To Love A Villain-Chapter 203: The Man In The Basement Dungeon

>>Enya

My boots scraped uselessly against the polished stone floor as I was dragged like a ragdoll across the room. My vision blurred, half from the tears stinging my eyes, half from the blood running freely down from my nose. The copper taste of it pooled in my mouth. Every jolt of my body sent a throb of pain up my spine.

Emrys’s fingers were still knotted in my hair, yanking my head back as he moved. His grip was merciless—he wanted it to hurt.

"Let go," I hissed, voice ragged, though I knew better than to expect mercy.

He slammed me forward and I stumbled, crashing to my knees on the cold floor in front of the massive bed. My palms hit the ground to break my fall, but my pride shattered more than anything else.

"There," Emrys spat, his voice loud and sharp, cutting through the stillness of the chamber. "I found the little rat halfway to the stables, cloak stuffed with gold. The vault key was still in her pocket."

Liar.

The silence that followed was deafening.

I lifted my gaze. The flickering candlelight painted my father’s face in sickly hues—sunken cheeks, cracked lips, skin stretched thin like parchment. He looked more ghost than man now, barely more than a breath clinging to life. But his eyes were still there—cold, watchful, as if death itself were afraid to take him before he gave his final judgment.

He turned his gaze to me.

I swallowed thickly. "It’s not true. I didn’t—"

"Save your breath," Emrys snapped. He stepped forward, standing behind me like a proud executioner. "She betrayed us."

"Betray?" I hissed, wiping blood from beneath my nose.

He ignored me and stepped closer to the bed, "You’ve always wanted to run away from this place." His gaze was intense, I could feel it even though I wasn’t looking at him

I pushed myself upright, fists shaking. "I wasn’t running. I wasn’t stealing." The room fell silent. My heart thundered in the void between breaths. "I was getting Einar’s medicine."

That landed like stone in water. Emrys’s shoulders stiffened. He didn’t speak.

"There’s none left in the apothecary. I checked twice," I went on, voice shaking now but not from fear. "No one restocked it. No one even noticed. I went to the vault because that was the only place I could find what he needed."

I turned my gaze to the man on the bed, meeting his sunken eyes with all the fury I had left.

"Of course you didn’t notice," I said, my lip curling. "You forgot him. Like always. Just like you forget anything that doesn’t wear your name like a crown."

Something flickered across Emrys’s face. His grip on my arm eased slightly.

"You should’ve come to me," he said, quieter now. "I would’ve handled it."

I looked up at him, startled by the softness threading through his voice.

But it was short-lived.

A rasping breath from the bed dragged the attention back. Father’s voice cut the air like a rusted blade.

"That thing," he said, each word sharp and full of loathing, "is not my son."

My stomach turned.

He didn’t stop there. He looked at me then—not like a daughter, not even like a stranger, but like filth staining his floor.

"I have one son," he snarled. "And he’s standing over you."

Emrys said nothing.

"Of course, like I’m not your daughter."

"You vile things," He coughed like a dying horse, "Are not my children." His coughing got worse yet he didn’t even attempt to stop the vile words, "You dirty little monsters."

I gritted my teeth, "If you hate us so much, let us go. You’re the one who insists on keeping us caged."

He let out a hoarse snort, "As if, so that you can go around everywhere and tell the world what kind of disgusting things you are?" He looked at me with his half dead eyes, "I’ll never let you destroy the wellington name."

To hell with his senile old man.

Why would we ever tell the world we’re half breeds?

I snapped towards Emrys, "Give me back the money."

He looked down at me, his tall frame towering over mine, "No,"

"That’s my boy," Father said, "Don’t let this wench ever get away from the mansion."

"I need Einar’s medicine!!" I yelled and tried to jump at my little brother but he dodged pretty easily.

"I’ll take care of that." He said.

"Don’t bother." Father replied, "She’s trying to run away."

"I’m not!!" I glared at the Duke. My nose was still bleeding, and the warm drip of it down my chin felt oddly grounding, "Fine..." I let out a frustrated sigh

Neither of them said a word as I turned on my heel, my boots echoing hollowly across the chamber floor. If they didn’t want to listen, fine. Let them rot in this mausoleum of pride and delusion.

But I didn’t even make it halfway to the doors before his voice cut through the air like a lash.

"Emrys. Grab her."

I froze.

"No," I whispered. But Emrys was already moving.

Before I could take another step, his hand clamped around my arm—firm, but not cruel this time.

"Put her in the dungeon," the Duke ordered, voice cracking with the weight of command.

Emrys’s grip faltered. He looked over his shoulder. "The dungeon? We just threw in a pair of beasts last night—ferals from the borderlands."

"So what?" Father rasped. "She’s one too."

My heart slammed against my ribs.

Emrys didn’t move. His fingers tightened on my sleeve, but his jaw was clenched, and his eyes flicked between me and the dying man in the bed.

"She’s not like them," he muttered. "She’s—she’s my-" He never finished the sentence

"She’s a traitor!" the Duke bellowed, rising halfway off the pillows in a fit of wheezing rage. "You think I don’t know her kind? She needs to learn. Lock her up before she disappears again!"

"I wasn’t running!" I burst out, yanking against Emrys’s hold, my voice breaking under the weight of desperation. "I told you—I wasn’t running! I was going to help Einar—"

"Lies!" Father howled. "Everything out of your mouth is lies!"

The room trembled with the weight of his hysteria, the tapestries fluttering from the gust of wind as if the whole manor recoiled at his voice.

"You were going to run away with our gold like the ungrateful little snake you are," he hissed. "Admit it!"

"I wasn’t," I said firmly

"Throw her in," Father ordered

***

The iron gate groaned as Emrys shoved it open, the hinges crying like they hadn’t moved in years. The air inside was heavy with mildew, rot, and something more coppery—blood, maybe. The torches on the wall flickered with a sickly orange light, casting shadows that twisted like claws along the moss-covered stone. The ceiling dripped with slow, echoing droplets. Somewhere in the distance, I heard a growl—low and guttural—followed by the dragging clink of chains.

"Get in," Emrys said, his hand firm against my back as he guided me forward.

I didn’t resist. I didn’t speak. My body moved, but my thoughts were a storm. Fury. Shame. Disgust.

The cell he pushed me into was one of the inner ones, far from the stairs, deeper in the rot and gloom. The floor was damp, covered in grime and scattered straw. The scent of old urine and wet stone burned my nostrils.

"You’ll be fine," Emrys muttered as he locked the door behind me. "The others monsters are confined. They can’t get to you."

I turned and stared at him, my lip curled, the look on my face saying everything I didn’t bother to voice. Disgust. Betrayal.

He avoided my eyes. The iron door clicked shut, and the key turned in the lock with a metallic finality. Then his footsteps receded, each one lighter, faster—like he couldn’t wait to be gone.

I exhaled slowly, my fists clenched. The silence in the wake of his departure was deafening.

But then—movement.

!!!

Something shifted in the shadows to my left. My heart thudded, and I turned, blinking as my eyes adjusted.

There, against the far wall, partially veiled in shadow, was a man.

He was half-naked, his torso marked by bruises in every stage of healing—some purple and swollen, others yellowed and fading. Cuts lined his arms and chest, some fresh, still seeping. His wrists were shackled above his head, chains bolted to the stone. One leg barely supported him, while the other trembled with the effort of staying upright.

His head was bowed, long dark hair matted to his face with sweat and blood. He wasn’t unconscious—but barely. His chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths.

My stomach turned.

This wasn’t a monster. This was a man.

Human.... Maybe.... Or I guess he was like me considering he was in here....

I stepped back instinctively, my boot scraping against the stone. At the sound, his head lifted—slowly.

One eye was swollen shut. The other, dimly lit by torchlight, fixed on me.

I didn’t know who he was, or what he had done.

I took a cautious step forward, my foot squelching in the damp filth that coated the stone. The man didn’t speak, didn’t move. Just watched. His chest heaved from the effort of staying upright, blood drying in streaks down his ribs. But his gaze... his gaze pierced through the dark like a blade.

And while I was focused on him, getting nearer made me caught sight of something else

!?!

At first I didn’t get it.

Just past him, behind the curve of his body, was something small. Too small.

I moved closer, my pulse quickening, and the flickering torchlight finally revealed her.

What?!!

I was shocked.

A little girl?

She lay on her front, motionless. Her tangled hair was plastered to her neck, her arms awkwardly twisted under her, thin wrists bruised and shackled. Her small frame rose and fell so faintly, it was barely noticeable. Her skin was pale, almost grey in the cold light, and her dress—if it could still be called that—was torn and soaked with grime.

I froze.

A chill swept through my spine, colder than the dungeon air.

She couldn’t have been older than three

"What—" I choked, but the words died in my throat.

My legs locked. I couldn’t take another step.

And that’s when I glanced back at the man.

His head lifted fully, the chain above him rattling with the motion. That one good eye—once glassy with pain—burned now.

And one look is all it took to understand it was filled with rage.

Murderous rage.