Chapter 191

Rafael's statement perfectly corroborated the video. If anyone had previously suspected fabrication, his testimony eliminated all doubt. The events unfolded too rapidly—no one could react, much less pursue Rafael. Moments before, he had approached them voluntarily.

"You're lying!" Sophia protested, still attempting to defend herself. She knew it was futile, but wouldn't surrender without a fight. "Lying," she spat again, but as she backed away from Rafael, Odalys intercepted her, placing a restraining arm around her.

"Since you're both lying, you have nothing to fear, right? Why are you scared? What are you afraid of? Perhaps you merely fell into his lap, he held you, and—oops—your phone accidentally recorded in our room."

"Isn't it just as accidental that you put something in Finnian's drink and nearly angered that giant snake?" she continued. "Sophis, you're a walking accident, aren't you? Why does every accident you cause only hurt others, never yourself?"

Odalys's voice dripped with sarcasm, each word chipping away at Sophia's defiance. Sophia glared at her, but before she could retort, Odalys swiftly grasped her chin, forcing her mouth open. Sophia's startled lips twitched as Odalys sharply twisted them. A sickening sound echoed through the room. Sophia felt excruciating pain shoot through her jaw.

"Not so tough after all," Odalys murmured, her tone colder than ice. "I thought you were all bark, but look—a simple twist dislocates your jaw. I thought you were fearless. Turns out, you're all talk."

She released Sophia with a flick of disdain, wiping her hands on a tissue. Sophia's face flushed with humiliation and fury, but Odalys didn't spare her another glance. Instead, she turned to Rafael, her eyes sharp. "Don't look at me. I don't know you," she said flatly. Rafael's knees buckled; with a heavy thud, he collapsed before her, his face contorted in agony.

He had never felt such pain. Though he suspected Odalys's involvement in his injuries, he now witnessed her true power. He knew she could heal him; she was his only hope.

"I'm in so much pain," Rafael sobbed. "Please… help me."

His previous arrogance vanished, replaced by desperation. Hours earlier, he had been in control, mocking everyone. Now, only a pitiful man begging for mercy remained.

"Apologize to her, and maybe I'll consider helping you," Odalys said, her voice low and cold.

Before she finished, Rafael wasted no time crawling toward Freya, his face etched with guilt.

"I'm sorry," he choked out. "I was blinded by haste. I let myself be manipulated. I should never have treated you that way. Please… save me."

He had once ruled the village, bullying those with severed tendons, feeling invincible. But now, under Odalys's pressure, he felt disoriented, his world crumbling.

"If she forgives you, I'll help you. If not, there's nothing I can do," Odalys shrugged nonchalantly before turning and walking away. The others watched her, now regarding her with a mix of awe and respect. No one expected her to quietly resolve everything so efficiently.

She didn't create a scene, yet everything was resolved—Sophia exposed, Freya's problem handled without crew intervention. Odalys accomplished it all with remarkable finesse.

"I'm sorry, please forgive me! I can't go on like this… I'm going to die," Rafael wailed, his cries growing more desperate. He had never felt so helpless.

"You're not sorry," Odalys's voice was cold. "You're only kneeling because you're hurt and scared. You're not remorseful for what you did. If it weren't for Odalys warning me, what would have happened to me! You would have destroyed me. I'm no saint; not everyone deserves forgiveness."

Freya glared at him, devoid of sympathy. "People like you don't deserve mercy. You don't just ruin someone's life—you try to enslave them, force them to stay somewhere they don't want to be, all for your selfish desires. You don't even deserve to live."

"Please, someone help me," Rafael groaned, his body wracked with pain. He was losing strength, his side aching from Odalys's injury. He looked down in horror as the wound, where his rib had punctured his skin, began to bleed again. His breath quickened in panic.

"I'm bleeding! I'm bleeding again!" Rafael yelled, his voice strained with fear. "Help me, please, someone help me!"

He struggled to rise but collapsed, overwhelmed by pain. He tried to curse, to threaten, but when his eyes met Odalys's cold, calculating gaze, the words died in his throat.

Odalys wasn't trying to kill him—she had no intention of letting him die. She understood Percival's father's death was likely connected to something in the village. To uncover the truth, Rafael was crucial. But that didn't mean she would lift a finger to save him now. Some people had to face the consequences of their actions—to break under the weight of their own fear and despair—before truly understanding the pain they caused.

"Help me, please! It hurts so much!" Rafael cried, collapsing to the ground. The cameraman caught the director's eye and quickly moved the camera away, sensing the delicate, morally complex situation. They wanted to capture drama, but wouldn't interfere in personal matters or force Odalys into a moral dilemma. After all, this man had tried to destroy Freya's life—if he had succeeded, the consequences would have been disastrous. No one had any sympathy for him.

Suddenly, a scream pierced the air. "What are you doing?" Sophia stood frozen, still in shock. As the others began to walk away, she felt something brush against her. By the time she reacted, Rafael was pulling her to the ground. The impact sent pain shooting through her body, and tears welled in her eyes. The cameraman, sensing the unfolding drama, quickly shifted the camera's focus.

Rafael was on top of her, his arms pinning her down. "What are you doing?! Let go of me! It hurts, let go! You sick old man!" Sophia gritted her teeth, desperately trying to push him off, but Rafael pressed harder, his weight pinning her. He watched, a twisted satisfaction gleaming in his eyes as she struggled. He didn't care that she was fighting back; it seemed to fuel his desire. He tore at her clothes, grabbing and pulling at the fabric as he muttered, "You did this to me. You made me go to that room. It's all your fault. If you hadn't led me on, I wouldn't be like this." He hit her, ripped her clothes, and leaned down to kiss her, his hands disregarding all boundaries.