The punishment for Jasmine was finally revealed. The throne room was filled with tension, heavy enough to choke, but Jeane experienced a grim pleasure surging through her veins. She began to speak up, to denounce the tolerance given to Jasmine, but one sharp look from Lycan Ardor’s father hushed her immediately.

"This is the end," his voice announced, quiet yet unwavering—an intransigent order that allowed for no dissent.

The guards advanced, grabbing Jasmine again with a vice-like hold as they pulled her toward the dungeon. While being drawn through the grand chamber, Jasmine's gaze momentarily locked with Lycan Ardor's. In that brief moment, something shimmered in his eyes—was it remorse? Compassion? Doubt? The instant sparked a delicate spark of hope within her, a tiny fire that wouldn't extinguish.

Jeane simmered silently, her heart pounding with contained rage. Her hands balled into fists so firmly that her nails dug into her palms, an unspoken struggle raging inside. This was just the beginning. Jasmine had dared to invade her domain, to disrupt the delicate balance of power Jeane believed was hers alone. She vowed silently: Jasmine would pay, and not even Lycan Ardor’s parents could shield her next time.

As the massive doors slammed shut behind Jasmine, sealing her fate, Jeane’s mind raced with dark resolve. She would gather allies, weave plans in shadow, and extend Jasmine’s suffering far beyond this moment. The spark of rivalry had ignited a fierce determination in her—a hunger to watch Jasmine crumble under the weight of her schemes.

The crowd began to disperse, whispers trailing like ghosts, but Jeane remained rooted, plotting silently. She would be the architect of Jasmine’s downfall. Lycan Ardor’s moment of empathy only sharpened her resolve—she would show him just how far she was willing to go to reclaim her throne.

---

Two days had gone by since Jasmine was cast into the dungeon. She was curled up on the chilly stone floor, her body battered and sore, her mind a whirlwind of swirling ideas. Shadows engulfed her entirely, a dense veil silencing all remnants of hope. The world beyond appeared as a distant fantasy—a soft whisper of joy and brightness, always unattainable.

Her muscles complained with each shift as she moved against the unyielding floor. Hunger and thirst plagued her incessantly, her throat sore and parched from two days without any food or water. Every shallow breath served as a harsh reminder of her weakness, starkly opposing the power she had once possessed.

Time became insignificant. Moments fused in a blur of agony and overwhelming isolation. The sole noise—an intermittent drop of water from somewhere above—broke the silence, with each drop resonating like a funeral bell, marking the decline of her hope.

She tightly shut her eyes, attempting to push away the cold and the memories—the savage beating, the treacheries that brought her to this point, the devastating betrayals that pierced deeper than any injury.

Why do I have to endure for a crime I didn’t do? she pondered resentfully, pain compressing her chest like a burden. The boyfriend she once trusted with her heart had deceived her with her own sister—destroying her world. Later, her own mother had traded her to this palace of terrors, bartering her liberty for gold. The tempest of rage and sadness surged within her, yearning to escape, but she lacked the energy to cry out.

---

Far above, in his gilded chambers, Lycan Ardor lay restless amid opulence that felt hollow and suffocating. His eyes traced the intricate ceiling, but his mind remained imprisoned by the image of Jasmine—bruised, broken, dragged away. Every detail etched itself into his mind with excruciating vividness.

A persistent pain welled up inside him—guilt, remorse, and a strong urge to keep her safe. He ought to have confronted Jeane, resisted her harshness, but his loyalty to family restrained him, tying him to silence when he needed to take action. The burden of that decision pressed heavily on him without pause.

Jeane’s anger-filled voice reverberated in his thoughts, indignant and disdainful. However, what she referred to as justice seemed like something much more sinister—a revenge that stirred uncomfortably in his gut.

For two days, he had calmed Jeane, remaining nearby, assuring her he was not concerned about the breeder, pleading with her to calm her anxieties. Nevertheless, his heart had always been in turmoil.

On the third day, following hours of relentless anguish, he reached a conclusion. Fear would no longer control his behavior.

He quietly edged out of his rooms, navigating carefully through dimly lit hallways, steering clear of Jeane’s attendants and curious gazes. At the entrance of the dungeon, he instructed the guards to unlock Jasmine’s cell door—and cautioned them to keep his visit confidential. They volunteered to go with him, cautious of Jasmine’s possible threat, but he declined their offer.

The temperature dropped as he went down the stone steps, each resonating footstep increasing his discomfort. His heart raced as he approached the cell.

“Jasmine,” he murmured, his breath barely above a whisper.

A soft rustling occurred within, and moments after, Jasmine raised her head, her eyes wide with shock and anguish.

“Lycan Ardor?” she croaked, voice raw, trembling. “Greetings, my King.” She bowed slightly.

He rushed to her side, crouching to meet her gaze. “I had to see you. I couldn’t bear the thought of you alone down here,” he said, concern thick in his voice.

Her expression shifted—surprise melting into sorrow. “You shouldn’t be here. If the Luna finds out, she’ll cut off my head…” The words hung heavy, a stark reminder of the peril she faced.

“I’ll handle Jeane. Don’t worry,” he said firmly. “What they did to you… it’s wrong.” He reached through the bars, longing to touch her, to offer comfort. “Are you okay? I…” His voice faltered at the sight of her—fragile, pale, bruised.

“I’m… surviving,” she whispered, voice weak. “They’ve given me no food or water. I don’t know how long…” Her voice broke, and she turned away, as if speaking the truth made it all the more real.

Anger surged through Lycan. Why was Jeane so bent on punishing her? Yet he knew he had to mask his concern lest Jeane’s wrath fall even harder.

“I’ll make sure you don’t stay here long,” he promised.

“Lycan, no!” She shook her head, eyes wide with fear.

Her gaze softened despite the weight between them. “It’s not like you care so much, is it?” she asked quietly, a veil of disbelief shielding her heart from more pain.

He hesitated, the truth trembling on his lips—terrifying yet exhilarating.

“But I do,” he said finally, voice steady, earnest. “I feel something strong pulling me toward you, something I can’t explain.”

Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, fragile and luminous, and for a moment, he glimpsed hope flicker—a fragile light that could so easily be snuffed out.

But shadows quickly reclaimed her gaze.

“Jeane will make sure I die in this dungeon,” she whispered, despair crushing her words.

“Thank you, Lycan Ardor. But even if you got me out, what then? Jeane would only escalate things. “She won’t quit until I become a lesson,” she remarked, her voice filled with resignation.

"I will figure out how to handle her," he promised, a steely determination solidifying within him. “You're not by yourself.” "I'll work this out, I assure you." His heart pounded with urgency, the intense flame of protectiveness glowing more vividly than before.

He cradled her injured face softly, bending down to give her a gentle kiss on the forehead. In that brief instant, warmth flourished between them—a gentle spark that hinted at hope.

"I will return," he vowed, although doubt chewed at him like an insatiable creature. "Simply wait a bit more." His words served as both a lifeline and delicate promise—may they support her during the darkness.

With a lingering gaze, he quietly exited the dungeon, forsaking the eerie atmosphere and the delicate whisper of hope. As he went back to his ornate prison, the luxury felt overwhelming—a sharp difference to the chaos boiling inside.

He needed to discover a method to face Jeane and rescue Jasmine. Time was slipping away.