Chapter 187

Chapter 187

The dialogue Deatrice and Frederick exchanged, the tension, the glances, and the bullet fired at the end, along with the torn wound – all were vivid.

Certainly, the emotions exchanged between them weren’t positive, but those were the only ones that existed at that moment. And finally, the fired bullet itself held a certain symbolism.

Lucius knew it was absurd to be jealous of such things. But jealousy was like mud; once it stained, it could never be cleanly wiped away.

Starting with that bullet, he began reconstructing the exclusive past of the prince and Deatrice in his mind. Until now, their history had tormented him, but it had never been this dynamic and vivid before.

The story of Deatrice rescuing the prince from the brink of death and carrying him onto her ship replayed in his mind like more than just words – it was an experience.

The injured prince, the shot fired in anger, the rough and labored breathing, and the heart-wrenching farewell.

Just as Deatrice emerged wearing the ring the prince had given her when they reunited, the prince would have thought only of Deatrice while he struggled with his injuries. The emotions he had held back to maintain his composure began to break down one by one, like a dam bursting. Lucius continued to think as if digging his own grave.

“Come back, Deatrice. You’re the only reason I’ve come back to life.”

His heart raced at the images his mind created, and even nausea overcame him for a moment. Lucius struggled to steady his jumbled insides.

Right beside him was the woman who had gone as far as firing a gun for him.

Until now, Lucius had managed to hold back well. Even when that darn prince shot him in the thigh, Lucius had pretended to be unaffected. He suppressed his jealousy, refrained from comparing himself to the infuriating prince, and didn’t dare doubt Deatrice’s feelings or misconstrue any significance in her past with the prince.

But paradoxically, the gunshot she fired seemed to pierce through his defenses, unearthing all the dirty fantasies and the buried envy. Thankfully, after receiving the priest’s blessing, his mind had calmed somewhat.

Lucius finally noticed Deatrice looking at him with an uneasy gaze and reached to hold her hand.

Now, in this carriage, he was trying to sort through the torrent of emotions that had poured out of him, pushing them back into the dark corners where they belonged. She probably wished he would vent his anger cleanly, but he had his own dignity to uphold.

He couldn’t afford to act like a spoiled child forever, blaming everything on her and not taking responsibility for his own emotions.

“Just… It’s just jealousy, that’s all. He kissed you, after all.”

Lucius did his best to objectively choose a moment that might trigger his jealousy and casually discussed it. At that, Deatrice’s expression shifted from understanding to a look that said it was too much.

She called his name.

“Lucius, who I love is you.”

“I know.”

I know. If he hadn’t known, he might have turned away for real. Whispering those words to himself, Lucius smiled faintly.

* * *

From the carriage onwards, Lucius did not seem to be in a good mood. And even upon returning to the mansion, he appeared to have the same demeanor.

His affectionate yet subtly distant attitude towards her was pretty apparent. As she waited for him in the room and he descended to his study ahead of her, he left the window open and closed the door upon her arrival.

“Ah, goodness. I did tell you to dress warmly.”

Playfully chiding her with a gentle expression, he used the pretext of being preoccupied to excuse himself first. Deatrice had wondered that night if he might not return.

But in the early hours of the morning, Lucius came to comfort her. It was when she had finally managed to drift off after a restless night.

“Dee.”

“Lucy?”

As she blinked her sleepy eyes open, Lucius pressed his lips firmly to her forehead, as if sealing her. It was a kiss driven by impulse rather than caution, the same kind of impulse that guided his touch as he held onto her wrist.

“Have you been drinking?”

At his abrupt change in demeanor, Deatrice asked him. She couldn’t detect the smell of alcohol, but she asked, nonetheless.

Lucius shook his head, and as if proving his point, he kissed her, their lips meeting in a kiss that was passionate and so consuming that it left them breathless. It felt even more intense being kissed underneath him as if she was receiving all he was pouring out without any escape.

“Lucy, I’m struggling.”

She murmured, pulling her lips away.

In response, Lucius nuzzled his nose against her earlobe and gently nipped at the pulse point behind her ear.