Akan treated Robellia the same way he treated the nobles, making it difficult to discern clear standards in his behavior. People naturally judge others by their attitudes. No matter how oppressive someone seems, if their attitude remains consistent, a standard can be established, and it ceases to instill deeper fear.

Uncertainty without answers. The chaos of never knowing when things will change. The fragile tension of walking on thin ice. For that, contradicting yourself was a small price to pay.

“It seems I’m going to have to execute you. That’s okay, isn’t it?”

Robellia’s mind processed the words she had just heard at an agonizingly slow pace. Execution. Death.

Robellia had anticipated her imminent death and, in a way, even desired it. But the end she had imagined was one in which Akan would strike her down in an unexpected moment, without even a chance to resist – not a calm, conversational explanation of the execution, giving her time to prepare for the blade. Only then did the Grim Reaper, now standing vividly before her, flash a mischievous smile in her direction. 

Her previously empty, dazed eyes slowly began to fill with something new – a lingering attachment to life. 

Ah, come to think of it, Akan’s words had been phrased as a question. Perhaps it was a last chance to cling to her miserable existence, no matter how degrading. Grasping at that faint thread of hope, Robellia reached out. 

“No…” 

“Do you want to live?”

Akan tilted his head slightly, as if genuinely surprised, and studied Robellia with a look that seemed to ask why she would want to live and what reason she might have for continuing to exist. 

If she showed the slightest sign of defiance, Akan would not hesitate to send her to the execution block. Robellia, already pale, felt the last bit of color drain from her face. Her bloodless lips parted again. 

“Yes.” 

“You said you’d rather die than live like this.” 

Robellia shook her head frantically from side to side. It was true that she had had those thoughts, but she couldn’t bring herself to say them now. A shiver ran down her spine, as if a blade might strike her neck at any moment. 

“You’re not even useful.” 

Akan’s cold gaze assessed her as if weighing the value of a useless object. Tears welled in Robellia’s eyes under the cutting gaze. Akan’s expression darkened further as he watched her trembling form, her tears on the verge of spilling. 

“Sit up straight.” 

Robellia knelt at Akan’s feet, adjusting her posture as instructed. Her confused expression betrayed her desperation, as if she wanted to cling to the hem of his pants. Akan found himself quite entertained by this impulsive little play he had staged today. 

“Do you think you deserve to stay alive?” 

It was a question that could not be answered with “yes” or “no”. A “yes” would be absurd given the weight of Robellia’s sins, but a “no” seemed certain to provoke Akan to draw his sword. Tears quickly welled in her amethyst eyes, threatening to overflow. 

Smack!

With a sharp sound, Robellia’s head snapped to the side. 

“Think about it, Robellia. How many people have died because of you?” 

Akan grabbed her head and turned it back to him. A red handprint began to bloom on her pale skin. 

“The Duke of Roxas. The Dowager Countess Suther.” 

Smack. Smack.

With each smack that punctuated his words, Robellia’s vision flashed white. Her head whipped to the side as she closed her eyes. Tears streamed down her trembling cheeks in long streaks. She struggled to turn her head back to face forward. 

“How many people were tangled up back then?” 

Smack!

Robellia, her entire body creaking with the effort, forced her grotesquely swollen face back into position. Her skin burned like it was on fire, but it was better than death to endure it. 

“Did you think it was all your father’s fault? That none of it was yours?” 

Smack! 

This time Akan stopped, waiting for Robellia’s answer. If she had any shred of resentment or resistance left, now was the time to crush it. Her guilt was her brand, her shackle. 

“No…”

Smack!

With more force behind his hand, her delicate lips finally parted. Tears filled Robellia’s thinly opened eyes as she barely managed to lift her head back into place. 

“Your entire family has died because of you, and yet you still want to live?” 

Smack! 

It had all started with a careless word from Robellia. That single remark had led to the death of Akan’s father and eventually her own. At least that’s how Akan saw it. 

And to be honest, Robellia believed it too. But even so, it was impossible for anyone to resign themselves, to accept her death without a fight. 

“Y-yes…” 

A sob escaped her trembling lips as she gave her answer. Akan grabbed a handful of her hair, forcing her to look straight into his eyes. In her tear-filled, amethyst gaze, he could still see a faint glimmer of the will to live. That stubborn human will to survive would eventually bring her to complete submission. 

“But what am I to do now? I don’t really have much use for you anymore.” 

“Ahh… hhic… sniff…”

Robellia could no longer hold back the tears that streamed down her face. Sobs escaped uncontrollably from her trembling throat, her n*ked br*ast rising and falling with each heaving breath.

Akan released his grip on her hair with a dismissive shake. As Robellia collapsed to the side, she hastily raised a hand to stifle her sobs, afraid that the slightest sound would provoke Akan further. In his current state, it seemed entirely plausible that he might kill her simply for being too loud or irritating.

“That’s all you’re good for.”

Akan straightened his posture and tapped his fingertips lightly on the table – the very spot where Robellia had been violated by him earlier. He gave her a choice: surrender her body or face death. 

Unable to think of any alternative, Robellia struggled to her feet, her body heavy with exhaustion. Akan removed his hand from the table and, after a moment’s hesitation, Robellia carefully positioned herself, lying flat on her stomach on the empty surface. 

Akan rose from his chair and positioned himself behind Robellia. As she shivered and spread her legs, the sperm that had filled her began to drip and fall to the floor.

“Disgusting.”

It was he who had ordered the m*n to r*pe Robellia and presented her with such a cruel and humiliating choice. But Akan’s merciless words pierced Robellia’s heart once more. Her thin back, where her bones protruded, trembled with shame. 

It was a sight that seemed to suit Robellia perfectly. Akan loosened the front of his clothes and thrust his aroused p*nis into Robellia’s soiled body. Her mouth opened wide as if to scream, but no sound came.

With a thud, Akan carelessly and violently thrust his hips forward, pushing Robellia’s body along with the table. There was no trace of mercy in his movements. It wasn’t an act meant to bring pleasure to himself or her; it was nothing more than an act of violence inflicted on a fragile female body by his unyielding, hardened flesh.

With each deep thrust, Robellia’s body jerked as he hit her most sensitive areas. Akan drove into her with brutal force, as if intent on tearing the already swollen and battered passage apart. Overwhelmed by his relentless aggression, Robellia lay beneath him, silently shedding tears. 

Akan’s p*nis was larger than those of the m*n who tormented Robellia on a daily basis. Though the passage was stretched and damaged, every inch of it was still clearly felt. Akan pounded relentlessly into the narrowing passage, as if testing its limits. His length, already filling her to the point of displacing her insides, pushed deeper with each thrust. Robellia writhed in agony, unable to bear the excruciating pain