Elysium: Desired by the Cold-hearted Princess [GL]
Chapter 115 115: The height of humiliation

Electra's Pov

I don't know how it happened—how I, of all people, managed to fall asleep in this situation—but I did. One minute, I was seething, drowning in my fury, trying to ignore the biting cold and the ache in my wrist from the handcuff while also dealing with an invisible voice, and the next, I was waking up on the hard floor.

Blinking groggily, I tried to piece together what had happened, but my memory was blank. The last thing I remembered was that strange voice, taunting me, asking how it felt to be powerless. After that? Nothing.

It was as though the cold and exhaustion had swallowed me whole, and now here I was, still chained to the rail, still in my underwear, and still utterly humiliated.

I let out a groan, shifting slightly to sit up straighter. The chill from the night had seeped into my bones, and every movement sent a wave of discomfort through me. I used my free hand to rub some feeling back into my legs, which were stiff and sore from sitting in the same position for so long.

The metal cuff around my wrist had left an angry red mark, and I was certain it would bruise later.

Running my fingers through my hair, I winced at the tangles and knots. It felt like straw, rough and unkempt. My face felt tight and raw from the cold, and I could already imagine how awful I must look. Not that I cared about appearances right now.

No, my concern was survival—and figuring out how much longer I was going to be stuck up here.

"Damn it," I muttered, my voice hoarse and scratchy from the cold air. My throat was dry, and I felt weak, like I hadn't eaten in days. The night had drained me completely, and it was a miracle I hadn't frozen to death.

I glanced around the rooftop, hoping—praying—that I'd see someone, anyone, who could help me, but the space was as empty as it had been last night. Just me, the rail, and the endless sky.

The sun was rising higher now, and I tilted my head back, closing my eyes for a moment and letting the sunlight fall on my face. It was a small comfort, but it wasn't enough to ease the frustration building inside me.

"How long is she planning to leave me here?" I muttered under my breath, my voice filled with irritation.

Seraphina had gotten what she wanted—I'd spent the entire night on the rooftop, chained and humiliated, just like she planned. So why wasn't she here yet? Wasn't this the part where she showed up, smirking, and made some sarcastic remark before finally letting me go?

I tugged at the cuff again, more out of habit than any real hope that it would give way. The metal bit into my wrist, and I hissed in pain, but I didn't stop.

The anger bubbling inside me was the only thing keeping me going at this point. Anger at Seraphina, for doing this to me. Anger at myself, for letting it happen, and anger at the universe, for putting me in this mess in the first place.

I was on the verge of pulling my hair out, when I heard the sound of the rooftop door open, and a flicker of hope sparked in my chest.

Finally.

Seraphina was here. She had to be. Who else would be coming up here this early? My immediate thought was that she'd come to end her little game, and I was ready to play along, to pretend to be cooperative just long enough for her to release me.

I could always deal with her later. For now, all I wanted was to be free of these cuffs and off this cursed rooftop.

Ignoring the pain in my stiff muscles and raw wrist, I got to my feet as quickly as I could. My head felt light, and my legs wobbled under me, but I pushed through it, brushing my tangled hair out of my face and preparing myself to meet her gaze.

I'd act obedient, maybe even a little apologetic, if that's what it took to get her to let me go. She couldn't change her mind if I gave her no reason to.

But when the door fully opened, the flicker of hope in my chest was immediately extinguished.

It wasn't Seraphina.

Instead, a group of girls flooded the rooftop, and I froze, my heart dropping into my stomach as I stared at them in shock. They were students—dozens of them, maybe more—and their casual banter came to an abrupt halt the moment their eyes landed on me.

The silence that followed was deafening.

I stood there, half-naked, my wrist still cuffed to the rail, my hair disheveled, and my skin pale and raw from the cold, and the looks on their faces—wide eyes, slack jaws, the unmistakable expression of disbelief—made it painfully clear that none of them had been expecting to find someone in this state.

But the worst part? The moment they recovered from their shock, almost all of them pulled out their phones.

My blood turned to ice.

The sound of cameras clicking and phones taking pictures filled the air, along with gasps and murmurs. I could hear the disbelief in their voices, the whispers spreading like wildfire among the group.

"Is that… the new girl?"

"What the hell happened to her?"

"Why is she… like this?"

"Is she handcuffed?"

"Oh my gods, this is insane!"

Some of them were laughing, while others just stood there, their phones held up to capture every humiliating detail. My stomach churned, and my chest tightened as another wave of humiliation hit me.

I felt naked. Exposed. Like I was standing under a spotlight with no way to shield myself from their prying eyes. My hands trembled, and I instinctively tried to turn my face away, letting my hair fall in front of me, but it was useless. I couldn't hide. Not really.

"Stop," I managed to choke out, my voice hoarse and shaky. "Put those away!"

But they didn't stop. If anything, the cameras seemed to multiply, their lenses capturing every inch of my humiliation. My heart pounded in my chest, and I felt like I couldn't breathe.

"Who did this to her?" someone asked, though their tone didn't sound particularly sympathetic.

"I bet she pissed off the wrong person," another girl said with a laugh. "That's what happens when you mess with the wrong crowd."

Tears burned at the corners of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing me cry. Instead, I pressed my free hand against my face, trying to shield myself from the onslaught of cameras.

My wrist ached, my legs were weak, and my entire body was trembling—not just from the cold, but from the overwhelming mix of anger, shame, and helplessness coursing through me.

This was it. This was the height of humiliation.

Never in my life had I felt so utterly powerless, so completely destroyed. Not when Queen Jella had tormented me as a child, not when I'd lost my status, not even when Seraphina had cuffed me to this rail last night.

This—this public spectacle, this violation—was the worst thing that had ever happened to me.

"Poor thing. She looks awful."

"Do you think she deserved it?"

"Maybe someone should help her… but honestly, this is kind of funny."

I clenched my teeth, trying to block out their words, their laughter, their incessant gawking. My nails dug into my palm as I fought the urge to scream, to lash out, to do something to make it stop, but what could I do? I was still cuffed, still half-naked, still completely at their mercy.

My mind raced, searching desperately for a way out of this nightmare, but there was none. Not until someone—probably Seraphina—decided to intervene.

And that realization made my blood boil.

This was her doing. She'd planned this, hadn't she? She hadn't just wanted to humiliate me—she'd wanted to destroy me, and judging by the scene unfolding in front of me, she had succeeded.