SPTM 04

Episode 4

I fanned the disinfectant over Richard’s wounds with deliberate slowness, my gaze dripping with false innocence. He stared back, icy skepticism in his eyes.

“How’d you open the door?”

“Picked the lock. Shocking, right?”

“You claimed to be a saint.”

Not exactly a saintly skill. But prisoners don’t ask about pasts. I shrugged.

“…Useful for escaping, though.”

“If you’re that capable, why not go alone?”

“Can’t fistfight guards, can I?”

His silence was thicker than the prison walls.

The truth? My saintly act, the stolen medicine, the tender care—all for one goal:

Richard was my ticket out.

“Changed your mind about escaping yet?”

“Leave. Now.”

Stubborn bastard.

Back in my cell, sleep fled me. Every sigh from his cell frayed my nerves.

Why’s his stupid, sculpted torso haunting me? I was supposed to seduce him, not the other way around.

I yanked the blanket over my head. This is all Richard’s fault—flaunting that martyr-complex physique.

Interrogation

Morning brought exhaustion. Richard looked equally wrecked.

“How’s the pain?” I yawned.

“Fine. Wasn’t severe.” He avoided my eyes.

“You’re blushing.”

“I’m not— Just stay on your side!”

Wow. One shirtless bandage session and he acts like I’m a predator.

Guards interrupted us, dragging me to the interrogation room.

Blindfolded, time dissolved. Hours? Days? The door creaked.

“Expected begging by now,” Kyle’s voice purred in my ear. I flinched as his fingers grazed my scalp. “Hate the dark, don’t you?”

The blindfold slipped. Light seared my eyes. Kyle loomed, lemon-bright hair contrasting the blood on his boots.

“Confess you’re a witch.”

“Never.”

His grin sharpened. “Or… I could help you escape.”

“What?”

“Be my woman instead of a corpse. Deal?”

His laugh was a knife against my throat.

Flashback: The Trap

Before Fortress, there was the manor.

I’d been playing saint for minor nobles when he arrived—Kyle Casnis, the prison warden, feared even by lords.

“And you are?” I’d blinked, fake smile plastered.

“Veronica. A… traveling saint.”

His gaze lingered, hungry.

Days later, the lord’s son dropped dead. Kyle stormed in with guards, pointing at me.

“That woman’s a witch.”

The cell door slammed shut behind his smile.