Fifty Ways Of Escaping My Engagement To A Psychopathic Mastermind

​It was a mistake. A massive, life-threatening mistake.

​Of all the people to get entangled with, it had to be Caelus van de Valt—the man known as the “Iron-Blooded Psychopath.” In the original novel, he was the final boss, the hidden mastermind who would eventually bring the entire empire to its knees.

​And here I was, trying to negotiate my way out of his bed.

​“You said you don’t remember?”

​Caelus leaned in, his shadow looming over me. The air in the room felt heavy, charged with a tension that made my skin prickle. His eyes, cold as a winter frost, traced the line of my neck.

​“I… I might have been a bit too drunk,” I stammered, clutching the silk sheets to my chest. “So, if we could just act like civil adults and forget this ever happened—”

​“Forget?”

​He let out a low, dry chuckle that didn’t reach his eyes. He reached out, his long fingers grazing the tip of my chin, forcing me to look up.

​“You’re the one who crawled into my carriage. You’re the one who begged me not to leave you alone. And now, you want to ‘bury it as a fond memory’?”

​My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.

​“I was… mistaken! I thought you were someone else!”

​The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. His grip on my chin tightened just a fraction—not enough to hurt, but enough to make me realize I was trapped.

​“Someone else?” he whispered, his voice dangerously smooth. “Who, exactly, did you mistake me for?”

​“I, uh…”

​Think! Think of something!

​“The… the pastry chef! Yes! I thought you were the man who makes those divine cream puffs at the capital bakery!”

​Silence.

​Caelus stared at me, his expression unreadable. For a moment, I thought he might actually kill me for such a ridiculous lie. But then, he leaned closer, his breath warm against my ear.

​“Then I suppose I’ll have to prove to you,” he murmured, “that I can provide much more than just… cream puffs.”