Misunderstood Villain: Heroines Mourn My Death - Chapter 421: Forever Cute

Chapter 421: Forever Cute

***

{Inside The Projection}

The steady rhythm of Malik’s breath filled a luxurious room as he sat cross-legged in its center. His body was still, his eyes were closed, and the faint burning halo of his Aether circulation curled around him in a shimmer so faint it could have been mistaken for dust caught in the morning light.

Layla stirred in the bed behind him, her hair messy, face buried half into the pillow.

Her arm reached out lazily, brushing against his side of the bed before pulling away. Half-awake, she rolled off, took a few steps forward, leaned down, and kissed his forehead, the touch brief and absentminded.

“Mmm…”

She yawned into the crook of her elbow, already shuffling toward the bathroom, its door clicking shut behind her.

Malik didn’t move.

A heartbeat later came an expected knock.

It was polite in sound, but the way the door swung open told another story—one of habit, of someone who had been told more than once they didn’t need to wait for permission.

Of course, it was Dunya, and she slipped in, bare feet silent against the rug.

She was already all prim and proper, dressed in a modest ankle-length gown of soft linen, dyed in muted earth tones. A white sash was wrapped neatly around her waist, the knot tucked with care, and the wide sleeves were cuffed so she could work without fuss.

Simple embroidery traced the hems, nothing extravagant, but enough to mark her as a servant of the palace. Her eyes, sharper than they had any right to be this early, were the only thing unsoftened by the uniform’s restraint.

Dunya crossed the room, kneeled to his side, and wrapped her arms around him, cheek pressing into his shoulder.

“Hee!”

Malik didn’t react, not at first, but eventually, after completing another loop, his eyes fluttered open, words escaping his lips in that flat way of his:

“Yes, good morning to you too.”

She giggled—or tried to, the sound coming out scratchy, with that little wheezing hitch she always got when she was too excited.

Dunya moved around him like a cat, only to settle directly before him and begin studying his face, as if to read his thoughts.

Malik stared back at her, seemingly used to her shenanigans, until she suddenly leaned towards him and lightly tapped his chest.

“What is it?”

She didn’t answer right away; instead, she turned her head toward the bathroom door.

Ah, not the door, but what was behind it.

Layla.

He followed her gesture, eyes narrowing slightly before drifting back to her.

“It’s the same as usual… this… fakeness never goes away.”

He paused for a moment and patted her head.

“But we do make it work.”

Dunya’s purple eyes stayed locked on him, unblinking, trying to pin him to his own words.

“…No matter how many times you push me, I won’t tell her.”

Letting go, Malik’s jaw shifted as he gave a small shake of his head.

“I know she won’t believe me.”

Her thumb hooked back toward herself, asking him an obvious question.

“Yes, you believed me. Thank you for that.”

His tone softened a little.

“But that was because you already knew the truth. Too trusting of me. Layla isn’t like you. Before, I tried, and it ended in failure. Now…”

He paused a second time, eyes lowering.

“…with half her people dead, without any body to bury for both them and her father? No. It’s impossible. Besides, I don’t want her to become anything like me… You forced your way into this, which I did not expect, so as not to hurt you, I’ve allowed you in, despite the tragedy that I’m sure is waiting for you. For all my people. But my wife isn’t in yet; she knows not of my Requiem. Her life can be saved; it’s something she can regain the day I finally take my… break.”

Dunya’s gaze fell, the corners of her mouth tightening, tears welling up.

Malik reached out once more, resting a hand lightly on her head, something that he found himself doing quite often recently, even to Sinbad.

“There, there.”

It was the smallest of comforts, but she chuckled anyway, tilting her head into his palm.

“Oh, you think I got better at pretending?”

She nodded once.

“I try.”

A faint exhale escaped him.

“But I’ve got a long way to go.”

Her nod came again, this time more insistent, almost playful despite the deep sadness in her eyes.

“Yes, yes, you’re a good teacher.”

Malik’s mouth tugged upward in something that could almost pass for a chuckle, but didn’t quite make it there.

“See?”

With the same hand that once patted her, he gave a small motion toward the bathroom.

“Now go before she gets out and sees us talking.”

After many nods of the head, Dunya rose, silent again, and slipped toward the door.

She didn’t look back. The latch clicked, and the room immediately felt heavier.

…Malik closed his eyes.

***

{Outside The Projection}

It settled over the hall… the obvious realization that Dunya, the quiet little shadow at Layla’s side, had been Malik’s closest soul all along, his confidant, outside of Sinbad, of course.

She was the place where his voice could be most heard.

Something of a therapist.

A teacher of what was normal despite not being normal at all.

And it wasn’t only because she couldn’t speak, allowing Malik to say all he wanted, but also because she never once lost hope in Malik. She, like Sinbad, was his companion till the end.

A fact that made many stiffen, from the sheer blind loyalty on display, Layla most of all.

She didn’t need anyone to explain the context; she’d seen enough now to feel the shape of what had been kept from her.

Her eyes lingered on the scene, and if anyone looked closely, they’d see that bitter curve in her mouth.

It might’ve seemed like it, but it was not jealousy, far from it.

’…If only.’

The same thought as earlier had been repeated, the third time now.

Oh, how she wished she were one of them, one of his people, those who were ’in,’ even though she knew very well that she didn’t deserve to have such wishes.

Again, this scene before her hadn’t brought her any ounce of jealousy, no.

Yes, Dunya, her once maid, was very intimate with her once husband, and not only physically but emotionally as well, something that might’ve enraged another to oblivion, but surprisingly, she felt nothing from it, nothing at all.

There was only one thing that she could focus on.

Her FAILURE.

Dunya was the biggest evidence of her failure.

They were birds of a feather, yet they had turned out so different.

And it wasn’t only her feeling and thinking such thoughts.

Huda, Azeem, and most of the rest were far in it as well.

Their thoughts and feelings all had different flavors, but in the end…

They all so deeply wished to take her place.

And she, who sat relaxed in Sinbad’s fluff, didn’t fail to notice that.

Oh, she noticed, letting that sad but somewhat cheeky smile spread across her face, the kind that said, “Yes, I know what you’re thinking, and yes, you’re right—I was closer. You’ve all failed him, so now look up to me!”

I’M BETTER!

Sinbad, knowing exactly what she was thinking, looked down at her, his chuckle rumbling warm in his chest.

“Forever cute, you are.”

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