Chapter 73
Chapter 73
Translation: godsn
"Sit down."
Even as Leila stared at him in utter disbelief, Matthias remained perfectly composed.
"We're not on those kinds of terms."
Leila warily eyed the food laid out on the table and Matthias seated beyond it, as if the entire scene was both unfamiliar and bewildering. A dining table had been set up before the fireplace in the parlor, where all the chairs had been cleared away. It was the very same place that remained etched in her memory as a place of horror.
"You said you'd fulfill your role."
"I am fulfilling it, perfectly well."
"Your bony body isn't much fun. It hurts when I thrust into you."
Leila's eyes widened at his crude words, spoken as his gaze raked over her. The sheer dissonance between his vulgar language and his indifferent expression was appalling, yet Matthias didn't so much as twitch an eyebrow as he stared straight at her.
What does he even take me for? How can he say something like that?
Feeling as though she'd been slapped, Leila glared fiercely at the Duke. He merely smirked and poured wine into the glass before him—his movements elegant, completely at odds with his demeanor.
"If you're not planning to starve yourself to death, eat."
"......"
"Going to die?"
"......"
"Well, if that's your decision, so be it."
Matthias smiled faintly as he watched Leila standing her ground with resolute defiance, as if declaring she would never sit across from him.
"Considering our relationship, I'll at least erect a gravestone for you."
He finally tore his gaze away from her and unfolded his napkin.
"Mistress of Duke Herhardt lies buried here." How does that sound?
"Excuse me?"
"I'll have it made of the finest marble, large and ornate enough for everyone to see. No need to worry."
His leisurely, dry tone only made the mockery sting all the more.
Leila bowed her head, struggling to suppress her fury. But it wasn't the best strategy. Though a different carpet now covered the floor, the memories it evoked were ultimately the same as that day.
Leila had to admit it now. Time might heal wounds, but deep wounds leave equally deep scars. No matter how bravely she dusted herself off and marched forward, the scars he had left would never fade.
Clenching her fists, she glared at Matthias, who looked utterly at ease as he leisurely ate his meal.
"I will live well."
With a firm declaration, Leila took the seat across from the Duke.
She wouldn't cower, flee, or flail about just to amuse him.
That resolve summoned a reckless sort of courage—almost like a desperate resignation. Whatever it took, Leila refused to surrender helplessly to him again. Even if, in the end, things would go exactly as the Duke wished.
"I won't die or be ruined because of someone like you."
She grabbed a piece of bread and chewed it fiercely before swallowing.
"I'll survive. For a long, long time."
She took another piece, slathered it thickly with butter, and bit into it with a full mouth. The crumbs clinging to the corners of her lips didn't bother her in the slightest. If her ravenous eating disgusted him, all the better.
"Is that so?"
Matthias responded nonchalantly, setting down his fork and knife.
"Good girl."
As if rewarding a well-behaved child, he poured wine into the glass in front of Leila. She picked it up with her crumb-covered hands and downed it in one go.
"Tsk."
Clicking his tongue briefly, Matthias obligingly refilled her empty glass. As if declaring she would never be the refined lady he wanted, Leila drained that one too in a single gulp. If her goal was to appear undignified, she was doing an admirably effective job.
Wiping her lips with the back of her hand, she then grabbed her fork and began devouring the food. Matthias watched with amused interest.
Well, it wasn't all bad. Tolerating a little barbarism was still better than watching her waste away to skin and bones.
"Turn off that music, please."
The words slipped out of Leila's mouth just as they finished the last bottle of wine. Her glare at the phonograph was downright hostile.
"Listen. It's beautiful."
The waltz played on the piano had now reached its most technically brilliant and delicate passage—Matthias and his canary's favorite melody. After initially perking up her ears with a sullen expression, Leila soon furrowed her brows again and muttered under her breath.
"It's annoying."
Then, gripping her fork like a tool, she stabbed the last piece of meat and shoved it into her small mouth.
Matthias, who had been watching her smacking lips and bulging cheeks, burst into laughter.
"Your taste is more vulgar than a bird's."
"...A bird?"
Just when he wondered if she could possibly eat that much, Leila managed to swallow the meat with the last sip of wine before retorting. Her cheeks were flushed crimson—understandable, given how she'd been drinking wine like water.
Matthias merely smirked without answering. After staring at him for a while, Leila soon lost interest and lowered her gaze to the empty plate.
"When are you going to discard me?"
Having exhausted all her energy in her militant consumption of food, there was no more pretense of malice in Leila's voice now.
Matthias set down the wine glass he'd been lightly holding and looked at her. The dry, calm look in his eyes made it clear this wasn't some trivial complaint or act of petulance.
"You'll discard me eventually, won't you? Since you have me now."
"Mhm."
Matthias answered indifferently. He wasn't sentimental or foolish enough to promise eternity to a mistress.
"Then discard me quickly."
"And if I do?"
"...I'll have to live well."
Leila picked up a napkin and wiped her lips and hands.
"A life unrelated to you, Duke. Lived diligently. Lived well."
"That sounds like you're saying you can't live well by my side."
"Yes."
Leila answered without hesitation.
"Obviously."
Placing the crumpled napkin at the edge of the table, Leila now bowed her head and quietly studied her own hands. Her pale eyelashes cast surprisingly dark shadows.
Matthias leaned back deeply into his chair. His eyes remained fixed on Leila.
It wasn't an answer that should have felt irritating or offensive. If it couldn't be forever, then it would end someday. No matter how fervent the desire, it would inevitably cool. If she could leave without making a fuss when that end came, it might even be for the best. And if she went on to live her life well and vigorously afterward, nothing could be better.
So why?
Matthias frowned at his own inexplicable emotions.
This answer—which shouldn't have been irritating or offensive at all—felt intensely irritating and offensive. It was precisely then that Leila rose from her chair.
"Where are you going?"
"I think I'll leave now."
Watching Leila answer so nonchalantly, the corner of Matthias's mouth twisted. Simultaneously, his rough hand shot out and seized her arm in a tight grip.
"Ah!"
Though Leila let out a small startled cry, he paid it no mind.
Pulling the stumbling Leila straight into his lap, Matthias leaned back onto the wide sofa as if lying down. After some initial struggling to escape, Leila soon seemed to give up and grew still.
With one arm wrapped firmly around the waist of Leila—now nestled against him—Matthias pulled her closer. Burying his face in the nape of her neck, he inhaled the familiar scent of her body. That soft, sweet fragrance unique to this woman, Leila.
When he lightly licked the pulsing area near her neck, he felt Leila flinch. Amused, he grew more mischievous, lapping at her nape, chin, and cute ears. Each time Leila squirmed to escape, her soft hair swayed with a rustling, ticklish sound.
The night must have grown quite deep by now.
Leila strained to gauge the time by peering out the window, but the sensations persistently clouding her consciousness made it difficult.
Before she knew it, Matthias's hand had slipped inside her blouse. She had expected the familiar pain, but his warm, dry palm moved differently this time. Slowly, deliberately, it traced her stomach and waist before gently cupping her breast.
Leila, who had squeezed her eyes shut, cracked them open in bewilderment when his touch showed no trace of urgency. Through the thin fabric, the movement of his hand kneading her chest was unmistakable. It was so strange that she shut her eyes again. The sound of his lips grazing her earlobe, his soft breaths—all of it was equally unsettling.
She prayed for it to end quickly, but that bizarre moment stretched on and on. Like the grating melody of a dissonant tune, Matthias continued exploring her with his hands and lips, unhurried. Whether it was the numbness from the wine or the lingering fullness in her stomach, the pain wasn't as sharp as before.
"Ugh—the music, turn it off! My head hurts."
As his hand slid down her lower abdomen and emerged from her blouse only to push up her skirt, Leila cried out in desperation.
"The music is beautiful, Leila."
Matthias ignored her, hiking her skirt above her knees.
"Your headache is your own fault for drinking so disgracefully."
His mocking tone infuriated her, but Leila couldn't muster a retort.
Matthias's hand slipped beneath her undergarments, shamelessly touching where she felt most ashamed. Startled, she struggled to push him away, but when she realized it was futile, she instead clamped both hands over her mouth. Yet Matthias pried even those away, stoking her humiliation further.
Moans and ragged breaths, louder than the music could ever drown out, spilled uncontrollably from her parted lips. Matthias didn't withdraw his hand from beneath her skirt until Leila's body, trembling as if seized by convulsions, finally slumped limply against his chest.
"You may not survive well by my side, but you sure know how to get wet and cry beautifully."
With his glistening fingers, still slick from her, Matthias cupped Leila's flushed cheek. She shuddered and tried to push his hand away, but the more she resisted, the tighter his grip became. Their gazes clashed—Leila's seething with ragged breaths, Matthias's curling into a mocking smirk.
"Now that I've done what I wanted, it's your turn to do what you want."
Effortlessly, Matthias laid Leila back onto the sofa and climbed over her.
"What I want is to leave you this instant, Duke."
"Liar."
Matthias dragged his damp fingers slowly across her lips. Then, without hesitation, he began undoing the buttons of her blouse. Leila's glare burned with self-loathing and fury.
"If you were going to do this anyway, you could've just had your way from the start."
The more foolish hope she had harbored, the more wretched she felt now.
"That's no fun anymore."
Once the last button was undone, Matthias stripped off her blouse, then made quick work of her skirt with his own hands.
"This way, you suffer."
Leaning down, he chuckled as he removed her glasses. Then, with a soft mwah, he pressed a kiss to her damp cheek. It was a tender kiss, like birds nuzzling their beaks together, but Leila had no strength left to register it.
"Your suffering is my pleasure."
All that remained was pain—the kind that clawed deep into her heart, leaving only the ache of humiliation in its wake.