To His Hell and Back-Chapter 523: Situation In This Hell-II

"Did you sleep well?"

Morpheus had already set his knife and fork neatly beside his plate by the time the question left his lips. His gaze remained fixed on Arabella, as uselessly observant as always, the way it always was when he sensed something amiss. If it had been any other morning, she would have met his question with a confident smile, sly, and layered with sarcasm that hinted she was always two steps ahead. Today, however, that familiar edge was dulled.

She still had her claws, of course. Arabella never truly lost them. But there was a quiet withdrawal about her that could not be ignored, a restraint in her posture and expression that stood out all the more because of how rare it was.

Morpheus was not foolish. He might have pretended ignorance, but the moment she had entered the dining hall alone, without the presence of her most trusted maid hovering discreetly at her side, he had already understood. Arabella did not part easily with her people. To see her without Cassandra meant only one thing: someone had been taken from her, and the loss had struck deeper than she cared to show.

Finding the situation rare, and therefore interesting, how could Morpheus resist pressing at the bruise?

He tilted his head slightly, gnawing at the thought before voicing it aloud. "Perhaps you did not notice," he said mildly, "but your complexion seems rather pale today."

Arabella let out a slow breath before lifting her eyes to him, unimpressed. "If you already know, then don’t ask," she replied coolly. "A woman is never pleased when a man points out something amiss with her appearance. There are days when we are well aware we do not look our best. On those days, it would benefit you greatly to press your lips together and refrain from rubbing salt into an obvious wound."

Morpheus blinked once, then gave a quiet, thoughtful hum. "Ah. Then I have been misinformed about women," he said. "I know very little, admittedly. Still, I was under the impression such remarks would not offend. The women I have known never seemed to mind."

"Or perhaps," Arabella replied, a faint curve touching her lips despite herself, "they simply endured it in silence. After all, offending you rarely ends well." Her gaze sharpened subtly. "Very much like my maid, whom you allowed to be cast aside."

"I was not the one who ordered it," Morpheus reminded her, his tone calm and corrective, like an adult patiently schooling a stubborn child.

"And yet," Arabella said as she pushed back her chair and rose to her feet, "you were also not the one who stopped it." She exhaled, clearly done with the conversation. "You’ve killed my mood. I’ll be retiring to my room for the evening."

"I had intended to discuss a few matters with you," Morpheus said, watching her carefully.

"I refuse."

She did not linger, nor did she grant him the courtesy of waiting for his reaction or allowing him the chance to steer the discussion back under his control. Arabella walked past the table without hesitation. As she did, her gaze briefly met Esme’s.

For the first time since their initial meeting, Esme wore no expression of triumph.

She had won the night before.

But had she truly?

Arabella felt no urge to mock her, no satisfaction in humiliating a woman who had trusted Morpheus so foolishly. That kind of victory held no appeal. Instead, she turned away, already halfway to the door, and spoke over her shoulder.

"Remember this," she said to Morpheus. "There are only three days left. From now on, the real test begins. Trust me— or don’t."

Morpheus frowned, his interest sharpening. "So the test has not truly begun until now?"

"It has," Arabella replied without turning back. "I simply chose not to act." A pause. "Today, however, may tell a different story."

With that, she left. The door closed firmly behind her, sealing the room, and Morpheus’s unanswered questions, away in silence.

While Morpheus felt a dread around his heart at her words, he thought his day would go on about as normally.

Of course he was sorely mistaken.

Arabella wasn’t one to just lie down.

Just this morning, there were rumors about her calling men to her bedchamber. Men.

Of course though the castle of the sorcerers were big enough to be counted as a town, the place never had any kind of sexual entertainment shop. It was also impossible to ask the people from outside the castle to come.

But it wasn’t impossible for women to buy men in this place, especially to please themselves just like how a man would buy women.

They usually hide and do it in secret, for fear that a mere word could destroy their reputation.

Arabella, however, wasn’t the type of person to play her game mildly.

Though Morpheus hadn’t gotten the list of names for the men who had came to her bedchamber, what he heard was a few names famous enough for their habit of sleeping with needy widows who had lost their husband yet need to fulfill their own desires.

These men were all already brought to Arabella’s room and while it was only a rumor, how enraged was Morpheus to see that there were those men’s names in the ledger he was holding to.

"Curses," Morpheus gritted his teeth, tightening his hand on the document he was holding before slamming it to the ground.

He tried to grab his quill pen, to distract himself by doing some work on his own which didn’t last longer than a few seconds as he found himself pinning the pen’s tip to the table until its golden frame was crushed.

"Milord," Esme spoke when seeing him standing up from the chair, "It’s just her plan to trick you."

She was still upset, of course she was. But as Arabella had guessed, long years have passed since she felt chosen and worshipped Morpheus and the ground he walked on.

It was impossible for her to completely betray him, even if she could have lost her life last night by his hand.

Even now, her brain had came up with reasons why he had done the things he did. That he was innocent, that the situation had made him twisted.

She knew the real him. The vulnerable side of him that others don’t.

She was also confident that while it would be difficult for her to be his number one, it wasn’t impossible.

A part of Morpheus’s heart had her in it and it would never change.

That was what she had told herself and why she was still here, standing beside him while he did his work and patiently tried to stop him.

"You only need two more days," Esme muttered under her breath, her fingers curling slightly at her side. "And I highly doubt that woman would truly allow herself to sleep with another man."

She lifted her gaze toward Morpheus, voice soft but insistent, "Think about it, milord. She is the sort who would rather die than be called promiscuous. She was raised to repress desire, taught to fear it, to turn away from it as though it were a stain on her soul. The only reason she is doing this now is to honor the words she spoke to you this morning— to test you."

Esme paused, then added quietly, "And you cannot possibly allow that test to succeed."

Morpheus clicked his tongue, irritation flickering openly across his expression. "And how can you be so confident?" he asked. "I erased her memories believing she would become meek— that she would bend, soften to submission and obey." His jaw tightened. "Instead, it appears I was wrong. She did not merely tame Cassius, that vampire bastard... he tamed her as well."

Esme stiffened at the mention of Cassius but masked it quickly. "Regardless, milord, I know her nature. Girls like her cannot—"

"Milord."

The interruption was sudden and sharp. A maid stumbled into the study, her voice trembling as she bowed hastily. At the sight of her, Esme’s composure cracked, her brows knitting together in immediate displeasure.

"What is the meaning of your appearance?" Esme snapped.

The maid’s dress was torn, the fabric split wide at the collar as though a sharp object had been pressed there and dragged downward without care. The damage left her chest exposed far beyond what was proper, the disarray unmistakable. She clutched the fabric together with shaking hands, eyes lowered, breathing uneven.

Esme’s gaze lingered— and something ugly twisted in her chest. 𝘧𝑟𝑒𝑒𝘸𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝓁.𝘤𝘰𝓂

Jealousy.

An irrational, burning jealousy flared through her. In her mind, accusations surfaced at once: that the girl had come dressed this way on purpose, that she sought attention, that she dared to stand before Morpheus in such a state. The logic mattered little. The feeling had already taken root.

"What happened to you?" Esme demanded coldly, though the edge in her voice betrayed more than concern.

The maid swallowed hard, lips trembling as she struggled to speak, while Morpheus watched in silence, his expression unreadable, shadows gathering quietly behind his eyes.

"It’s... the lady! Lady Arabella had asked for me to join her in her bedchamber. It’s a mess out there! When I refuse what she wanted me to do.. in bed with those men... she cut my dress and forced me to partake! I managed to run away... she let me go but she told me to tell you that she won’t allow you to call Esme to her bedchamber and that if you do, it would mean that you had broke the promise and that the third test end here and now."

Hearing that, Morpheus’s arms trembled, shaking with the uncontrollable anger while veins crawled from her neck to her jaw.

"That woman... has gone mad!"