Chapter 136: The Heroine Mary’s POV I
That bitch was cradled safely in the arms of Cassel Zancroft, surrounded by countless gazes filled with affection and admiration.
Why?
Why did everyone treat her like a priceless jewel? Like some spoiled princess who was handed everything she desired—and even things she did not?
Why?
I could not accept it. I refused to accept it.
The moment I saw that possessive tenderness in Cassel’s eyes whenever he looked at Rosalia, it felt as though something precious had been ripped away from me.
Something that should have belonged to me.
Something that had been stolen.
The hollow ache inside my chest spread wider and wider until it became unbearable.
This was wrong.
Everything was wrong.
I was the one who should have stood beneath the spotlight.
I was the one people were supposed to adore, protect, and cherish.
That was how it had always been.
Ever since I was little, everyone had loved me. Everyone had protected me. My family had been poor, painfully poor, yet I had still lived like the richest girl in the world.
Anyone who hated me or dared oppose me inevitably met misery and ruin. None of them ever ended happily.
So what changed now?
Ever since the apocalypse began, it felt as though my luck—my blessing, my gift—had completely disappeared.
I stared ahead while walking behind Cecil, who was drenched in sweat as he struggled desperately against two zombies at once.
In the distance stood Rosalia.
Her long ponytail swayed behind her as she rested safely in Cassel’s arms. She wore a short yellow outfit that remained impossibly clean despite the blood-soaked battlefield surrounding us. Under the dim gray sky, her body seemed to glow with an almost holy radiance.
And the man holding her—
God.
Cassel looked monstrous.
Over two meters tall, broad-shouldered, devastatingly handsome, and terrifyingly powerful. With a simple flick of his hand, dozens of enemies were torn apart as though they were nothing more than dust.
Nearby stood Matthew, who also looked absurdly powerful. At that very moment, he was arguing with Cassel over Rosalia as if she were some treasure both men refused to surrender.
"If you can’t protect her properly..." Matthew snarled coldly, "Then hand her over to someone who can."
Fragments of their conversation reached my ears through the chaos.
Cassel smiled sharply, his eyes icy and dangerous.
"And you think that someone is you?"
Earlier, when the instant danger appeared behind Rosalia, Cassel had ignored everything and rushed toward her without hesitation.
Matthew had done the same.
But he had been one second slower.
One second.
That single second had left Rosalia safely inside Cassel’s embrace instead.
Afterward, the two men had silently cooperated to slaughter the bastard who attacked her from behind.
And the moment the enemy died, they immediately began bickering like children over her again.
Rosalia acted embarrassed by their attention. She lightly slapped Cassel’s chest and scolded both men to stop fighting.
Embarrassed?
What a hypocritical little actress.
What woman would dislike being surrounded by handsome, powerful men willing to kill for her?
Even Henry seemed to look at her differently now.
How could I not notice?
From the very first moment I saw Rosalia, I hated her.
I wished for her death.
And I genuinely believed my wish would come true, just like it always did.
But this time...
Nothing was going the way I wanted.
I clenched my fist so tightly that my nails pierced my skin. Blood slid slowly down my palm.
I lowered my gaze toward the wound, staring silently at the crimson dripping between my fingers. Then I hid my hand inside the sleeve of my white clothes.
A few moments later, I looked again.
The wound was gone.
Not even a scar remained.
I had gained this ability during the first days of the apocalypse.
At first, I experimented on others, but every use of my power caused agony so intense it felt as though my flesh was being ripped from my bones.
I had never suffered pain before in my life.
Not real pain.
So how was I supposed to endure something like that?
Naturally, I pretended the ability did not exist.
It became my greatest secret.
My hidden card.
My lifeline.
If I had not needed to completely tame that idiot Cecil, I never would have allowed him to learn about my powers.
But no matter how sweetly I coaxed him in bed, he still refused to take me along with him.
I had no choice.
My eyes drifted back toward Cassel.
He stood tall amidst the carnage like a king born for war itself. With one arm, he held Rosalia effortlessly against him while teasing her in a low voice.
Meanwhile, his other hand ruthlessly dispatched any zombie or enemy reckless enough to step within reach, swinging with relentless precision.
The air was thick with the stench of decay and smoke as he battled fiercely.
I then turned my gaze back to Cecil. Covered in a gruesome mixture of blood, dirt, sweat, and fatigue, he fought with a desperate intensity, every move fueled by sheer willpower to cling to life amid the chaos..
To be fair, Cecil’s condition was still better than most of the others. Some people were already collapsed on the ground, barely breathing.
Others would have died long ago if their teammates had not continuously switched positions to protect each other.
But look at Cassel’s team.
How many of them had collapsed?
Not one.
Not a single person.
Even if they were not as terrifyingly strong as their leader, they were still ten times stronger than Cecil.
The realization made rage pound violently through my skull.
I sought out the strongest, those who proved their resilience, courage, and strength in every challenge they faced.
Only the most formidable among them earned the right to truly deserve me, to earn my trust and loyalty.
And out of all the mighty men across the world, only the strongest man on earth—someone with unshakable resolve, unwavering integrity, and unmatched strength—was worthy enough to become mine, to stand beside me as my partner and equal.
