Man behind the mask

In her unconscious state, Dahlia found herself reliving the moments before her death. Her mother's face appeared, smiling warmly, enough to brighten her day. She was in the car, lost in thoughts about Sullivan, when a speeding truck collided with them.

Abruptly, the chaos ceased, and she found herself in an ocean of stillness. Everything around her was serene and calm, a stark contrast to the violent crash.

"Where am I?" Dahlia murmured, turning in circles, trying to grasp her surroundings. In the distance, she saw a feminine figure, barely discernible through the haze. She swam towards it, desperate to understand where she was and why.

As she drew closer, her eyes widened in shock. The figure before her was herself—Dahlia, the original soul from the novel. She stood frozen, unable to blink, staring in disbelief.

"Why did we switch bodies? How did I end up in your world?" Dahlia asked, her voice trembling with confusion.

"You tell me. What have you done?" the original Dahlia snapped. "You've changed the entire historical evidence from the past. You're turning Sullivan into a hero when he's the biggest villain!"

"Villains can be heroes," Dahlia retorted. "Also, it's just a novel. What do you mean by historical evidence?" she asked, bewildered.

"This all happened long ago," the original Dahlia explained, her frustration palpable. "You took my place, and now you have to find a way to get out of my body! I'm stuck here, and I want my body back!"

"Treat Sullivan well, and I'll consider it," Dahlia countered, her tone firm.

"I hate him!" the original Dahlia shouted, her voice echoing in the stillness.

"Great! Then I'll change the entire course of this history!" Dahlia replied with a victorious smile, her eyes gleaming with determination. She winked at the original Dahlia, feeling a surge of confidence.

Suddenly, Dahlia felt a powerful force strike her, sending her hurtling through the vast ocean of stillness. The impact was intense, and she was thrown miles away from where she had been standing. Her eyes squeezed shut, and she screamed at the top of her lungs, the sound echoing through the emptiness around her.

The next moment, she bolted upright with a loud scream, her heart racing. She found herself back in the physical world, her body drenched in sweat. The towel that had been placed on her forehead to cool her fever fell to the duvet.

The room was dimly lit, the shadows playing tricks on her mind. She glanced around, disoriented and still reeling from the intense dream.

"Are you alright?" Sullivan's voice fell upon her ears. Before she could turn around, he sat in front of her, his hand resting on her forehead to check her temperature.

"Hmm. Your fever has reduced a lot," he observed, meeting her gaze with a concerned expression.

"I thought you wouldn't care even if I died," Dahlia remarked sharply, her eyes narrowing.

"I'm already labeled as the most cruel husband in history," Sullivan replied, dropping his hand and taking the damp towel to place it on the bedside table.

"What do you mean?" Dahlia asked, her curiosity piqued.

"Don't act innocent. You know what I mean," Sullivan stated, pushing up his sleeves. Dahlia's eyes were drawn to his veiny hands, and she gulped nervously.

"Can't you be less rude to me? Can't you show a bit of love?" Dahlia asked, her voice softening.

"Don't expect anything like that from me. I haven't even begun to repay you for what you did to me. I'm still kind to you," Sullivan retorted as he stood up, his tone cold. "And one more thing: don't sleep in the separate bedroom," he asserted, heading toward the door.

Dahlia smiled mischievously. "You mean you want me to sleep with you, right?" she teased, her playful statement making him pause.

Sullivan stopped, curling his fingers into a fist as he stood at the threshold. He glanced back briefly, a fleeting smile spreading across his lips before it quickly faded. Without another word, he walked out of the door, leaving Dahlia with a mix of emotions—confusion, hope, and a flicker of triumph.

As the door closed behind him, Dahlia leaned back against her pillows, her mind racing. Sullivan's brief smile had given her a glimmer of something more beneath his harsh exterior.

Maybe, just maybe, there was hope for change. She resolved to find a way to reach the man behind the mask, even if it meant enduring his coldness for a little while longer.

~~~~~

After having a bath, Dahlia felt significantly better. She sat on a chair, allowing Nylie to comb her hair.

"Prince Sullivan is evil, Your Highness," Nylie remarked, her voice tinged with disdain.

"Huh? Why do you say that?" Dahlia asked, her confusion evident.

Nylie hesitated for a moment before continuing, "Because he didn't arrange any physician for you. If not for the Crown Prince, you wouldn't have received any treatment today. Prince Sullivan isn't well-reputed in the palace, and as his wife, no one cares for you either."

"Daedric sent a physician for me?" Dahlia asked, needing confirmation.

"Yes. His Royal Highness stayed beside you for a while. Later, he had to leave for urgent work. Princess Dahlia, you should consider a divorce from Prince Sullivan. He doesn't respect you. The Crown Prince adores you and wants you to return to him. While Prince Sullivan always treats you coldly. All he does is—"

"Enough, Nylie," Dahlia interrupted firmly, causing Nylie to stop abruptly.

"You all are unaware of how warm-hearted Sullivan truly is! Also, I will never leave Sullivan. You all have turned him into this kind of man. He never received the attention, the care, the respect from the people around him. When you're treated unfairly, you become cold so that you won't be affected," Dahlia pronounced with conviction. She took the comb from Nylie's hand. "You can leave. I will do it myself," she murmured.

Nylie looked taken aback but didn't argue. She bowed slightly and left the room, leaving Dahlia alone.