Chapter 82
Chapter 82
Translation: godsn
Matthias lay down beside Leila, who had been thoroughly cleaned. Though enough time had passed for her fever to subside, her small body remained flushed a vivid red—a sight he found beautiful. That was why he changed his mind about covering her with the blanket. The warmth from the fireplace would keep her from feeling cold. Even if she still felt chilled, he had no intention of changing his mind again.
Matthias pulled the stubborn woman, who lay silent as a solid wall, into his embrace. The marks left by his hands and lips, which had faded during their time apart, had grown vivid once more.
Wearing a satisfied smile, Matthias gently soothed her by stroking Leila's shoulders, chest, and flat stomach. He found it somewhat amusing how he was acting like a child demanding something, though he didn't entirely dislike it.
Leila's eyes fluttered open the moment his hand slipped between her thighs. The way she frowned and squirmed was so endearing that Matthias chuckled softly.
"Stop it."
As if worried he might not understand, Leila enunciated each word clearly. Her previously limp hand had somehow found its way to his wrist, gripping it tightly. Though her strength was feeble, Matthias willingly let himself be held.
"Y-you've had enough already."
Truthfully, they had done far more than this before, but Leila pretended not to know.
It wasn't as painful as before, but in a way, the absence of pain made it even harder to bear. Compared to the self-loathing she felt from taking pleasure in this man and these acts, the initial agony—as if her body were being torn in two—had almost seemed preferable.
Matthias withdrew his hand from between her swollen thighs. Instead, he wrapped an arm around her waist and cradled her head with the other, gazing down at the little bird nestled against him. Leila met his eyes with a fierce glare, as if engaged in a battle of wills.
"Stay in the Capital."
Matthias whispered as he stroked her disheveled hair, his hand moving slightly higher from her waist. He never wanted to see Leila humiliated and treated like a servant again. Besides, he couldn't keep a mistress in his territory after marriage anyway. Moving her residence a little earlier wouldn't be such a bad idea.
"Why should I?"
Leila stared at him intently, her narrowing eyes gradually filling with suspicion.
"You wanted to go to university, didn't you?"
"So... you're saying you'll send me to university?"
"If you wish."
"...No. I don't want to."
Leila shook her head vehemently.
"I have no intention of selling my body to go to university. Never."
Despite the fierceness in her eyes, her voice trembled weakly.
Matthias studied Leila's resolute expression before swallowing a cold laugh along with a sigh.
These kinds of words from Leila Lewellin weren't self-deprecation. He was beginning to understand. This clever little bird knew exactly how to insult her master.
We're in a transactional relationship where we give and take, and my body is merely a tool for that exchange.
Her shallow trick—deliberately rubbing salt in the wound—was transparent, yet Matthias found himself irritated that he kept falling for it every time.
"Leila, do you really think your pathetic, log-like body is worth enough to get you into university?"
Matthias's grip tightened gradually as he fisted a handful of her soft hair. The greater the insult, the calmer his voice became.
"Then why do you do this to me?"
Leila flinched, her face flushing crimson in an instant as she gasped for breath.
"Who knows."
For a moment, Matthias fell into thought, unable to understand his own feelings.
Truthfully, there was no reason he had to send his mistress to university. Keeping her well-fed and comfortable at his residence in the Capital would have been more than enough. He knew that.
"It must be the mercy and grace I bestow upon you."
At his words, uttered with a scoff, Leila let out a short, sharp breath.
She, who had been glaring at him with venom, tried to rise, but Matthias was quicker—grabbing her shoulders and pinning her back onto the bed.
Though her grating attitude was undeniably irritating, it was still far preferable to the pitiful sight of her curled up alone in that cold, dark bedroom after being humiliated by Claudine. It was a somewhat ridiculous sentiment to harbor toward a mistress who dared to defy him, but Matthias accepted it without resistance.
Nothing made sense anymore.
Even with Claudine, it had been the same. No matter how outrageous her schemes, she was his fiancée, and thus, by all rights, should take precedence over Leila. Scolding Claudine in that manner had been a breach of order. Whatever Claudine had done, it couldn't possibly have been more cruel than what he himself was doing to this woman.
He knew that.
And yet, he couldn't help himself.
Instead of sighing, Matthias swallowed the tight press of his lips. As Leila twisted her face away, he climbed over her, pressing her down with his weight.
It didn't take long for desire to seep into what had begun as an impulsive kiss. By the time Leila realized it, Matthias was already inside her. The place he had once cleaned was now being dirtied by him all over again.
Unlike before, Leila didn't try to escape. Instead, she studied Matthias's face as he moved slowly above her. She wasn't foolish enough to believe the Duke did these things for any reason other than his own pleasure.
And yet—mercy and grace?
"Lies..."
The whisper slipped between her ragged breaths, and Matthias's movements stilled for a moment. Leila's eyes, fixed unwaveringly on him, were so guileless in their innocence that they only seemed all the more brazen. Even her arms and legs, which had always trembled weakly before, now held him tightly.
"I know everything."
As if she had somehow seized the upper hand, Leila wore an uncharacteristically serious expression. Her body tensed, squeezing him almost painfully.
"It is a lie."
Matthias let out a sharp laugh before swallowing her muttering lips and moving again. The wet, slick sounds of their coupling filled the air as his thrusts grew faster, rougher.
For a moment, he thought—perhaps Leila was right.
Lies.
A lie whose truth even he didn't know.
Claudine's maid arrived early in the morning.
Freshly washed and dressed, Leila opened the door with a slightly startled expression at the unexpected knock.
"I—I'm sorry, Miss Lewellin."
The maid bowed her head abruptly. Gone was the condescension she had shown Leila since childhood—replaced by an uncomfortably deferential demeanor.
"Why are you acting like this? What's going on?"
"I lied to you."
The maid's face flushed as she spoke.
"I faked an injury—made you take over my duties with that lie."
Only then did Leila notice the maid's right hand, freed from its bandages.
She was taken aback, but not surprised. She had already suspected it might be something like this. Still, even if she had known from the start that it was Claudine's scheme, nothing would have changed.
Before, she had obeyed because Claudine was a noble Count's daughter, and because she feared causing trouble for Uncle Bill. But now, an even tighter noose was coiled around her neck. What could she possibly say in her position—committing wicked acts with Claudine's fiancé? She was no different from a thief. A thief hiding in the shadows of night, stealing what belonged to Claudine.
The fact that it wasn't by choice didn't change a thing.
The maid continued to explain her lie and apologize with utmost deference, treating Leila as if she were Claudine herself, but she couldn't entirely conceal the true feelings that occasionally flickered in her eyes.
Contempt and fury.
Only after the maid left and the front door closed did Leila realize what those emotions truly were. It was hostility—far more blatant and sharp-edged than before.
What if...
Sitting at the edge of the bed, lost in thought, Leila suddenly stiffened at the ominous premonition that struck her.
What if Claudine knows?
The mere thought alone was suffocating. And just then, her gaze fell upon the small box placed on the bedside table—the one the Duke had given her last night before she left the annex.
'What is this?'
Just as she had been about to step out of the bedroom, the Duke had turned back, retrieving a small box from his coat pocket. Leila, who had been gathering her discarded clothes from the floor, startled and hastily pulled the blanket up to her chest. Even though her body was already marked with his traces, shame was still shame.
'Open it.'
With a casual motion, he set the box down beside her. Leila, glaring at it with a frown, carefully put on the glasses she had been clutching in her hand.
When she opened the red velvet box, she was met with the absurd sight of a bird-shaped ornament. Soon, she remembered—that afternoon in late spring in Latz, when the crystal birds decorating the museum hallway ceiling had shimmered above her.
No way.
She stared at the crystal ornament in disbelief before lifting her gaze back to the Duke. No matter how deeply she searched his eyes, she could discern no emotion in them.
'Why are you giving this to me?'
In the end, Leila was the one who spoke first.
Did you remember?
The unspoken question swelled in her wide eyes as she looked at him.
'You liked it.'
Matthias's answer was so offhand that it only deepened her confusion. She knew all too well now how hope and expectation could turn into wounds. If you do this... if you act like this... it's just—
As if cutting off her runaway thoughts, Leila hurriedly closed the box. While she bowed her head and steadied her breathing, Matthias took another step closer to the bed. Before she could evade him, his fingers closed around her chin, tilting her face up with deliberate force. As if he were curious about the expression of a mistress who had just received a gift.
'No.'
That was the only answer Leila could manage when forced to meet his eyes. Matthias merely narrowed his gaze, saying nothing.
'I don't like it anymore.'
'......'
'I don't need it.'
'......'
'Take it back.'
A moment flashed through her mind—one where she had felt as though she were soaring into the sky. The cool, smooth surface of the crystal beneath her fingertips, the way she had turned her head in surprise to find the Duke looking down at her—that fleeting instant in spring.
It's meaningless now. No... it never had any meaning to begin with.
The Duke, who had been standing there silently staring down at her for a long moment, withdrew his hand indifferently.
'Then throw it away.'
Leaving behind only that indifferent command, he walked out.
So I should have.
When Leila finally opened the box she had brought back with her, her eyes filled with self-reproach and disillusionment. She had even gripped it tightly, ready to hurl it away—but in the end, she couldn't let go.
You'll grow up to be quite a fine adult.
The memory of Bill's voice, brimming with certainty, made her hands tremble. A suffocating wave of shame tightened around her throat.
Just like last night, Leila hastily closed the box and hid it deep beneath her bed.
She didn't want to see it. Not now. Not ever again.