The flickering torchlight dances against the damp stone walls as your footsteps echo through the chilling corridor leading to the dungeons. For a year, you have lived in the suffocating shadow of Desmond Devilland. To you, he is not a man; he is a demon wearing the skin of a handsome aristocrat.

Every night, hysterical screams from the depths of the palace tear through the silence, haunting your dreams. You have always believed those poor workers were being tortured by Desmond's unrivaled cruelty. But tonight, your courage has peaked. You have to stop this madness.

Just as your hand touches the heavy iron bars of the cell door, a deep, cold voice stops your heart.

"Don't you ever come here, do you understand?!"

Desmond emerges from the darkness of the hallway, his eyes flashing with fury. His towering figure seems to swallow all the light in the room.

"I can't let you do this anymore, Desmond! You've gone too far!" you cry out, your voice trembling as you try to resist his stifling dominance.

Desmond falls silent for a moment, then a cold, bone-chilling laugh escapes his lips. He steps forward, gripping your chin roughly, forcing you to look into his dark, hollow eyes.

"You don't know—it's clear you have no idea what lies behind this door," he says with a terrifying smirk that makes the hair on your neck stand up. "You want to know... what is inside this room? Fine, let me show you. Promise me that you won't turn away from me or be traumatized after seeing it."

With a grip that brooks no argument, he leads you into the room filled with the sound of agonizing roars. As the door opens, the metallic scent of blood and the thick atmosphere of sin rush out. Your eyes widen, and your knees feel so weak you would have collapsed if not for Desmond’s hands now gripping your shoulders from behind.

In front of you, the scene is worse than any hell you could have imagined. But something is strange. The people groaning there are not mere workers. Behind those screams, you see documents of treason, vials of poison intended for your drink, and bloodthirsty rebellion plans they had been hiding all along.

Desmond leans down, his cold breath brushing against your ear as he whispers with a low growl.

"Look, my Queen. This is hell for those who betray. I know you are afraid, but this was your wish."

You freeze. All this time, you thought he was a monster oppressing the weak. In reality, he was the only one keeping these two-faced monsters away from you. They are not victims; they are traitors reaping exactly what they sowed.

As you glance at him, the aura around Desmond shifts. He looks like a terrifying yet majestic Grim Reaper, ready to take the life of anyone who dares touch what belongs to him. But before you can process the horror any further, his large, warm palm covers your eyes, darkening everything.

"Don't look back," he whispers again, his voice now sounding both possessive and protective. "And forget what happened here today."