Escaping the Archduke of the North’s Obsession

alse ”>

Isabella woke up when she felt a cold hand touching her cheek.

The first thing she saw when she opened her eyes was Archduke Kyar flashing him a twisted smile.

Is this a dream or reality?

Isabella looked around the unfamiliar room with frightened eyes.

It was filled with dark energy.

“Isabella.”

His voice was as cold as the hand on her cheek.

It wasn’t Archduke Kyar.

This man in front of her… she was sure it was—

“I’ve been waiting for you for a long, long  time.’

His black eyes glittered dangerously.

The hand on her cheek went past her chin and rested on her neck.

Isabella narrowed her eyes at his hand as if it was planning to snap her neck into two.

“We’ll see each other soon, Isabella.
Remember that you are mine.
No one else shall have you except me.’

Isabella felt the urge to scream, but nothing came out.

Her body shivered in fear.

She couldn’t understand what made him say that.

“Remember my name.
I am  Descartes.’ The man, who looked precisely like Duke Kyar, whispered.

Isabella’s blue eyes trembled in horror.

At that moment, she felt severe pain from the flame-shaped wound on her shoulder.

“Ouch!”

Isabella moaned and rose from her bed.

Then she saw the familiar view in her bedroom.

“Isabella! Are you all right?” Ignis shouted worriedly as he circled her.
“You are groaning in your sleep as if you were deeply hurt! Are you sick?”

Not answering Ignis’ question, Isabella touched the painful wound on her shoulder.

Her whole body was soaked with sweat.

The face of the man whom she met in her dream was still vivid in Isabella’s mind.

Descartes.

Strangely, that name sounded familiar.

Why?

Why did this man who appeared in her dreams look precisely like Duke Kyar?

If she thought about ignoring this terrible nightmare and moving on, she couldn’t do it.

An unknown fear weighed on her.

Maybe it’s because it felt so realistic.

“Isabella!”

“It’s all right, Ignis.
I just had a terrible dream.”

“What kind of dream is it?”

She didn’t even want to say it out loud and clear.

The terrible dream felt painful to remember, and she just wanted to shake it off her memory.

But his name kept bothering her to no end.

“What do you say, Descartes? Doesn’t it sound like the devil’s name?’”

At that moment, she heard her and another person’s voice talking in her mind.

Under the Wisteria Tree, Isabella and her friend were sitting side by side on the bench in their uniforms as they wrote in their practice book.