Chained Hearts: From Slavery to Sovereignty-Chapter 135: The Awakening

But no dream had ever captured him like this.

He looked like a divine sculpture, carved from moonlight and starlight. His skin was nearly translucent, glowing softly beneath the reflection of the pool. Iridescent and pale, it shimmered faintly with the lightest movement of water, almost like opal kissed by morning light.

His hair was long, drifting gently around him, silver with strands of rose gold woven through like the threads of dawn. It floated with the water’s current, brushing across his shoulders and collarbone like a lover’s caress.

His face was breathtaking.

Sharp cheekbones, soft lips parted slightly as though in the middle of a sigh. His eyes were closed, framed by lashes dark and long. His brows were gently arched, his expression calm—serene, as though locked in a deep, endless sleep. He looked fragile and peaceful.

But he did not look weak.

No.

From his temples, two horns curled backward, smooth and elegant. They weren’t monstrous—they were regal. Pale ivory, laced with veins of gold that shimmered like starlight.

But it was the clothing—or lack of it—that stole the last of my sanity.

Wrapped around his body was a single, flowing fabric—a semi-sheer robe in a pastel pink, embroidered with gold leaf so fine it looked alive. It clung to him in complicated folds, barely covering what it should, and highlighting everything else it shouldn’t.

One long leg was exposed to the thigh, flawless and smooth, where the silk had slipped loose. The robe curled back over his hips—tight enough to show the dip of his waist, the cut of his abs, and one side of his chest left fully bare. Muscle traced along his torso like marble carved by divine hands.

The fabric continued, draped across his arms and chest in sheer, almost transparent layers—one fold clinging loosely around a nipple, the other trailing off into the pool like a ribbon of temptation.

The robe didn’t just clothe him—it worshipped him.

And the worst part?

He wasn’t even awake.

He was sleeping.

And suddenly his nose suddenly burned and felt damped.

he reached up and found a trail of blood running from one nostril.

"...Fuck," he muttered.

Of course...Of course he was seductive in his sleep.

Of course his very presence was enough to make anyone’s head spin.

I stared down at him, still breathless.

Even asleep—he was dangerous, beautiful and perfect. And worse... familiar.

I knew him.

Not just from the dream.

From before that. freēwēbnovel.com

From another life.

From my life.

"...You bastard," he muttered, glaring down at his peacefully sleeping form. "You’re really doing this on purpose, aren’t you?"

No answer.

Only silence.

Only stillness.

Only temptation carved into flesh.

My hand curled into a fist at my side. I wanted to hit something. To scream. To demand answers.

But all I could do was stare.

Because deep down, I knew...

This wasn’t the first time I’d found him and it wouldn’t be the last.

He lay there for a long moment, frozen, staring down at the impossibly beautiful face in the coffin. Cassian’s chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, disbelief clouding every corner of his mind as another thought pop in his mind.

what if this all his imaginations, and his judgment is just colluded from that dream?

Is this real?

Am I dreaming again?

he asked again to himself. His pulse throbbed in his ears. His feet felt rooted to the shallow pool, like the water itself was holding him there.

Still... he needed to be sure.

So, almost in defiance, Cassian lifted his right hand and hesitantly reached forward.

"Just a poke. I’ll prove this isn’t real. That this—this isn’t—"

His fingertips hovered above the demon’s cheek. His skin looked impossibly soft, pale like milk kissed with moonlight. Cassian swallowed hard, lips parting as he prepared to nudge.

But the second his hand made contact—

A slender, elegant hand snapped up and caught his wrist.

Cassian screamed.

Not a dignified grunt or surprised yelp.

A full, unfiltered, very human scream of pure horror.

"W-What the FUCK?!"

He stumbled back, thrashing, but the hand didn’t let go. It held him firm, slender fingers like iron around his wrist.

No breath. No movement before. But now—

Cassian’s mind reeled.

Is this a ghost?! A cursed spirit?! A hallucination?!

His heart was pounding so hard he thought it might explode. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t move.

And then—without warning—he was yanked forward.

The world spun.

His body tipped.

And in the next instant, he found himself inside the coffin.

Fucking...inside.

His back hit the plush, silken lining, his limbs trapped by something strong and immovable above him.

And there he was.

On top of him.

The same demon.

The same face.

Except no longer still.

His long silver hair now flowed around Cassian like a curtain, brushing over his arms and neck, strands teasing his skin like silk. His body loomed above him, unnaturally graceful, half-crawled over Cassian as if it were his rightful place.

Cassian’s soul practically left his body.

Because the robe—if it could even be called that—had shifted further.

Barely anything was holding it together now.

A shoulder exposed.

The soft swell of his hip.

His abs, his chest, a sliver of thigh—Cassian could see everything he shouldn’t.

If I look down, his mind screamed, I’ll see something I’ll never recover from.

He slammed his eyes shut.

"NOPE. No, no, no. I’m not doing this. I am not—"

He felt the demon’s breath—warm, real, and too close...against the side of his face.

And then—

A wet, slow lick traced the line of his neck.

Cassian’s entire body locked.

His face turned the color of liver. Completely drained. Cold and burning all at once.

"W-WHAT THE FUCK?!"

His voice cracked.

"This old ghost is molesting me?! WHO EVEN DOES THIS?!"

He thrashed, struggling beneath the heavy warmth of the demon’s body, but the man didn’t even flinch.

Cassian couldn’t move.

Couldn’t breathe.

And then...

A soft breath against his ear.

Low. Dark. Amused.

"Ahh... a virgin?" the voice purred, sweet and slow, like syrup dripping from the edge of a knife.

Cassian’s entire body went rigid.

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