The Villain Alpha's Cursed Mate
Chapter 82: Does That Make Me A Bad Man?

Chapter 82: Does That Make Me A Bad Man?

As the first whisper of dawn crept into the room, Esme’s eyelids fluttered open, heavy with the remnants of a dreamless sleep.

Her gaze drifted to the hearth, where the embers had long since died, leaving only a faint smudge of smoke to linger in the air.

But it was the gentle pressure around her that truly caught her attention. She tried to stir, to shift away from the warmth that had enveloped her, but a firm arm held her in place, a subtle reminder that she wasn’t alone.

Esme’s pulse quickened as she felt the rhythmic puffs of air against the skin of her neck. She turned her body slowly, her heart pounding, and she found herself face to face with the sleeping form of Donovan.

To her wonder, he wasn’t wearing his blindfold, and her gaze feasted on the sight of his closed eyelids, the dark, luscious lashes that framed them like a velvet curtain. Her eyes lingered longer than they planned to, drinking in the beauty of his features, and the strong lines of his face softened by the gentle repose of sleep.

Esme’s fingers itched to trace the gentle curves of his feature. She recalled the few words he had used to effortlessly coax her into his bedroom, words that lingered in the air like a spell she couldn’t resist.

’Yes, no, maybe, forever?’ His question hung in her mind like an unanswered poem. And yet, her silence had been all the answer he needed. In the next moment, she was in his arms, swept away without protest, and for reasons she couldn’t quite understand, she had allowed it.

He hadn’t crossed any inappropriate boundaries, even when she sensed that his intentions had been far more intimate. His touch had been gentle, respectful – just as he’d intended. And still, they had slept, wrapped in each other’s embrace, their bodies entwined like the tendrils on a vine cause he wanted it.

As dawn crept through the window, casting a golden glow over his face, she marveled at how peaceful he looked, still lost in his sleep. He must have been exhausted to still be sleeping so deeply at dawn.

She wondered where he had been yesterday, and what had worn him out so completely.

Esme remained in bed, her eyes tracing the lines of his face in quiet wonders.

Donovan was undeniably captivating, yet she couldn’t understand what it was about her that had captured his attention so deeply. How could someone, who had never seen her, be drawn to her this way? He was blind – he didn’t even know what she looked like for her to point his interest to her physical appearance, and yet, he seemed entirely bewitched by her presence.

Her uncertainty clung to her like a veil.

"Sleeping next to you is so peaceful," Donovan suddenly murmured, his voice rough from sleep. "But knowing you’re watching me... makes sleeping all the more difficult."

His eyes flickered open, and Esme’s breath caught in her throat. The gentle flutter of his lashes, the intensity behind his gaze – it was all too real.

She bolted right up, her pulse quickening yet again. How could this be? Didn’t he say he was blind? Yet the way he looked at her, with such awareness, made it impossible to believe. He didn’t seem blind at all.

"Your eyes are–"

With a firm grasp, he caught her retreating legs, pulling her gently back until she was laid flat against the bed. His form hovered over her, and Esme’s breath hitched as she was caught in the grip of his gaze, her cheeks flushing.

His eyes – God, his eyes – they were like nothing she had ever seen before.

A deep, mesmerizing shade of violet, they seemed to hold the mysteries of the universe within them, their glow both haunting and alluring. It was the kind of color that could ensnare someone’s soul, pulling them under like a tide with no hope of resurfacing. They flickered with secrets too dangerous to utter aloud, as if it concealed a word only he could navigate.

Though those eyes were shadowed with pain and power, they held a beauty so profound, so hypnotic, that she found herself breathless.

"What happened?" Donovan’s voice broke through the silence, pulling Esme from the trance that had captured her.

She hesitated, her gaze faltering as she avoided his, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. "I thought you said you couldn’t see?" Her voice wavered, both accusing and soft, filled with confusion and something unspoken.

He replied, "I wish I could, but I can’t," his tone remained steady. "To clear your little confusion, I wasn’t meant to be blind, but the curse seemed to have some kind of beef with me the moment I was born. The marks on my face... they aren’t there for show." His words were laced with bitterness, drawing her attention to the sinister beauty of the curse marks that marred some parts of his face.

Her breath hitched as she understood the meaning behind his words. "You mean... the marks, they’re the reason you can’t see?" She whispered, her voice barely audible, as if speaking the truth might deepen his pain.

He nodded slowly, no reaction, whatsoever.

"That means if... if they weren’t there," Esme’s voice trembled, her heart racing, "you would have your sight?"

When he gave the slightest nod, Esme’s eyes widened in shock. The quiet moment seemed to stretch, charged with the weight of everything unsaid.

Her gaze lingered on the dark runes on his skin, and before she even realized it, her fingers gently reached up to cup his face. The way his eyes slid to the side, aware of her touch, was all too shocking.

The warmth of his skin under her touch sent a soft shiver through her, her fingertip tracing the cursed mark etched on his skin. How had he endured such torment when a single mark on Finnian’s neck threatened to make him lose control? For once, she chose to consider the pain he must be enduring all by himself, including everyone else.

"Donovan," Esme’s voice was softer, as her hands hesitated before retreating from his face. "What happened to Finnian after he was infected, when he lost himself... have you felt the same? Have you ever lost your entire self to these curses? The stories... the things they said you did... was it truly you, or was it the curse that pushed you? Do you hold any regrets when you think about everything—"

Esme paused when she sensed the subtle shift in his posture, the tension creeping into his muscles. She was only starting to wonder whether someone like him – someone marked and feared, could ever be haunted by such vulnerability. Yet, in this moment, she saw the real truth of it, and she wasn’t sure she was ready for his answer.

"Do I regret killing the king?" Donovan echoed, a soft, mirthless chuckle escaping his lips. "Would you believe me if I told you the truth? If I told you that... I don’t regret doing any of the things I did. If I could go back in time, I’d only change the day of the king’s death to a preferable date."

He leaned his head to one side, his gaze piercing. "Does that make me a bad man?"

Esme was taken aback by his unexpected response. The way his voice had darkened, like a shadow creeping over the sun, sent a shiver down her spine. She sat up, then rose to her feet, ready to flee the intimate confines of his chamber. She had no clue how to respond to the complexity of his words, and she didn’t want to linger here for another second.

"Won’t you ask me why I don’t regret it? Do you really think I’m a bad man because of what I said?" He asked, and Esme’s hand hesitated on the doorknob, her feet rooted to the spot.

She could almost hear the faint ache in his voice, but her own emotions won out. She slipped out of the room, leaving Donovan alone, and when she was gone, he raked his fingers through his silver hair, frustration and regret boiling over.

"Of course she didn’t want to hear that," he muttered to himself, realizing his vague response might have just driven her away. But how could he explain a past that terrified him to confront?

That’s why he’s been dodging every questioning concerning that fateful night. He didn’t want to recall it, none of it.

The horrors of his past had left him so traumatized that his brain had to shut down most of his memories to keep him sane. The ones he could recall, he had no desire to relive.

"How can I tell you everything, Esme, without losing myself all over again?" He whispered, his throat constricting with emotions, a painful lump forming. "You can’t imagine what those horrible people did to me, what they tried to do..."

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