Married To Darkness-Chapter 353: Regret and Mocking Rain

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.

Lucius’s jaw ticked, his knuckles white against the edge of the desk. "We search the castle," he ordered, his voice colder than before. "Every corridor, every hall. She couldn’t have gone far without someone seeing her."

Alaric nodded stiffly. "I’ll check the gardens and the eastern wing."

"And I’m going to the guards," Salviana snapped. "Someone must have seen her leave with all her things."

She turned on her heel, but not before one last glance at Jean’s empty wardrobe. It was a quiet betrayal — the kind that burned slow and deep.

And with that, they scattered into the castle, the echo of Jean’s absence ringing louder than words ever could.

With a quiet snap, Lucius opened his black umbrella, the fabric unfurling like a dark wing. Without a word, he turned on his heel and stepped through the doorway, the soft patter of rain swallowing the sound of his departure.

The room was silent again. Too silent.

Salviana’s gaze lingered on the empty threshold for a moment longer than necessary, then drifted to her husband.

Alaric stood stiffly, his broad shoulders squared, but there was a slight tremor in his clenched jaw — a tension that didn’t come from anger, but from something heavier. Guilt.

She didn’t speak. Didn’t sigh. Didn’t frown.

Just a single glance — cool, cutting, distant.

And then she left.

The soft rustle of her gown was the only sound as she brushed past him, leaving behind the faint scent of lilacs and unspoken disappointment.

Alaric didn’t move. His hand curled into a fist at his side, and his chest rose and fell with a slow, measured breath — one that didn’t seem to ease the storm brewing beneath his skin.

A deep frown carved itself into his face. His lips parted, but no words came.

Lucius stood in the hollow silence of Jean’s empty room, his jaw still tight, his fingers twitching at his side. The scent of lavender still lingered, but it felt like a ghost of the woman who once lived there.

Alaric didn’t speak. Not when Lucius grabbed his black umbrella from the corner and turned sharply on his heel, his boots echoing against the stone floor as he left. freēwēbηovel.c૦m

The door groaned softly as it swung closed behind him.

Salviana didn’t move right away. Her gaze remained fixed on the bare wardrobe, as if staring hard enough might summon Jean back — might undo whatever had pushed her to pack her things and vanish without a word.

But nothing changed. The room stayed cold.

Finally, Salviana turned, her shoulders squared and stiff, her chin slightly lifted. She didn’t look at her husband. Not directly. Just a brief, cutting glance — one that spoke of disappointment louder than any shouted accusation ever could.

And then she left too.

Alaric stood there, alone.

The silence pressed in on him like a second skin. It was too loud, too heavy. His chest ached, but not from anger — from something worse.

Regret.

He drew in a slow, shaky breath, raking a hand through his hair. His face twisted into a scowl, but it wasn’t aimed at Lucius, or Salviana, or even Jean. It was at himself.

Fuck.

What had he done?

He’d made Jean feel like she was nothing — a shadow, an afterthought — when his wife had been kidnapped, missing, and terrified. Jean had been there, standing by Salviana’s side, waiting, worrying, but he hadn’t seen that. He hadn’t seen her.

He’d only seen the threat to his wife.

And now Jean was gone.

His request. His cold dismissal. That damn title — Miss Goliath — like she was some distant stranger instead of the woman who had faithfully served his wife.

Alaric’s jaw tightened even more.

And Salviana — God, his Salviana — was furious. Not just for Jean, but for the way he had brushed off her concerns earlier, too blind with his own panic to realize the damage he was causing.

He could feel it, hanging in the air even after she left. The silent, simmering rage of a woman who had lost someone she cared about — someone who should never have felt like they had no choice but to run.

The room felt colder now. Emptier.

Alaric took another breath — deeper this time — and closed his eyes for a brief moment.

Then, with a quiet curse under his breath, he turned and walked out, the sound of his boots chasing after the silence Jean had left behind.

Meanwhile,

Lucius moved like a shadow through the streets, his cloak billowing behind him, a blur against the dimly lit alleys. The night was silent but for the distant murmur of the city — a dog’s bark, the soft clink of a tavern door closing — all meaningless sounds. His focus was sharper than a blade, his senses stretched thin, searching.

Her scent.

He had followed it this far, a faint trail of lavender and parchment — Jean’s unmistakable signature — clinging to the air. It wasn’t strong, but it was enough. Enough to keep him moving, to keep his blood singing with a single-minded purpose.

And then—

The sky cracked open.

Raindrops slapped the cobblestones, hissing as they met the ground, cold and relentless.

"Fuck," Lucius hissed, his jaw tightening.

The rain was an enemy of its own — washing away the delicate scent, drowning it in a veil of water and wet stone. Each drop blurred the invisible path he’d been following, erasing any hope of tracking Jean through scent alone.

His boots splashed through puddles as he came to an abrupt halt beneath an awning, his black umbrella long forgotten. He ran a hand through his soaked hair, his chest rising and falling with controlled fury.

How the hell was he supposed to find her now?

The storm mocked him — each drop a reminder of how quickly things could slip through his grasp.

Still, Lucius’s teeth bared in a silent snarl. He wasn’t giving up. Not tonight. Not ever.

Rain or not, he’d find her.