I will be the perfect wife this time-Chapter 85: Silence

Her tears cascaded like rivers of ice down her flushed, frozen cheeks. She tried to scramble backward, her exhausted body dragging through the biting snow, but Roland’s reach was swifter and devoid of mercy. He lunged forward, snaring her and hauling her against the iron cage of his chest.

His voice was a serpent’s hiss against her ear, "Did you truly believe you could outrun me? Did you think this world was vast enough to hide a single corner where I could not reach you?"

Her voice was a shattered thing, trembling with a terror that clawed at her throat. "Roland... please, I beg of you. Let me go... P-please."

A hollow, mirthless laugh escaped him. In one swift, terrifying motion, he hoisted her from the ground as if she weighed no more than a fallen feather.

"So, you remember my name now? You speak it only when you realize you are trapped. I will carve that name into every cell of your being until you forget your own."

He carried her through the swirling snow toward a dilapidated wooden shack that stood like a rotting tooth in the middle of the desolate woods. She fought him, her weak fists thumping against his chest like the wings of a broken bird fluttering against a predator’s grip. He did not flinch; he did not even seem to feel her.

Upon entering the gloom of the cabin, he threw her onto the wooden bed with a violence that made her bones groan.

"So, my beauty, you wished to flee? You wished to play at shadows? Hmm... you deserve a punishment. But first, I must remind your memory exactly who owns this body."

A suffocating silence descended upon the room, broken only by the sharp, metallic snap of his belt—a sound that rang in her ears like a clap of thunder.

His calloused hands began to roam over her skin, tracing her form with a sickening, obsessive fervor, as if he were remapping the borders of his territory. His lips followed, a cruel invasion fueled by a predatory desire that knew no bounds.

Serine found no sanctuary, no escape, and no strength left to scream. She closed her eyes tight, her tears falling in a deathly, rhythmic silence.

Please, stop....

She let her spirit drift away, abandoning her body to the him as he took everything, relishing in his dark triumph over her wreckage.

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While the shadows of the forest consumed the last echoes of Serine’s despair, a different kind of storm was reaching its peak within the gilded walls of the Luceron estate.

The freezing winds of the North could not penetrate the heavy doors of Matthias’s room, but the atmosphere inside was far from warm. It was electric—charged with a week’s worth of unspoken accusations and a pride that refused to bend.

He exhaled a heavy, weary sigh and stepped into her personal space, his hands moving firmly to confiscate the bottle and the crystal glasses from her grasp.

"Olivia, I am in no mood for games," he said, his voice a low, warning rumble. "We will speak of this later."

She didn’t flinch. Instead, she watched him with a cool, defiant intensity before sauntering toward the velvet chaise lounge. She sank into the cushions, crossing one elegant leg over the other with practiced nonchalance.

"And I," she countered, her voice smooth as silk, "have no intention of leaving this room without a word."

Matthias stiffened, his jaw tightening. "I believe you’ve misunderstood me. Please, see yourself out."

A sharp, mocking smile played on her lips. "Oh? Casting your own wife out of your chambers? Where are your manners, my Lord?"

His patience, already frayed to a single thread, finally snapped. "Fine," he bit out, his voice trembling with suppressed frustration. "You want the room? It is yours. I shall be the one to leave."

He strode toward the sofa to retrieve his discarded coat, but before he could pull away, her hand shot out. Her fingers curled around his wrist, her grip surprisingly firm. She looked up at him, the sarcasm fading from her eyes, replaced by a raw, unsettling depth.

"Matthias... I truly need to speak with you."

The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating, until he finally slumped into the chair opposite her with a defeated sigh. "Fine. Say what you must, and then leave."

"You have avoided me for an entire week," she began, her voice tinged with an accusation she couldn’t quite hide. "You refused to grant me even a moment’s audience. What on earth has possessed you?"

He knit his brows, his eyes flashing with a sudden, dark fire. "And whose fault do you imagine that is?"

"It certainly isn’t mine," she replied simply, her tone maddeningly calm.

Matthias let out a hollow, bitter laugh that echoed against the stone walls. "Ah, not your fault. Of course. It seems I was the one sleeping in another man’s chambers under the shroud of secrecy, hidden from my spouse. My mistake."

"Hey!" she snapped, her composure finally cracking. "Don’t frame it like that. You make me sound like the villain in this story."

He narrowed his eyes, his gaze piercing through her like a blade. "That is because you are, Olivia. That is exactly what you are."

She took a slow, steadying breath, trying to dampen the fire of her own temper. "Fine," she said, her voice dropping to a measured, conciliatory tone. "Tell me exactly what has aggrieved you, and I will set it right."

"Set it right?" Matthias countered, leaning forward until the firelight caught the sharp planes of his face. "How about starting with a boundary between yourself and that wretch Alistair? That would be a magnificent beginning."

"There is nothing between Alistair and me," she insisted, her eyes locking onto his. "Whatever filth you’ve heard in the corridors, whatever rumors are rotting in your head—they are not true."

"Ah, not true," he echoed, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"And the lock of hair you surrendered to him? I don’t even receive a trivial handkerchief when I depart on dangerous missions—something even the lowliest commoner grants their husband. Yet for him, you sever a part of yourself? Truly, Olivia, how do you expect me to interpret such a gesture?"

"Oh, stop escalating the situation," she snapped, waving her hand dismissively. "It was merely a lock of hair."

"A lock of hair?" Matthias’s voice rose, trembling with the weight of a week’s worth of suppressed indignity. "It is a total insult to me! Even your attire... you looked like a woman who had spent the night slipping through shadows to maintain a sordid affair."

She let out a short, mocking laugh, watching him lose the icy composure he prized so dearly. "Do not tell me you actually think I betrayed our vows. Because if you truly believe I cheated on you, we are going to have a very different kind of conversation, my dear."

"I know you didn’t," he shot back simply, the bluntness of his words catching her off guard.

"Your pride wouldn’t allow it. I know you couldn’t even fathom such a common sin. Besides," he added, his voice dropping to a bitter, self-deprecating murmur, "you find even the thought of sleeping beside me to be a burden. I can’t imagine you’d willingly take on the weight of a second man."

Her icy facade shattered, replaced by a searing, untamed fury. "Ha! Is that a compliment or a slur? You would do well to guard your tongue, Matthias. Was there truly a need to exhume that ghost? I have long since moved past those days; I no longer require sedatives to endure your presence."

"Fine, I shall bury the subject," he countered, his voice a low, dangerous vibration. "You were the one who demanded this audience. I merely wished to remind you: you are Olivia Luceron. You are my wife. Perhaps now you might grasp the gravity of what that entails."

Olivia bit her lip, the metallic tang of blood fueling her rage as she surged to her feet. "I have had quite enough of this conversation. I am leaving."

He let out a short, jagged laugh that cut through the room like a blade. "Of course. Run away. Escape, just as you did that night when I asked you to stay and rest in my chambers—only for you to reject me and spend the following night beneath that wretch’s roof."

The accusation was the final spark to the powder keg. Olivia lunged at him, her fingers twisting violently into his lapels as she hauled him closer. "Matthias, I am at the very precipice of my patience! Stop provoking me. For once in your life... shut up!"

In a blur of motion, his hands locked around her waist. With a sudden, forceful pivot, he upended their positions, pinning her beneath him against the chaise lounge. A dark, predatory smirk played on his lips.

"You want to silence me?" he whispered, his breath hot against her skin. "Fine. I’ll show you exactly how it’s done."

He cupped her face, his touch a volatile mix of command and desperation, and crushed his lips against hers. It was an invasion—a deep, searing kiss fueled by a week of suffocating silence and wounded pride. They clung to each other until the very air in their lungs vanished.

Matthias suddenly pulled back, his eyes clearing as if waking from a trance. He scrambled up, retreating a few paces, his chest heaving. "I... I apologize. I crossed a line. I touched you without your leave..."

He hadn’t even finished the sentence before Olivia reached out, her hand snaring the back of his neck and pulling him back down into a kiss that far eclipsed the first. He groaned low in his throat, his arms coiling around her waist like iron bands as their tongues met in a feverish, desperate dance.

When they finally broke apart, their lips were flushed, the air between them electric. Olivia looked up at him, a sly, triumphant smile curling her mouth.

"I told you," she rasped, her voice thick with newfound power.

"If this is all it takes to silence your incessant grumbling... well, that is far easier than I ever anticipated."