Chapter 209: My Truth

The Saintess trembled in Aiden’s arms.

Even with the last shards of shattered glass settling on the banquet floor, even with the scent of smoke and cold wind still clinging to the air, her fear was the loudest thing in the room.

Not because she showed it—she didn’t—but because he could feel it in the tiny, involuntary quivers in her breath. Soft. Controlled. But trembling.

The women were watching them.

Every single one.

The mansion lights flickered overhead, reacting to the lingering pressure of Aiden’s unleashed power, like the building itself was holding its breath.

Catherine waited near the doors, arms crossed, spine straight, gaze sharp enough to make diamonds feel inferior. At his command she had locked down the mansion, sealing every window and door with high-tier magic barriers strong enough to withstand a small army.

"Done," she had answered with a soft smile that meant Don’t worry... I won’t let them take you.

The room was secure.

But the Saintess was not.

Her breath brushed his throat—warm, uneven, fragile. The scent of her—incense and soft petals—mixed with faint fear-sweat and the metallic bite of mana residue. It hit him deeper than he expected.

She was hiding something.

And he finally knew what.

He shifted his hold, not quite letting her go. She didn’t resist. She stared at the wall where the assassin had been blasted through, eyes wide, lips parted.

Her voice was barely a whisper.

"...Lucifer. What... are you?"

Her tone wasn’t accusation.

It wasn’t anger.

It was fear wearing the mask of reverence.

Aiden lowered his head until his lips brushed her ear. His breath skimmed her skin. She flinched but didn’t pull away.

"Before I answer that..." he murmured, "you owe me one truth as well."

Her fingers tightened on his robes.

"I’ve told you everything."

"No," he whispered, "you haven’t."

A moment passed.

A heartbeat.

A breath.

A fracture in the air.

And then—like the gentle shattering of something sacred—her shoulders sagged. A tiny admission. A tiny surrender. Her gaze drifted to the floor.

"...You already know, don’t you?" she whispered.

"Yes."

"...How long?"

"Long enough."

Her throat bobbed. "...Was it obvious?"

"To me? Yes."

To everyone else? No.

The Church? ...He’d get to that.

He slowly loosened his hold so she could stand on her own. She straightened but swayed slightly; her knees still shook from the shock of the attack—and from seeing him destroy the assassin as if obliterating shadows was second nature.

She took a slow breath. Another. Composed, as she always did. Because that was her role. The Saintess. The symbol. The treasured lie.

She lifted her chin.

"...Then say it," she whispered. "The thing I’ve hidden since birth."

Aiden met her gaze. Golden eyes blazing, smoke-like aura still rolling subtly off him like a storm refusing to die.

"Fine," he said. "You’re half–succubus."

Her breath hitched—so tiny a sound most would miss it. Aiden didn’t.

The women behind him stiffened.

Eve raised a brow.

Sabrina blinked slowly, voice syrupy. "Oh? Interesting..."

Flora whispered, "I knew she smelled kinda sweet."

Luna elbowed her. "Shh."

The Saintess wrapped her arms around herself.

"...How long have you known?"

"Since the first day." He lied.

Her lips trembled.

"And you didn’t reject me?"

Aiden frowned. "...Reject you? Why the hell would I reject you?"

She didn’t answer.

She didn’t need to.

Her whole life—everyone she knew—had been steeped in the doctrine that demon-blood was filth. That succubi were temptresses. Corruptors. Sinners.

And yet...

The Church paraded her as their Saintess anyway.

Aiden watched her closely. Saw the way her fingers dug into her sleeves. Saw the deep ache in her stare. The confusion. The exhaustion. The fear that was finally, finally cracking the porcelain mask she had been forced to wear since childhood.

She swallowed. Her voice fragile.

"In the scriptures... in the sermons... in everything I was taught..." She shook her head slowly, golden hair swaying. "Succubi are sins born into flesh."

"And yet here you stand."

Her breath trembled. "So... why me?"

"Because," Aiden murmured, stepping closer, "if your charm was completely demonic, someone would have discovered it the moment you reached adolescence. Succubi don’t remain invisible."

Her jaw clenched.

"...But a half-breed can."

"Exactly."

A small sound left her throat—half a gasp, half a sob she suppressed instantly.

Aiden knew what that sound meant.

She had known it all along.

She had simply chosen never to believe it.

She tried to speak, but her voice broke. "They called me blessed. They called me holy. They said I was chosen by the heavens because of my light. But all this time—"

"It wasn’t divine," Aiden said softly. "It was your blood."

She looked like he’d stabbed her.

The kind of pain that wasn’t physical.

The kind of pain that came from realizing your entire life was built on a lie.

The golden chandeliers above them reflected in her eyes like fractured halos.

This moment—the truth—was shattering her.

And Aiden couldn’t blame her.

He had once lived a life built on lies too.

She pressed her hand against her chest, fingers trembling. "Everything I did... everything I was praised for... every miracle they said I performed... all of it—was it because of this? This blood? This curse?"

"It’s not a curse," Aiden said. "It’s simply you."

She laughed, a small choked sound. Bitter. Fragile. "The Church says succubi are predators."

Aiden tilted his head. "And the Church is full of liars."

Her breath caught.

The room fell quiet.

Utterly silent.

Catherine’s expression hardened, protective.

Sabrina leaned forward, studying the Saintess like she was unraveling a book’s secret.

Luna and Flora exchanged looks, uncertain.

Tanya cracked one knuckle slowly.

Akidna’s eyes narrowed.

Aiden stepped closer—until his shadow enveloped her.

"What I’m about to tell you," he murmured, "you will not want to hear."

She blinked up at him.

"...Tell me."

He reached out and tucked a strand of her white hair behind her ear. A tender gesture—contradictory to the storm still radiating off him. His fingers brushed her cheek. She jolted beneath his touch, unable to hide the instinctive reaction that only half-succubi had—a shiver of pleasure mixed with fear.

He saw it. He felt it.

He didn’t comment.

"A religion," Aiden said quietly, "does not become this powerful by being pure."

Her lips parted.

"They built themselves from lies," he continued. "One lie laid on another until the foundation was strong enough to hold an empire under its thumb."

She blinked. Once. Twice.

He went on.

"The one they call Messiah—the one who founded this religion? He wasn’t divine. He wasn’t chosen. He wasn’t holy." Aiden held her gaze. "He was a scammer. A con artist. A man who used charisma and manipulation to raise himself from nothing."

Her knees trembled again.

The women murmured among themselves, but quietly. Listening.

"He used kings," Aiden said. "Used nobles. Used believers. Used their desperation, their longing for meaning, their hunger to be led. He built a religion from fabrications wrapped beautifully in kindness."

The Saintess’s breath hitched.

"...You’re.... lying."

"No," Aiden said simply. "I know a scammer when I see one."

Her jaw clenched.

"But—! The scriptures—! The miracles—!"

"The scriptures were edited by the kings that supported him. The miracles?" Aiden tilted his head. "Magic. Alchemy. Tricks. Things even a half-trained mage can pull off."

"But the Church—"

"Has continued the lie for centuries."

She staggered. Aiden caught her wrist before she fell.

Her voice shook. "Then... what about me? Why make me the Saintess?"

"Because they needed a symbol," Aiden murmured. "A poster girl. A beautiful, charming, obedient puppet blessed with extraordinary allure."

She flinched.

"They saw your charm," Aiden said. "Your glow. Your presence. Your... nature."

"...My ....succubus heritage."

"Yes."

"And they—accepted me?"

Aiden’s eyes hardened.

"No," he said. "They used you."

Her lips parted in a trembling whisper.

"Use me...?"

Aiden stepped closer, voice low.

"They decided your demonic nature could be hidden—if you were controlled. Managed. Presented. Molded. Told what to wear. What to say. What to smile at. What to bless."

Her breath broke again.

"You were their greatest marketing asset."

The Saintess covered her mouth. Tears welled, trembling.

"But... I’m loyal to them. I love the people. I healed them. I prayed for them. I—"

"And that’s why you were the perfect pawn."

The word pawn shattered her.

Her knees buckled. She collapsed against Aiden’s chest, choking on a breath she had tried so desperately to hold steady.

He wrapped his arms around her, not to comfort—he wasn’t sure he should—but because she was falling.

He whispered into her hair.

"I didn’t want to tell you like this."

She pressed her forehead against his chest, voice muffled.

"Then why...? Why now...?"

"Because," Aiden said, "those assassins were sent by non other than the Church."

Her entire body stiffened.

Slowly, mechanically, she pulled back enough to stare up at him—eyes red, lips trembling, breath unsteady.

"...What... did you say?"

"They want to kill you."

"L... Lies..."

Aiden didn’t blink.

Didn’t hesitate.

"They found a replacement," he said.

Silence.

The kind of silence that tasted like death.

The Saintess stared at him, color draining from her face.

"Replacement...?"

"The girl with the same white hair," Aiden said softly. "The one from the Duke’s ballet. "

’The heroine of this shitty novel....’

"I don’t... I don’t understand..."

"They discovered her charm. Her potential. They realized she fits their ideal perfectly. A pure, untouched girl with holy affinity and a flawless public image."

He held her chin gently, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"And once they found her... they no longer needed you."

Tears fell—quiet, soft, heartbreaking.

Aiden caught one with his thumb.

"They planned to kill you," he said. "Erase your existence. Replace you seamlessly."

"I... I served them... I loved them... I gave them my life..."

"They never wanted your loyalty," Aiden whispered. "They wanted control."

Her breath broke—fragile, pained, raw.

"Why... why would they...?"

Aiden didn’t soften his voice.

"Because the higher ups knew, they always knew, you’re half-succubus."

She closed her eyes.

And finally—

She screamed.

Quietly.

A sound like a soul cracking.

Aiden held her tightly as she shook violently in his arms, the weight of truth crashing down all at once—years of devotion, obedience, sacrifice, all undone in a single breath.

The chandeliers flickered.

The air thickened.

Even the mansion seemed to tremble.

When her sobs finally slowed, Aiden whispered:

"That’s why I’m here. To keep you alive." He lied again, forging one wordsp after another.

She breathed shakily against his chest.

"...Why?"

Aiden paused.

The question cut deeper than expected.

Why?

Because she was innocent?

Because she was strong?

Because she was fragile?

Because she trusted him?

Because she looked at him like he wasn’t a monster?

Or because...

Because saving her felt like rewriting fate?

He leaned down, his breath brushing her ear.

"Because," he murmured, "for the first time... someone like you is worth saving...and we both can change the whole damn script of this shitty story..."