Phoenix Mountain.
On a cold night in mid-October, the first snow came later than expected.
It was one of the most anticipated moments in the Capital, when people longed to be with the ones they loved—to care for, and to share the beauty of the falling snow together.
Far from the bustling crowds, a pair of figures sat quietly on a narrow cliff.
With the ambient sound of the sea in the background, a slender hand—stained with damp blood—slowly, weakly rose to point toward the sky.
The young woman’s eyelashes trembled.
Looking at one, then two, and soon countless radiant snowflakes falling from above.
The chill of winter struck her dirt-streaked face, making her shiver.
She blinked twice, trying to focus—trying to see the shape, the delicate beauty of each crystal. A faint smile unknowingly formed on her lips, a small spark of joy amid the pain.
“Seril… look. It’s finally snowing.”
Erica Ancia turned her head weakly toward the weight leaning against her shoulder and small body. She was embracing a fully grown man.
Seril Cal—a powerful and dignified man whom she had betrayed again and again and again— yet, he was the only one who selflessly took a bullet for her… and now, after hearing her voice one last time, he was slowly closing his eyes.
She felt the change in pressure on her body—his arms around her waist loosening, fingers slipping away.
Then came the warmth of her own tears.
She began to cry.
Sobs broke from her chest as both her hands gently caressed the cold, pale, and heartbreakingly handsome face of her husband.
She tried to touch him harder, even gave his cheek a weak pinch—but there was no response.
Only the ice-cold gusts of wind answered, brushing past her again and again.
Her fingers began to tremble more visibly.
Tears continued to stream down her cheeks, accompanied by painful, broken sobs. “You forgot to kiss me… You forgot to kiss me…”
Then came the sound of hurried footsteps—stopping just behind her.
Even without turning around, she knew exactly who they were.
Just the thought of seeing their faces made her stomach twist with nausea.
“I finally found you,” Manuel Mortel said, voice light with false joy and smugness. “You really do have a talent for running away, bitch.”
“Manuel.” Tasting the blood on her lips, Erica Ancia almost vomited from just uttering that scumbag’s name.
She couldn’t help but recall how they ended up in this moment.
A while ago, inside a dimly lit room. In a suffocating space, thick with the fishy, pungent scent of damp walls and rot.
She had stared at the man standing against the light.
He held a glass of red wine in his left hand, the sweet scent of citrus fruits rising from its surface. His handsome face leaned in slowly, a thin, charming smile curling on his heart-shaped lips. But even that smile couldn’t warm the cold breath that escaped him.
“Manuel, you deserve to be in hell!” Erica Ancia shouted through bloody, trembling lips.
“Yes, my dear.” Manuel Mortel—the man she had loved for ten years. The man she followed blindly, obeyed without question.
The man for whom she had become nothing more than a tool.
Manuel Mortel pinched her chin, forcing her head to tilt up.
His smiling eyes gleamed with wicked amusement.
“You can still follow me after this,” he said smoothly.
“I can give you money, house, cars and more attention—
as long as you’re willing to spread your legs whenever I come calling.”
“Dream on, bastard.” Erica Ancia spat out a mouthful of chewed blood and saliva—right onto his smug face.
His expression twisted into something ugly. The slap came fast, hard— and her head snapped to the side, the sting burning across her cheek.
“You bitch! You’re asking for it.” Manuel Mortel stepped back, wiping the mess from his face with visible disgust. Then he gestured to the thugs waiting in the shadows.
“Bring the bucket.”
Still dazed from the blow, Erica felt her world spin. Her ears rang. She didn’t even notice the movement around her, and
didn’t see what was coming.
The man she once believed would make a good husband—
was now ready to drown her again.
Manuel held the bucket in his hands, eyes fixed on the disheveled woman before him— a woman who was once held in someone’s palm like the most precious treasure, so cherished that not even a speck of dirt dared to cling to her shoes.
Now, she looked like someone passed between countless hands of men, drained, beaten, her body slick with sweat and blood,
tied tightly to a fragile chair that barely held her up.
And knowing he was the one who had tainted the angel of that cold, arrogant man, Manuel Mortel flashed a satisfied, sick smile.
Just as he stepped forward to add another layer of cruelty—
the door burst open with a loud bang, making him whip his head toward it. “He really came. What a fool...”
“Manuel! You dare—!” The voice roared as a man strode in like a storm, rage pouring from him.
It jolted the woman in the chair out of her dazed trance.
“S-Seril…?” Erica Ancia’s voice cracked in disbelief.
“Se…Seril!”
She blinked, dazed and wide-eyed.
This foolish man—her lawful husband—had really come.
Regardless of everything she had done to him…
He still came for her.
As memories of her betrayals and cruelty flooded back,
her heart sank into a sea of guilt and bitterness—deep and endless.
“You stop right there.” Manuel Mortel raised a hand toward Seril Cal.
He took a gun from the bodyguard beside him,
pointing it directly at Erica’s head.
“Or else don’t blame me if my finger slips on the trigger—right, Mr. Cal? Or should I say… Mr. Fallen King of the Capital?”
Erica bit her lip, refusing to meet the eyes of the man who stood across from her. Instead, she turned her glare toward the scum beside her.
“Manuel! Kill me, then! Kill me! You bastard—just do it!”
“You’re asking for it, dear—" And in the next moment, she was falling. Not to the ground, but into a strong embrace.
Seril Cal had thrown himself forward, taking the shot with his back, pulling her into his arms.
“I’m here,” he whispered softly against her ear, “Don’t be afraid.”
---
They managed to flee in the chaos that followed, escaping that dreadful place, broken and breathless.
Now, they found themselves on the edge of a small cliff,
the sea crashing wildly below.
Seril Cal, still clinging to her fragile body, had only asked to sit for a moment.
But she realized…
He wasn’t just trying to sit.
He was giving her his final moment.
And that brought them to this point— where regrets are always reserved for the ending.
“I can see… your madman is already dead.” Manuel Mortel’s mocking voice rang out, far too close to her ears. He moved toward her, but she stopped him with a glare.
“Don’t come any closer!” Erica Ancia used the last of her strength to shift back, pulling the lifeless body tighter against her chest.
Her entire being relaxed slightly as she embraced him.
But the moment she felt the air beneath her dangling feet—cold, vast—her eyes dulled with emptiness. To anyone else, the seawater below might just be water.
But to her, it was death. Still, compared to the filth in standing in front of her. The dark sea felt like salvation.
Erica Ancia looked straight toward Manuel, her eyes colder than winter frost. If only she had seen through all his tricks long ago.... maybe, still. “ I really did love you. But that… that’s my second greatest regret in this life.”
Manuel Mortel's face twitched, as if her words slapped him harder than any hand could. Something off knocked against his chest. His expression darkened.
“And what’s your greatest regret?” He asked, his voice low and dangerous.
“That…” Erica turned away, eyes falling once again to the pale, handsome sleeping face in her arms.
She didn’t answer.
She didn’t need to.
The look in her eyes was enough. And it made Manuel Mortel's grip tighten around the gun in his hand.
“Brother Nuel! You’re here!”
“You finally found my dear cousin.”
Erica knew those voices too well. They carried that bright, sticky sweetness that barely covered the rot underneath.
Salina Ancia!
Jane Luise!
The two women she had trusted all her life. And now they arrived with sinful smiles—the kind of smiles only jealousy could shape.
