The Villains Must Win-Chapter 119: Valerian Cross 39

Valerian awoke to an unfamiliar silence. His body ached, though far less than before, and for the first time in what felt like ages, he could sit up without immediately collapsing back into unconsciousness.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his disheveled hair, trying to shake off the lingering haze of sleep. His mind was sluggish, still adjusting to reality after days—weeks?—of being trapped between life and death.

But the first thought that came to him wasn’t of his sister. It wasn’t of Lucien Blood, the bastard who had taken her away. It wasn’t even of the looming war between the vampires and them.

It was her.

"Where’s Evelyn Night?" The words slipped from his lips before he could stop them, startling even himself.

The servants attending to him—several maids and a few of his trusted hunters—froze. Their gazes lowered, avoiding his eyes, and their hesitation made his gut twist.

The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. The air felt wrong.

Valerian’s fingers curled into the bedsheets, his patience thinning. "I asked you a question," he said, his voice sharper now. "Where is she?"

No answer.

Before he could press them further, a booming voice shattered the tense quiet.

"Is he awake?"

Valerian tensed. His expression darkened as he recognized the voice.

Priest Damian.

The man strode into the room with his usual arrogance, his long robes sweeping behind him as he carried himself with the air of someone who already knew the outcome of this conversation. His condescending sneer was firmly in place, his sharp eyes scanning Valerian’s weakened form with something akin to amusement.

"What are you doing here, Priest Damian?" Valerian’s voice was cold, his instincts screaming that something was wrong.

The priest clasped his hands behind his back, tilting his head slightly. "I’m surprised you even need to ask, Cross," he said smoothly. "Knowing that important relics and tomes have been stolen from your vaults."

A heavy silence fell over the room.

Valerian’s jaw clenched. He had known, of course. He wasn’t a fool. He had moles in his own mansion—spies feeding the Church information, watching for the smallest excuse to turn on him.

And the Church had been waiting for this.

Valerian exhaled slowly, schooling his expression into neutrality. "I’m sure that whatever was stolen from our vaults is none of the Church’s concern."

Priest Damian chuckled darkly. "Perhaps not. But it seems those very items ended up in vampire hands—and as a result, they have grown stronger. And now . . . this is the church’s concern" His smile sharpened.

Valerian’s patience was wearing thin. "Are you accusing me—or my organization—of aiding vampires?"

"Oh, I wouldn’t dream of making baseless accusations," Damian said, his voice oozing false innocence. "But there is one glaring fact we cannot ignore." His eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he took a step forward. "No dark creature could have entered your vaults or these mansion unless someone with authority let them in. And the only ones with such authority . . . are you and your sister."

A trap.

Valerian forced his expression to remain calm, but his fingers twitched. He had done everything in his power to bury Stephany’s involvement—to erase any trace of her connection to Lucien Blood. Only a handful of his most trusted hunters knew the truth.

Yet the Church had still found a way to twist what little information they have against him.

"No one holds the key except you, Cross," Damian continued. "And the key won’t work unless it’s wielded by someone of the Cross bloodline. It’s either you or your sister."

Damian’s smug tone made Valerian’s blood boil. He could already see it—the Church’s plan to use this as an excuse to seize control of Cross HQ.

And for the first time since waking up, he had brain freeze. His mind was sluggish, still tangled in the fog of sleep, and reality felt just out of reach, slipping through his fingers like sand.

Then—

"I was the one who let the vampires in."

A familiar voice rang through the room.

Every head turned.

Valerian’s breath hitched as Evelyn stepped forward, her signature smirk firmly in place, her posture as confident as ever.

"You—" Priest Damian’s eyes widened in shock. "You’re that witch from before!"

"Yeah." Evelyn’s voice was light, almost playful. "And I was the one who let the vampires in."

A heavy silence followed her words.

Damian’s shock quickly turned to fury. "Lies! You only arrived here months ago!"

Evelyn rolled her eyes. "And who said I wasn’t helping the vampires before I arrived?" She shrugged. "I’ve been smuggling relics and holy tomes to them from day one since I arrived here."

Valerian stiffened. He knew exactly what she was doing—but the words wouldn’t come. His mind, still sluggish and disoriented, failed him, leaving him grasping at thoughts that refused to form.

Priest Damian’s eyes narrowed. "You expect me to believe that?"

Evelyn tilted her head. "Why not? I have evidence." Her smirk widened. "Everything you need to condemn me. So while I’m giving you the chance, are you going to arrest me or not?"

"Evelyn!"

Valerian’s voice finally came out harsher than he intended, but she didn’t flinch. She only turned to him, smiling softly.

"The only reason I came here was to smuggle relics and tomes to the vampires," she continued. "I even led Lucien Blood to your sister. I was the reason she was turned."

The words were a knife to his gut. He knew what she was doing. They were lies to protect him!

His ears rang. His heart pounded violently in his chest. But the way she looked at him—the way she smiled at him—he knew, there was no talking her out of it anymore.

There was no turning back.

"So," Evelyn said, turning to Damian, "while I’m standing here, practically gift-wrapped for you, I’d take the opportunity if I were you."

Damian hesitated. "No. There’s something off about this." His eyes darted between them. "Why would you give yourself up, witch? You could have run."

Evelyn chuckled softly. "You’re right." She took a slow step forward, meeting the priest’s gaze without fear. "But you see . . . living for more than a century is long enough for me. Finally entering an eternal rest seemed nice."

Valerian’s world tilted.

His hands trembled, his breathing uneven.

He understood now.

She wasn’t just giving herself up.

She was making sure he lived, and took all the blame to herself.

"Evelyn, don’t—"

She glanced at him one last time, and for the first time since he met her, there was no teasing in her eyes. No mischief.

Only warmth.

And then she turned back to Damian, extending her wrists as if offering herself to be bound.

Valerian’s heart clenched.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to end.

Valerian couldn’t speak—not when she was looking at him like that. Like she was prepared to die.

The next thing he knew, he was standing in the dungeon, just outside her cell, gripping the cold iron bars as if he could shake them loose. His voice was hoarse, raw with desperation.

"I’ll tell them the truth, Evelyn. You don’t have to take the blame. You don’t have to die like this."

Evelyn, sitting on the damp stone floor, chuckled softly, her pale fingers tracing idle patterns in the dust. "Stop it, Cross. If you get exiled from your position, they will probably hunt me and I’ll die too anyway. At least one of us gets to live. And worse, without you, another war between the church and the creatures of the night will break loose. You’re needed here. You’re the only thing keeping this fragile balance from shattering."

Valerian shook his head violently. "No. No, this isn’t right."

Evelyn exhaled slowly, leaning her head against the cold stone. "What’s right doesn’t matter, Cross. It’s what needs to be done." She laughed, though the sound was hollow. "I’ve been alive for over a century, you know? But I think . . . this is the first time I’ve ever done something truly meaningful."

His chest ached. His entire being rebelled against the reality that was unfolding before him. "Evelyn—"

"Listen to me." Her voice was calm, steady. "I know you hate creatures of the night. You have every reason to. But you’re also fair. You’re just. Even when you had the power to kill us all, you didn’t. You chose to uphold the agreement, to maintain the peace, for the sake of the greater good."

His stomach churned. How he wished he could tear down the cell, drag her out, hold her, kiss her senseless— anything but this. His nerves screamed at him to wage war against the church to save her, but deep down, he knew she was right.

The world still needed him.

And as much as he wanted her—the world needed him more.

Evelyn smiled, tilting her head slightly. "I’m glad I met you, Valerian Cross."

His lips trembled. His hands clenched into fists. He wanted to tell her—to scream—how much he loved her. He wanted to beg her to run away with him, to choose him instead of this fate. To stay. To live.

But instead, "Yeah . . . me too." He choose duty over love.

In the end, they never said the words.

They never confessed whatever it was they felt.

Because this wasn’t love—it was something far deeper. Something that words couldn’t touch. Something that had tethered them together in ways neither of them could ever explain.

And so, as the executioners dragged Evelyn toward the stake, Valerian didn’t look away.

Not when they tied her hands.

Not when they set the wood beneath her feet ablaze.

Not when the fire climbed her robes, licking at her pale skin.

He stood there, silent, frozen, his face emotionless—but his tears wouldn’t stop falling.

Because in that moment, all he could see was that snowy night, when she had first opened the door of her little hut, her white hair dance with the wind, her smile mischievous, and her voice filled with unshakable confidence as she had said—

"Isn’t it customary to introduce yourself before asking a woman’s name?"

And just like that, she was gone.