Married To Darkness-Chapter 352: Where’s Jean Goliath

"Where’s Jean?" Salviana asked suddenly, her voice slicing through the uneasy silence like a blade.

Alaric drew a slow breath, his jaw tight, before exhaling through his nose. "You shouldn’t be worrying about Miss Goliath right now," he said softly but firmly. "You need to focus on yourself first."

Salviana blinked, tilting her head as if she hadn’t heard him correctly. "Miss Goliath?" she repeated, the title foreign on her tongue. Since when did they start calling Jeanie that? It felt distant, impersonal — like the woman she considered a friend had somehow become a stranger. "I’m fine now," she added, her tone sharpening. "And not seeing her for this long is unsettling. Where is she?"

Alaric shifted uncomfortably. "She wasn’t with you when that whacko took you," he muttered.

"Alaric!" Salviana snapped, a frown darkening her face. She turned swiftly to Lucius. "Where’s Jeanie?"

Lucius, ever composed but with a flicker of concern behind his eyes, resisted the urge to sigh. "I have no idea," he replied evenly. "I’ve been too busy following your husband—trying to stop him from committing murder with so many eyes watching."

"God, the two of you," Salviana muttered, shaking her head. Their bickering felt like a steady thrum in the background of her life, but this was not the time for it. Without another word, she strode past them, the hem of her dress snapping at her heels like an angry whip.

"Dearest!" Alaric’s voice chased her down the corridor, his concern mingling with a tinge of exasperation.

She didn’t slow.

A guard, Heappal, kept pace beside her, his armor clinking softly with each step. "Your Grace?" he asked, a flicker of worry in his voice.

"I’m going to Jean’s quarters," Salviana said curtly.

Heappal nodded. "Of course," he replied, his words carrying a shy edge — as if her presence alone unsettled him.

They moved swiftly yet with controlled urgency, their footsteps echoing through the stone halls. Tension crackled in the air — a silent storm brewing beneath the surface. It wasn’t just about Jean’s absence; it was the gnawing fear that something larger, something darker, loomed just out of sight.

At last, they stood before Jean’s door. The dark wood seemed heavier than usual, the carved patterns along the frame casting long, twisting shadows beneath the dim torchlight. Salviana’s heart drummed a steady, uneasy beat against her ribs.

She knocked — once, twice — firm and authoritative. The sound echoed, stretching the silence even further.

Nothing.

Her knuckles met the wood again, this time harder, a thread of impatience weaving into her voice. "Jean? It’s me."

No response.

The stillness behind the door felt wrong — too quiet, too absolute. Like the room was holding its breath.

Salviana exchanged a tense glance with Heappal, her mind racing with unspoken questions. Where was Jean? Why wasn’t she answering? And why did the silence feel so loud?

"Jean," Salviana tried again, her voice now a thread of worry. "Open the door."

Still nothing.

The quiet had never felt so dangerous.

Lucius and Alaric had been trailing a few steps behind, their bickering momentarily forgotten as they caught up with Salviana. The sharp silence beyond Jean’s door struck all of them like a physical blow.

Salviana knocked again, harder this time. "Jean, open the door," she demanded, her voice tight with a mix of concern and rising anger.

Nothing.

Lucius frowned, his hand already twitching towards the hilt of his sword as if expecting danger on the other side. "She’s in there," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "She has to be."

Alaric ran a hand through his hair, his usual cocky demeanor fraying at the edges. "Jean, come on. Enough of this," he called, his voice less playful and more strained.

Silence.

Salviana’s heart was pounding now — a wild, unrelenting thrum against her ribs. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

Lucius stepped forward, his jaw tight. "Move."

Before Salviana could respond, he raised his fist and slammed it into the door — once, twice — and on the third strike, the lock gave way with a sharp crack. The door groaned open, swinging into an empty, lifeless room.

Jean wasn’t there.

"Fuck," Lucius muttered under his breath.

Salviana’s gaze darted around the quarters, her stomach twisting. The room was spotless — too clean. Too untouched. The bed was made, the windows shut, and the faint scent of lavender lingered in the air.

Then her eyes fell on the wardrobe.

She moved toward it, fingers trembling as she yanked the doors open.

Empty.

Everything was gone — every dress, every shawl, every trinket that once belonged to Jean. The shelves were bare, save for a few dust-lined outlines of where her belongings used to be.

"No," Salviana whispered, the word slipping from her lips like a broken plea. "No, she wouldn’t— she wouldn’t just leave."

Lucius was already searching the small desk by the window, flipping through drawers, his movements rough and impatient. Alaric checked beneath the bed, behind curtains, as if hoping she was simply hiding — though they all knew better.

There was no letter. No note. No sign of why Jean was gone.

"Where is she?" Alaric growled, his voice hoarse with frustration. "She didn’t just vanish into thin air!"

Salviana’s hands curled into fists at her sides. The absence of a letter — a single word, a hint of why Jean had packed her things and disappeared — felt like a stab to the heart.

"She didn’t even leave a note," Salviana said bitterly, her voice shaking. "Not a single word. Not to me, not to anyone."

Lucius paused, his back still to her. "We’ll find her."

Salviana let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Will you? Will you find her, Lucius? Because if either of you had taken me seriously when I asked about her, I’ll be less angry,"

"If all of you hadn’t made her feel horrible in my absence, maybe we wouldn’t be standing here in an empty fucking room right now!"she spat.

The weight of her fury, her fear, came crashing down on both men. Alaric opened his mouth to respond, but for once, no words came.