The Butterfly That Swallowed the Fog
Tilia emerged from the opposite entrance guarded by Gregory Myers and scanned the surroundings with lightning speed.
On the path connecting the main hall behind the testing grounds to the academy’s cultural building, a small lake waited. Around it, neat rows of trees and pagodas dotted the landscape, yet men lingered nearby—always watching, always waiting for an opening.
She had no choice. If she could reach this place, she would find someone who would satisfy her wildest desire.
Tilia clutched her skirt, breath ragged, and forced her legs forward.
***
But when she finally arrived, the trail was completely empty.
‘Why…?’
Tilia’s eyes swept the quiet forest and the empty benches. The entire academy was still in exam season. Even the infamous late admits—who had somehow clawed their way past the entrance exam—were nowhere to be seen. Most were probably locked away in the library, lecture halls, or dormitories, cramming until their eyes bled.
She dropped onto the nearest bench, teeth grinding hard enough to ache, trying to swallow the sob that clawed its way up her throat.
Even as the heat inside her burned hotter with every passing second, the truth hit like a slap. She had never experienced anything like this. A hunger so raw it felt as though claws were raking through her belly.
‘Please… anyone… anyone at all…’
Cornered, Tilia was already considering the worst possible solution—Gregory Myers—when she saw it.
A pair of long legs stretched out beneath the shade of the opposite tree. A man.
She recognized the shoes instantly—hand-stitched, superior leather, the kind only the truly wealthy wore. Her gaze snapped up like a hunter spotting prey.
She ran.
The air was already heavy with the promise of summer, the sun blazing directly overhead, pouring down heat that made the scattered leaves steam. Tilia barely felt the sweat stinging her eyes or the way her pulse hammered against her ribs. The outside warmth was nothing compared to the furnace inside her.
Save me.
Please… do something… do anything…
Driven by that unbearable need, she reached the bench and stopped dead when she saw who was sitting there.
The grass felt like it was burning her feet where it hadn’t been trampled. Her mind screamed for her to turn away.
It can’t be.
I will never let that trash from the academy touch me!
But the instinct was already winning.
‘Think, Tilia. There is no one better than Elex Davenport.’
A voice—soft, honeyed, dripping with something dark—slid into her ear, pulling memories from the past.
“Elex Davenport brought a girl into the dorm again yesterday. I wonder what her name was… oh, right, a freshman.”
He’s the one who would say yes without hesitation. First condition fulfilled.
Red lips seemed to float right beside her, whispering.
“Who is this? Another prince who’s been rejected?”
The women who matter to him are many. Second condition met.
Tilia stared at the golden hair blowing in the wind, ears tuned to the seductive whisper.
Third… a face better than Gregory Myers’… Don’t you already know the answer without me asking?
The hunger laughed low and cruel.
It’s impossible to compare. Think about it. If you’re going to lose control anyway, you might as well choose someone whose face you’d happily lose yourself on.
Reason was already gone.
Tilia swayed on her feet like a puppet with cut strings and walked straight to the bench where he lay.
The sunlight that had scorched her scalp vanished behind the canopy of leaves. White legs fell into the cool shadow that belonged to him.
He didn’t move. Not a muscle. Not even when the heat of her body made the air between them shimmer.
Her trembling hands smoothed her skirt as she whispered his name.
“Elex Davenport.”
Still nothing.
“…Let’s sleep together.”
His shoe twitched once. The book he’d been hiding behind slid away.
When his face was revealed, Tilia felt her hidden hands grow slick again.
Look what I said. It’s better to sleep with a man whose face is at least decent.
The voice in her ear grew louder, then softer, like a bell ringing inside her skull.
That neat nose beneath the tousled blond hair. The eyes heavy with sleep, so impossibly dreamy they looked unreal. Grey-blue irises that slowly dragged over her like they owned every inch.
Tilia’s legs tangled. Saliva pooled thick on her tongue. She felt stripped bare right there on the grass.
Only when his gaze finally returned to her face did she see the tilt of his head—slow, deliberate.
“You.”
But the words that left his red lips had nothing to do with what she had imagined.
“You know who I am?”
Tilia froze as if she’d been doused with ice water. Reason clawed its way back into her mind.
Elex Davenport had propped himself up on one elbow. He looked at her from the bench, but his eyes held none of the hunger she expected. They were cool, assessing, almost amused.
The shirt was unbuttoned just enough to look careless, yet it was the finest custom tailoring money could buy. His shoes—already scuffed from her frantic run—were made from leather she didn’t even recognize, let alone own.
Everything about him oozed money. Money that had never once touched dirt. Money that had never once needed to.
Compared to him… what was she?
Tilia suddenly saw herself clearly: sweat-soaked dress, hair plastered to her face, cheeks burning with something far too close to desperation. She looked like the kind of woman who would beg in the mud just to feel anything.
She staggered back a step, mortified and ashamed.
She had almost thrown herself at Elex Davenport. At the man who had never once taken anything from “anyone.”
What was I thinking?
What in the name of the gods was I about to do?
Her legs were already trembling as she tried to flee.
“Tilia Ambrose.”
His voice stopped her cold.
She refused to look up, but her chin rose anyway.
“You asked if I knew you.”
Tilia’s brows drew together as she finally met his gaze. Sunlight blazed behind her, while he sat in the shade, cool and untouchable.
A breath of scented wind brushed his cheek, and the voice in her ear spoke again—different this time.
Why would you and Elex be so different?
He’s no different from you. He’s just another human being.
It was envy. The same dark whisper that had always lived inside her, the one that surfaced on every dark night.
Drag her down to you.
“Tilia Ambrose?”
After all those fine clothes he’d thrown aside, he was still just a man with a body. Arrogant, untouchable, but still only a man.
Even if he looked like the gods had given him everything, he was still just a slave to desire.
Tilia stared at the man who owned the largest carriage in the academy, the one who owned the finest horses in the kingdom, and felt nothing but contempt.
“You don’t look well.”
“…I’m fine.”
She pulled her hidden hands out, voice steady even though it shook.
“I’m perfectly fine.”
If the situation were reversed, he would look exactly like she did now—disheveled, panting, begging to be touched. And right now, more than anything, she wanted to see that.
She wanted to fall with him. To lie in the dirt together. To see what he looked like when he was ruined.
Tilia smiled—thin, green, dangerous—and took one slow, deliberate step closer.
The sun moved off her black hair. Dark, cool shadows settled around them both.
“More than that, Elex Davenport.”
She smiled as seductively as she could, hoping the sight of her would ignite something in him.
“How about it?”
She would drag that glittering smile down into the gutter with her. Even if it was only one moment of play. Even if it was only a few hours in a dream.
“Let’s sleep together.”
She wanted to watch him drown with her.
“…”
No answer came from the bench.
He simply watched her, as one might watch a rare animal, unmoved, unblinking.