Chapter 74
Chapter 74
Translation: godsn
By the time the passionate encounter that had begun on the parlor sofa came to an end on the bed, Leila was so utterly exhausted that she could do nothing but gasp for breath. That was why she failed to notice what the Duke was about to do to her.
"......!"
Leila's eyes widened in stunned disbelief as she realized her wrists had been bound. With no strength left to even scream, all she could do was glare at the Duke. The Duke, who smiled languidly at her, tied the other end of the tie binding her wrists to one of the bedposts.
"......Untie me. U-untie me right now!"
As Leila stammered and began to struggle, Matthias gently stroked her head.
"Stay still, Leila."
He adjusted the tie tied to the bedpost so she could lie down more comfortably.
"If you move, the knot will tighten."
Picking up one of the pillows scattered on the floor, Matthias placed it under Leila's head. He pulled the blanket up to cover her, but it soon fell back to the floor as she thrashed about.
For a moment, Matthias frowned, but soon his smile returned. Even if he covered her again, the same thing would happen. With the warmth from the fireplace, it wouldn't be too much of a problem for her to go without the blanket for a while.
Brushing away the sweaty strands of hair clinging to her flushed cheeks and nape, Matthias headed to the bathroom. It would have been best if they could wash together, but there was no way Leila would comply. So this was the best option for now. At least she wouldn't be able to run away while he washed—that was enough.
When Matthias returned to the bedroom with a warm washcloth after a slow shower, Leila lay slumped on the crumpled sheets. She must have struggled fiercely—even the pillow he had placed under her head had been thrown back onto the floor.
Frowning, Matthias untied the tie that had been tightly binding Leila's wrists. A long sigh escaped him at the sight of the vivid red marks left behind.
"I told you it would hurt if you moved."
"......You're insane."
Looking up at Matthias, who was gently massaging her wrists with unbearably tender touches, Leila muttered weakly. His touch was terrifying, but she no longer had the strength to even twitch a finger.
Leila closed her eyes, surrendering her body—which no longer felt like her own—to the Duke's hands. After laying her flat on her back, Matthias sat on the edge of the bed with the washcloth in hand.
Slowly, carefully, he wiped away the dried traces left on various parts of Leila's body. By the time his hand moved past her cheeks and chest to her lower abdomen, Leila let out a shuddering sigh and struggled to lift her eyelids.
The Duke's eyes, meeting hers, were so unnervingly calm they seemed almost emotionless. His expression was so cool it was hard to believe he was the same man who had been inside her just moments ago. The way his hands moved as he cleaned her was the same—there wasn't a trace of lingering desire left, which only made Leila feel even more ashamed.
There was so much about this man she couldn't understand, but this was what frustrated her the most. Sometimes, she wondered if he had some kind of switch in his head. A switch that, with a click, could turn him into a completely different person.
Leila soon closed her eyes again. Now lying quietly with her breathing steadied, she looked almost like a pale, beautiful marble statue.
Matthias brought his robe and wrapped it around Leila's naked body. When he lifted her into his arms, she stirred in surprise but offered no further resistance.
Holding Leila close, Matthias returned to the spot where he had been reviewing documents until early evening.
"...I hate you."
Leila, whom he thought had fallen asleep, murmured faintly. Matthias set down the documents for a moment and looked at the woman cradled in his arms. A droplet from his still-damp hair trailed down Leila's pallid cheek.
"I... I really hate you."
As he wiped away the moisture on her cheek, Leila whispered with difficulty, mustering every ounce of her strength.
She had never hated anyone before.
Not the mother who abandoned her, not the relatives who abused and beat her, not even Mrs. Etman who made her question whether she was truly human. It wasn't that she didn't feel the hatred—it was simply that even hatred felt too heavy to bear.
Emptying herself, over and over, hollowing herself to the bone—just like the birds who soar high in the sky by being light, Leila had survived by emptying herself again and again. With a heart weighed down by hatred, she knew she could never endure this life with strength. So she chose, for a time, to hate no one.
But this man—Matthias von Herhardt—she hated him.
Even if this hatred weighed like a boulder, making each step forward arduous, Leila wanted to hate him with all her heart, willingly.
I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.
After whispering these words several more times, Leila finally lost consciousness. Matthias let out a quiet laugh.
For a while, he gazed down at Leila before shifting his attention back to the documents in his hand. Leila slept deeply in his lap, cradled in his arms, enveloped in his warmth.
If you want to survive, you shouldn't discard anything, Leila.
An inexplicable irritation flared up within him, and Matthias exhaled a hollow sigh. His arms around Leila tightened unconsciously.
Matthias could give this beautiful mistress countless things—a fine home, a comfortable life. If she wished, he could send her to the university she so desperately desired. He could even let her spend her life studying the birds she loved. Everything the doctor's son she once loved couldn't give her—he could provide it all.
And yet, to live well, you would leave me...
He gently traced her lips, which had chattered such absurd nonsense. Unlike the insolent words they had uttered, they were warm and soft.
Lulled by a drowsy satisfaction, Matthias immersed himself in his remaining work. The steady rhythm of her breathing, soft and even, was like music to his ears. Her warm body, her scent, even the slightest shift in her sleep—he loved everything about this woman in his arms. A premonition flickered that this desire of his might last longer than he had thought, but the idea wasn't entirely unpleasant.
When he finally set down the last document and lifted his gaze, he saw snowflakes fluttering outside the window. Watching the snow fall over the frozen river, Matthias recalled the memory of this winter's first snowfall—the night of the charity performance, the disastrous play, the snowflakes that had met them beneath the streetlamp in the park where they stood facing each other.
"It's snowing..."
Leila had lifted her head with a small gasp of wonder. It was the same face that lit up with joy every winter at the sight of snow, as if it were something extraordinary. Matthias could still remember it vividly—the way the white snowflake had settled on her long, fluttering lashes, just as clearly as if it were happening now.
"Leila."
His voice, singing her name, was as quiet as the night snow. But Leila only stirred slightly, her eyes remaining closed. The parted robe slipped down past her waist.
If you saw the snow, you'd smile so beautifully.
For a moment, he considered shaking her awake, but instead, Matthias quietly cupped her cheek. Drawn to his warmth, Leila nuzzled against his hand in her sleep, as if seeking comfort. The movement was faint, but Matthias felt it unmistakably.
Matthias changed his mind about adjusting the slipped gown and remained still instead. As Leila gave a small shiver of her bare shoulders, she nestled her body closer into his embrace. Without realizing it, Matthias held his breath, his gaze deepening.
Something infinitely soft and fragile—like those drifting snowflakes—seemed to flutter within his chest. It was a strange and unfamiliar emotion, different from mere desire—a longing to simply gaze upon this woman cradled in his arms, endlessly and deeply.
Leaving the fallen gown as it was, Matthias wrapped his arms around her small, bare form. As he slowly traced her exposed back with his palm, Leila burrowed deeper into his embrace, as if seeking his warmth.
Crossing both arms firmly around her, Matthias leaned back deeply into the wheelchair.
His blue eyes, which had been watching the snowfall, gradually closed as he bent his head to press a kiss to the corner of Leila's eye.
Leila.
Just whispering her name with his lips made his breath grow slow and warm.
Leila. Leila. Leila.
The night train departing from the capital pulled into Carlsbar Central Station. The winter sun had yet to rise, leaving the platform submerged in the cold light of dawn.
Though still groggy from sleep, people hurriedly began disembarking. The lively footsteps of those carrying large luggage quickly revived the platform's energy.
Kyle stepped off the train around the time the commotion began to settle. His return had been unannounced, so no one had come to meet him. The Etmans were undoubtedly convinced their son was now aboard a train heading toward the southern continent. Until the moment he arrived at Latz Central Station, even Kyle himself had believed that to be his destination.
Leila had not replied to his final letter, written with every ounce of his courage. So, he thought it was time to let go. That was what he had believed. It was why he had resolved to embark on the journey his father had suggested—to broaden his horizons.
But then, why?
Throughout the train ride to Carlsbar, he had agonized over how to explain the sudden impulse that made him change his destination, but in the end, he couldn't find a proper answer.
In a way, it had been a premonition.
No matter how he thought about it, this kind of rejection was unlike the Leila he knew—the Leila he had come to understand over all this time. A foreboding sense that perhaps something had happened to her. Maybe it was just an illusion born of his obsessive longing and reluctance to let go, but even so, Kyle needed to see Leila with his own eyes. That was his only desire.
With a large trunk in hand, Kyle began trudging across the platform as the crowd ebbed away like a receding tide. The gaunt figure from last summer had faded; he had now grown into a young man with a mature glint in his eyes.
As he stepped out of the station, a snow-covered square stretched before him. The still-falling snow drifted down onto his head and shoulders, dancing slowly as if in a quiet waltz.
"Leila..."
The name slipped out like a sigh, his breath forming a white mist in the cold. A sharp ache flared in his chest, accompanied by a pounding heartbeat.
Gripping the trunk tightly, Kyle strode across the snowy square with wide steps.
I'll love you like you're my whole world. I'll cherish you. I won't hurt you, Leila.
That confession to Leila had been the most fervent truth of his heart. Had she given him even the slightest nod, Kyle would have kept the promise he had sent in his final letter.
I'll come for you.
Let's leave together. Somewhere the two of us can be happy.