"You're going to die today, Edward."
A fist came flying toward my face.
My hand clamped around his knuckles mid-swing, and I locked eyes with him, my grip tightening.
"What the hell are you doing, John?" I asked, glaring.
"That should be my fucking line, you bastard!" He spat, twisting his body violently and launching a kick toward my ribs without missing a beat.
I instinctively stepped back to dodge, but the room was small, and the bed behind me caught my leg. I lost my balance and tumbled backward, landing with a grunt on top of Roda.
But John wasn't finished. His rage had blinded him, and with another shout, he raised his leg again—this time aiming to destroy.
"Move!" I said, grabbing Roda by the arm and rolling us off the bed just in time.
The frame of the bed shattered under the force of his kick, splinters and pieces of wood flying like shrapnel. It sounded like a bomb went off in the room.
"What the hell is his problem?" Roda asked, frowning deeply as she dusted herself off beside me, clearly annoyed.
I let out a pained groan, my shoulder sore from the fall. "I'd love to know that too…"
But when John's eyes fell on me—on us almost on each other—his anger seemed to double. His hands clenched into trembling fists. His lip curled.
"You really have no shame, do you, Edward?" He growled. "First my sister—and now this? You don't give a damn about her, and here you are, screwing another woman behind her back… and a prostitute, no less. What the fuck is wrong with you?!"
Both Roda and I froze.
Our faces contorted into identical grimaces.
The rage. The violence. The reason he came flying into my hotel room like a lunatic ready to kill.
He thought he was protecting someone. His sister. Layla.
I should've known better. I should've stayed in another hotel. This one was too public, too nosy. The staff here knew me, watched me, gossiped about me. I wouldn't be surprised if one of them ran to John with this little scene and spun a tale of betrayal to stir him up. Misunderstanding or not, the damage was done.
"I'm not a prostitute," Roda said coldly, glaring up at John like she wanted to claw his eyes out.
John scoffed, dismissing her completely. "That's what they all say. What'd he pay you, huh? Must've been a generous offer."
"Shut up I said!" Roda snapped, jerking forward like she was about to deck him, and honestly—I was this close to letting her.
He was really taking me for a scumbag.
I stepped forward and raised a hand to stop Roda from doing something we'd all regret. "Let me handle this," I muttered.
But John wasn't interested in listening.
"I should've seen this coming," he growled. "You've got big ambitions, huh? Making yourself a damn harem of every race? Done with Layla already? Ticked off Vampire, Elf, and Werewolf—what's next, mermaids? Or are you aiming even higher?"
"Again with this 'race collection' bullshit?!"
My hand shot forward and grabbed his shirt in a tight fist, yanking him close till we were face to face.
"You bastard! You seriously think I'm collecting them like fucking trophies?!"
John didn't flinch. If anything, his eyes only got colder.
"Then who is she, huh?" He snapped, jabbing a finger toward Roda without even looking at her. "That staff told me everything! You're lucky I haven't told Layla yet—but don't think I won't. I will. Damn right I will. She deserves to know!"
"I haven't done anything wrong!" I retorted.
"Oh, you've learned how to lie real good, haven't you?" He sneered, his hand grabbing my wrist now, trying to pry my fingers off his shirt. "Even when I walked in—she was on her knees, wasn't she? Mouth full of your thing, right? Do I look that stupid to you?!"
His words struck like a slap.
And I went completely still.
What did he just say?
I wasn't even angry in that moment—just stunned.
She was frozen… and then—
Her face lit up bright red, not from embarrassment—but from boiling anger. Her fists clenched at her sides, and her whole body trembled like a volcano moments before eruption.
I didn't want to stop her anymore.
I almost wanted to cancel Sloth so she could knock this idiot straight through the wall.
I couldn't let this escalate. Not now. Not with her possibly on her way here.
"I was giving her water, John," I said through gritted teeth, forcing myself to sound calm even as my blood screamed otherwise. "Just look at her properly. That's Roda."
That name made him pause. He turned slowly, eyes narrowing at her.
Roda stood her ground, glaring at him like he was the filth stuck to the bottom of her boots.
"What...?" John mumbled, confusion breaking through the anger for the first time. Then he blinked. "What the hell… how could you do that to Victor?"
There it was again—that look. Like he was reassessing me as something even lower than dirt.
My fist collided with his cheek, sending him stumbling to the side.
"She's not that Roda, you idiot!" I growled. "She's Roda from Leon's damn timeline. Just look at her. She's older. She's different. I don't even know why she's here, but she got dragged into our timeline—like Leon."
John staggered, holding his cheek, the fire in his eyes beginning to dim.
"...From Leon's timeline?" He repeated, trying to process.
"Yeah," I said bitterly. "She attacked me the moment I saw her. I had to fight her, restrain her, and then try to explain everything. She was confused as hell, but I managed to calm her down."
He rubbed his face, wincing. "So… she's not…?"
"No," I said again. "I didn't tell Layla because I didn't want to ruin our damn day. That's it. I wasn't hiding some affair—I was protecting her."
John fell quiet, chewing the inside of his cheek. His expression shifted—anger giving way to guilt, embarrassment, maybe even a hint of shame.
About time he used his brain instead of charging in like a knight with half a story.
"My bad..." John muttered, eyes dropping to the floor, avoiding my gaze like a guilty kid caught red-handed.
"Don't apologize to me," I snapped, pointing a finger in Roda's direction. "Say it to her. Everyone's already whispering behind her back, painting her as a prostitute—you didn't have to throw more gasoline on the fire."
"Stop calling me that..." Roda said, shooting me an annoyed look.
John let out a quiet groan, still rubbing the side of his jaw where I'd punched him earlier. The bruise was already blooming, and I could tell he wasn't thrilled about it. Still, he turned to Roda.
"Yeah, sorry," he said shortly. "For calling you a prostitute."
It sounded more like he was apologizing for being forced to apologize than for the insult itself—but that was John for you. Apologies weren't exactly in his skillset.
"I never said I was one!" Roda suddenly stood, fists clenched at her sides, voice trembling with annoyance as the word prostitute came out again.
"You slapped the label on yourself," I said with a grimace. "Why get mad now?"
"Because I didn't have a choice!" She shouted back, her voice breaking. "Now just—just forget it."
There was desperation laced through her words. Not anger—something more fragile. Exhaustion. Shame.
I wanted to say she could have better ideas maybe.
But I felt like she was going to genuinely cry if I remained on this topic so I let it go.
"Alright," I said, backing off. I turned to John. "Where's Layla?"
"Reception hall. With Amelia," he answered, still frowning.
"Then let's go meet them." I glanced at Roda one last time. "You should stay here. Don't do anything stupid. Not that you could, really—not without your mana. You know what happens if you try. Just stay put, unless you've suddenly developed a death wish."
Roda's fists tightened.
"Find me another place to stay," she said suddenly.
"You heard me." Her arms crossed. "I don't want to hear you or…your woman screaming through the walls again."
John shot me a hard look—something between a warning and pure annoyance. I ignored it.
"She's leaving today," I said. "So you won't have to worry about it. I'll be back soon. Just... stay here and try not to explode, alright? Once I'm back, we'll talk. I'll explain everything—including where we are in the timeline."
Roda bit her lips but nodded reluctantly. "Fine..."
I gave her a quick nod, then looked at John. Without another word, we left the room.
As we walked through the hallway toward the elevator, an awkward silence wrapped around us like smoke. Not surprising—last time we saw each other, things didn't end exactly peacefully.
Eventually, I broke it.
"I take it things are going well with Amelia," I said, watching him from the corner of my eye.
There was something different about him lately. A calmness. A softer edge. He seemed more... comfortable showing what he felt, speaking his mind. I was pretty sure Amelia had something to do with that.
I never thought I'd see the day John would apologize to someone like Roda—even if it was half-assed.
"I see things are going well with my sister," John replied.
I narrowed my eyes, trying to decode his tone. Was that sarcasm? Bitterness?
But before I could respond, he sighed. Some of the edge in his voice dulled.
"As long as you make her happy," he said, "I don't care."
I glanced over at him, averting his gaze and offered a small smile.