Escaping the Archduke of the North's Obsession

“Why are you here again, Your Highness?”

Isabella asked, bewildered, and Duke Kyar approached her in silence.

He gave the bracelet she had placed on her desk a subtle glance.

“Why did you take off the bracelet, Isabella?” He asked, and Isabella’s cheeks turned red.

What if the Archduke had caught her thinking about their kiss?

He picked up the bracelet and gently clutched her left arm.

Isabella stared at him as Duke Kyar slowly put the bracelet on her wrist.

“Do you want to see me so bad, Isabella?”

“What?”

“If that wasn’t the reason, don’t remove it from your wrist. I wanted to hear your voice for the last time before I went to bed, but I couldn’t. I had to come to your room to see you myself.”

He went on as he slowly caressed her wrist with the bracelet on.

“What if I wanted to communicate, but you had already removed it?”

Her heart began to pound from the gentle strokes of his thumb on her flesh.

Isabella withdrew her hand back, afraid that Duke Kyar could hear the loud pulses on her skin.

“I understand, Your Highness. I won’t take the bracelet off anymore.”

He gave her a strange look that she couldn’t quite comprehend, but she thought it hinted at some kind of discomfort.

She couldn’t read what was on his mind either despite staring into the depths of his dark eyes.

When he started moving closer, Isabella’s gaze zoomed out and examined his countenance.

“What are you doing, Your Highness?”

“Good night, Isabella. Dream of me if you can.” He whispered sweetly in her ear.

Even if she couldn’t see his face, Isabella could already tell he was smiling from his amused tone.

Yes.

This man was openly seducing her.

He didn’t even ask her about dating him, so she didn’t understand why he was doing this.

Isabella glanced up at him with her face flushed, and Duke Kyar patted her head gently before exiting her bedroom.

“What’s wrong with him?” Isabella muttered to herself while staring at the bracelet on her wrist.

Somehow, she had this awful feeling that she would dream about him that night.

**

A dark shadow approached Isabella when she lay in bed and slept.

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.