action they took.

Esme, for all her smirk and arrogance, radiated a quiet delight at Arabella’s surprise. There was a dangerous glee in the way she watched, in the way she measured Arabella’s reactions, as though she reveled in testing her limits.

Arabella’s heart pounded in her chest. It wasn’t that Esme had suddenly learnt a magic that made her powerful enough to go against her. No. It was the opposite. Somehow, Arabella had... this nagging feeling that it wasn’t something about Esme that could do it.

That somehow... a very forbidden action had been made by Morpheus. Something that even changed Esme’s constitution.

"I will be bringing that maid away from you," Esme then said with a smile. "Not by Morpheus’s order but my own. I will keep her in the dungeon and make sure that for the length of the third test this maid will not be anywhere around you."