To His Hell and Back

Chapter 524: Frank Words-I

In Arabella’s chamber, she leaned forward over the edge of her bed, one hand braced against the mattress while another man’s hand slipped around her neck.

It was unmistakably a man’s hand, large, warm, and far too familiar in its intention.

The touch itself was gentle, almost reverent, yet it carried an unmistakable presumption that made her spine stiffen. Her eyes were closed, but her mind remained painfully clear, every sound and scent registering with sharp awareness.

The glasses scattered across the table had clearly been disturbed. Some were half-filled, others nearly empty, their contents catching the candlelight. The room was saturated with the scent of alcohol, sweet and cloying —evidence of indulgence and anticipation. Yet Arabella herself had not touched a single drop.

When a man placed his hand around a woman’s neck like that, the implication was obvious. It was never a gesture made without expectation.

There was only one witch in the palace.

And by extension, there was only one true owner of the castle.

Yes, Morpheus was frightening, terrifying, even. A man none of them could afford to offend openly. A man whose displeasure could end lives quietly and without ceremony. But the truth, one that many were foolish enough to believe they understood, was that power still rested in Arabella’s hands.

Or so they thought.

The men all believed the same lie.

They had been elated beyond measure when they were summoned to her chambers. A chance like this did not come twice. They imagined a future of leisure, of luxury without effort—days spent doing nothing yet being indulged endlessly. Who could possibly refuse such a life? Man or woman, noble or commoner— anyone would crave it.

They believed that if they could seduce Arabella enough, if they could entangle themselves into her favor, then even if she eventually bound herself to Morpheus, there would still be a place for them.

A consort.

Perhaps the title itself lacked dignity. Perhaps it was whispered with disdain rather than respect. But the life it offered? That was another matter entirely. Wealth, safety, indulgence, and influence.

They were not about to let such an opportunity slip through their fingers.

"Milady—" the man whispered, his voice low and coaxing.

But before he could utter another word, something seized him with brutal force.

He was yanked backward, slammed hard onto the floor. His grip broke instantly, his body crashing down with a cry of shock. A second later, his hand struck the stone, and something heavy came down on it.

There was a sickening crunch.

The man screamed.

Isaac, who had been standing nearby with his face already twisted in irritation, stepped forward sharply. His expression was furious, his eyes blazing as he glared down at the men.

"Who told you to touch the lady?" Isaac snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut. "Didn’t I warn you already? She would be the one doing the touching, not you."

He leaned down slightly, gaze burning with open hostility. "How dare you lay a hand on her precious body?"

Arabella did not move.

She did not turn.

She remained exactly where she was, leaning over the bed as if nothing of importance had happened.

The man on the floor stared at his crushed hand, pain and disbelief twisting his face. Indignation rose swiftly, choking him even through the agony.

"How is this fair?!" he shouted hoarsely. "We have been here for over eight hours! All we have done is drink and talk!" Not that Arabella had spoken to them, not truly, but he ignored that. "This wasn’t what we were brought here for!"

Isaac straightened, unimpressed.

"It is what you were brought here for," he replied coolly. "To listen and obey. Like a dog would."

"Chase them out."

Arabella’s voice was barely above a whisper. Compared to the men, her voice was nothing but soft.

Yet it carried through the chamber like a bell tolling.

Every sound died instantly since she parted her lips, the warning wasn’t needed to be said twice, they all had heard it and knew what would happen if they pretend they didn’t.

The men stiffened, realization settling in far too late. One by one, they turned away, shoulders tense, resentment simmering beneath forced obedience. Some were bitter, some humiliated, while others quietly furious— but none dared to voice a single complaint.

All they could do was leave.

A few huffed under their breath as they were escorted out, the door closing behind them with a loud thud.

Arabella remained where she was, unshaken.

The room, once filled with ambition and desire, fell silent once more.

"I don’t like to drink," she sighed as she pressed the back of her head to the couch. "Will there anyone ever find it to taste good?"

"Well, I do find it taste great."

It wasn’t Isaac who had answered but Atlas.

He was smiling. The blonde haired man moved from her bed. He had hid himself inside, pretending that he was asleep.

To smuggle him inside, Arabella had to pretend that she was interested in some escort, allowing for Atlas to slip inside as if it was normal and then took a moment in the background while watching all the men get too drunk to even hide their true intention of climbing ranks.

Only when they left did Atlas made his way towards the couch.

He looked at Arabella and just a glance, he could see something was different from her.

Was she becoming sharper or colder?

At least now, she wasn’t someone who would hesitate when it comes to killing.

"Cassius," she started, "I can’t send you to find him. I’ll go blind."

"I won’t tell you what happened to him," Atlas nodded, hearing it beforehand from Isaac. "I suppose I should ask first... how far do you remember me?"

"Nothing," she answered without blinking. "Do we know each other?"

"So you only allowed us in because..."

"Cassius said that you two would help me," she confirmed and with that Atlas nodded but he became uncertain.

"So you trusted Cassius?" His question was strange and she narrowed her eyes, giving him the question why shouldn’t she trust him and Atlas broke into a wide smile. The smile that wasn’t mocking. It just felt as if it had came from a father instead of a friend or an ally.

"See Circe?" Atlas called out to Circe who was still in her boy’s body, mindlessly staring at Arabella. She didn’t snap from her daze until Arabella turned to her, shock written in her face a she visibly questioned how could this person in front of her be that illustrious Circe.

The witch who had started all this mess!

Atlas continued, "Even if one is blind or forgotten, they still knew the person they love. I won the bet it seems. If only you had trusted in love-"

"Shut up," Circe raised a hand toward Atlas and turned to Arabella.

This girl was really staring at them with a glare. So it seems she had completely forgotten most of the things she should have recalled in the castle. And her personality without that memory was one with claws sharp enough to cause them some irreparable damage.

She was wary and seems to also think that she had been the reason for the way things have occurred.

"It was Morpheus who caused everyone to be cursed here. I kept them in the place to prevent them from dying out of the curse," Circe said at once, "If you have someone who you want to blame, blame it on Morpheus. Keeping your anger towards me while we work through this will only get in the way."

"You speak without a single hesitation," she pointed to Circe, "Do you really feel that this is none of your fault? For perhaps even bringing Morpheus with all his dangerous quirk? You knew half of him is a demon, don’t you?"

"I do know. I know he was dangerous but everyone needed a home. I gave him one, it was his choice to ruin it."

"Had you tried to teach him what it means to really love?"

And at this the tension that had grew from one question to another rose even more, about to strain and snap, leaving behind a deadly mess.

But Circe seemed quiet, not because she was upset at how she had lost the conversation, instead, she seemed to be truly thinking about it.

"I don’t know how to teach someone how to care about things or people. As you have known, I’m flawed in many ways more than one including love and whatnot. Atlas knew of it too."

Arabella could see it.

Frankly, Circe seems like she knew what was right but she doesn’t seem to be capable of it. She felt frigid, like someone awkward to emotions and what it means to care.

But still... she couldn’t just admit that she has fault on bringing Morpheus and assigning him to the power he held now.

Arabella stifled a sigh, "You don’t seem to understand that you can give anyone a home and no one will blame you for your kindness. But a house don’t turn into a home just because there are other people living in it. You need emotions and you should have given him more attention than just a place for him to live in it."

Atlas who heard this couldn’t help but defend, "Circe tried."

But Arabella wasn’t the usual Arabella who held her tongue for fear of hurting others. She still want to be civil but could she not be upset as they were all in this mess because of Morpheus?

Sure Circe wasn’t completely at fault but seeing her not seemingly feel guilty irked her too.

"Trying isn’t enough. If you are a witch and you plan to take everyone under your wings, you should have known better than just allow him with power and never taught him what would happen if he gets drunk from that power."