Chapter 120

I was crouched in the flower bed outside the main building, sniffling.

I had wanted to flee the manor entirely, but my legs had given out the moment I stepped through the front door, and I had simply crumpled there.

Damn.

“Sniff. Sob…”

I wiped at the tears that kept welling up.

“Ivelina~. What are you doing. Come play.”

My husband had gone so far as to open the window to taunt me. Of all the flower beds in the manor, I had collapsed directly below the one that lined up straight with his study window. He was leaning against the sill, craning his neck out to lob remarks at the back of my head.

The tears rolling down my cheeks hit the sand below and made small round marks.

I pushed my lip out and absolutely refused to look up. I stared at the ground.

My cheeks trembled with indignation.

“Ivelina~. I’m bored. I’ll play with you. Hm? Kph.”

This is genuinely infuriating.

The humiliation of it made fresh tears burst out all at once. They filled my eyes until the whole world went blurry.

“D—dear daughter-in-law! Don’t cry! If your father-in-law can help, I’ll play with you too! Our Ivelina must have been very bored!”

I squeezed my eyes shut.

Fat tears dripped down steadily.

“Sniff.”

I had hidden in Kai’s room for the rest of the day.

Whenever footsteps approached, I dove under the bed—and only crept back out once the sounds faded. It had worked so far.

I held Kai’s chubby little hand and cried silently. Since he was fast asleep, I had to keep it to muffled tears only, with no sound.

Bang.

A sliver of dim light cut through the dark room.

“There you are again. My little rabbit.”

My husband had found me.

“Eek!”

A brief chase ensued—and I was caught.

I hadn’t dared make a sound for fear of waking Kai, so I had darted about like a flying squirrel, but my husband had snatched the back of my collar as efficiently as a flying squirrel hunter.

He lifted me and carried me directly to the bedroom.

Along the corridor:

“Get away from me. I hate you. Sob…”

“Shh.”

“Don’t shh me! Let go of me this instant! I’m crying and all you do is laugh at me… sob.”

He did not let go. He carried me to the bedroom entirely without concern for the fact that I was actively weeping.

I remembered exactly what he had done that morning.

Mocking someone who was already miserable—and not even a word of apology!

“Sob. I hate you…”

“I love you.”

He pressed his lips firmly to my forehead like a stamp.

The moment we reached the bedroom I wrenched myself free and scrambled out of his arms.

He still had his outer coat on. Through my tears, glaring, I tugged it off him—I couldn’t not, it was habit by now—and then flung myself onto the bed.

He lay down facing me, as he always did. That infuriating corner of his mouth was creeping up again. I rolled over, turned my back to him, and yanked a pillow savagely into my arms.

I pulled the covers up to the top of my head and cried quietly to myself for two full hours.

My pillow was soaked through.

“Sob.”

I had eaten dinner separately, too. I was too embarrassed to face my father-in-law, so I had hidden all day.

Emily had brought a tray to my room, and I had eaten through my tears. My appetite had completely abandoned me, but I couldn’t ignore Emily’s care. So I ate, and cried, and then hid in Kai’s room to avoid my husband.

“Sniff. Sob…”

The crying continued. I was embarrassed about crying, too, which only made it worse—I wanted to stop, but the shame and the wretchedness kept the tears and the sniffles coming in an endless stream.

I tried holding my breath for ten seconds. I tried controlled breathing. Nothing worked.

Damn.

“Stop. You’ll dehydrate.”

“Sob, sniff.”

My breathing shuddered.

I don’t want to be crying either. He was the one who found me weeping in the flower bed and proceeded to mock me anyway.

“Come here.”

His large hand slid between my neck and the pillow. He turned my body toward him and pulled me in.

I did not want to be held by this infuriating man, but it happened so quickly that by the time I came to my senses I was already in his arms.

I pressed my tear-and-snot-streaked face against his chest. His white shirt grew steadily damp.

“Was my Ivelina very bored?”

“Stop it!”

I hit his chest with my fist. Once, twice.

And immediately regretted it. Just as always, my hand was the only thing that hurt. My knuckles stung.

“Ugh. I’m annoyed.”

I burrowed deeper into him, furiously, and he held me tighter. His large hand patted my back steadily.

Strange: just inhaling his scent made my breathing begin to calm.

I glanced up—and met his eyes. They curved.

“My darling. You were bored, weren’t you.”

Thwack. I hit his chest once more with a feather-light fist and burrowed back in. He kept patting my back until the last of the sniffles finally went quiet. Then he reached out and poked at my cheek. Even now, he was kneading my flesh.

“…Stop it.”

“You’re cute.”

He paid me no attention and bit gently into my earlobe. Infuriating.

…Wait. This atmosphere.

Was it possible—was my husband sending a signal?

He’s the one who declared the ban—coming at me first after that would damage his dignity—so he’s sending me a signal instead…?

I very casually reached out and touched him in return.

Carefully, tentatively. My right hand found the firm planes of his abdomen. He twitched.

Oh.

He’s not stopping me.

All right. Let’s try crying against him. Look pitiful. Appeal to his protective instincts.

There was potential here.

Because my husband had a pattern: whenever he decided I looked dejected, he would use that as a pretext to pull me close. Of course, that had always been a pretext. I had never actually been dejected on those occasions—I had simply been sitting quietly, minding my own business, and he’d used it as an excuse.

So if I was genuinely dejected—perhaps—

I might be able to give Kai a little sibling!

This morning’s humiliation wasn’t something I could forget. But still.

I sniffled conspicuously and let my hand move with subtle purpose.

Downward along his waist, toward—

“Hand. Stop.”

My husband caught my hand and wrapped it firmly around his side. A clear warning to stop moving it.

“I’m upset…”

“What being upset has to do with groping is beyond me.”

His response was sharp. The voice was cold.

He was the one who’d dragged me to bed under the pretext of wounded feelings on countless occasions—and now he was scolding me.

I held my complaints and pressed myself against him with what I hoped was natural, innocent casualness.

“Stop squirming.”

“…”

He was immovable.

I pressed my face into his chest and muttered at him.

“You’re so unfair. I’m completely heartbroken right now.”

“Mm.”

He stroked the back of my head and gave an answer that could have meant anything.

I peeked at him. His eyes were fully closed.

…?

He almost seemed to be waiting for me to make a move.

I let my hand slide down slowly. Along the line of his waist, curving lower—

Smack!

“Ow!”

He smacked the back of my hand.

He sat up abruptly and began rolling me into the blanket.

“Hey! Stop that! I know what you’re up to!”

He ignored me entirely and completed the operation in seconds. I was now wrapped from head to toe like a roll of kimbap.

“L—let me out of this right now! I can’t breathe!”

“You wanton duchess.”

Rejected by my own husband—and then called wanton on top of it.

He was the one who had done unspeakable things to me on a daily basis, and now he was pinning that word on me.

I trembled with outrage.

I will not take being called wanton by the Supreme Wanton.

“Hmph!”

I turned my head away with great finality.

My husband dismissed this with ease. He simply held the kimbap roll that was my body against him and went to sleep.

The following morning, I told Emily everything about the Ivelina Rejection Incident.

Emily’s eyes went round.

“My. That’s not easy.”

“It’s infuriating. He does worse to me on a daily basis and then calls me a wanton duchess. What does that make him, then—a wanton duke? Hmph!”

I fumed. Emily nodded thoughtfully for a moment, then seemed to light on something.

“My lady. What about trying the power of superstition?”

“Superstition?”

“Yes. I’ve obtained some rather exclusive information. A secret method said to stir not only the heart, but the desires of another.”

“Really?! What is it! Tell me right now!”