The Strange Groom's Cursed Bride-Chapter 77: Pervert?

She should look away.

Absolutely, positively, one-hundred-percent should.

And yet.

Her eyes refused to cooperate with basic human decency. Or dignity. Or sanity.

Her gaze stayed locked on the water. On him.

Hades was moving like water incarnate. Powerful, fluid, purposeful. He reached the pool’s edge and pulled himself up with ease, muscles shifting beneath sun-warmed skin. Droplets clung to his frame, trailing down like they had no interest in leaving. He shook his head once, and his dark hair flung moisture like a slow-motion shampoo commercial, before he swept his fingers through it and pushed it back.

Alice could hear her own heart.

That was the only thing she could hear.

This man. This psychotic, aloof, semi-feral embodiment of danger... had no right looking like that. She didn’t want to be drawn. Never. Not after all his stupid brooding, his one-word answers, and the fact that—

He had seen her naked.

Her face flushed violently.

But his body, sculpted and dangerously appealing, looked like the ones from her dreams. She hadn’t known how her dream self knew exactly how his body was like, every curve and line, but only the tattoos were different.

Here, he was wet.

And calm.

And pretty in a way that made her want to punch the air.

She was spiraling. Her eyes remained glued to the scene, refusing all commands from her brain. It was like watching the live-action version of her cursed book cover. The fictional male lead she wrote had been arrogant, brooding, unreadable, and disgustingly attractive.

Hades Wildfire was the real thing. And worse, he didn’t even try.

She almost whined. Out loud.

Then, as he reached for the towel—

He paused.

Hades blinked, suddenly turning his head slightly to the side, as if something in his instincts had gone off.

Then his gaze lifted.

Up.

Toward.

Her.

Alice froze.

Their eyes met.

There was a beat.

And for the first time since she’d met him, Hades’s expression shifted. Not into irritation, not into calculated stoicism. But into a blink of confusion. Like a system glitching. His brows furrowed slightly, water still dripping down his neck, towel limp in his hand.

Alice did the most logical thing she could think of. Or rather, not think of. Because, tell me why she squealed.

Loudly.

Not even quietly so that she could at least defend her honor and say she hadn’t been there but it was her imagination.

She was on her heeld.

Food be damned.

She didn’t stop running until she was in her room. Then locked the door. Then pulled the curtains. Then threw herself into the nearest pile of pillows and screamed into one.

Muffled, pathetic, undignified screaming.

Her entire body was flushed red, from her ears to her toes.

This was humiliating.

Why did she look?

WHY DID HE SEE?

Why was she thinking about the way his hair stuck to his cheekbones??

She grabbed another pillow and buried her face deeper.

This wasn’t happening.

This was a new low.

She couldn’t live like this.

She needed her boring life back.

She needed... a new identity. Maybe a different planet. Anything to escape the sheer, soul-crushing mortification of being caught staring at her husband’s half-naked body like a pervert. And Hades, the cold, emotionless Hades, had looked confused. That was the worst part. He hadn’t looked angry, or annoyed, or even smug. Just... confused by her existence.

It didn’t take a very long time before the knock came.

It was like a thunderclap in Alice’s anxious silence.

She jumped, nearly throwing her blanket clear across the room.

Her heart hadn’t even calmed from the earlier disaster, now it thrummed a panicked rhythm against her ribs, threatening to leap straight out of her chest. She blinked at the door like it was a live explosive, a ticking time bomb of embarrassment.

"...W-Who’s... that?" she asked, voice small, hesitant, as if hoping a different answer would materialize through the wood.

Silence.

Then, another knock. Firm. Precise. The kind that didn’t need to answer questions because it already knew.

She didn’t need a psychic to tell her who it was.

Hades.

Of course it was Hades.

Her traitor of a heart tripled in tempo, pounding like a frantic drum solo. Every beat echoed the mortifying image of him emerging from the water, those tattoos, that bewildered frown. She squeezed her eyes shut, a silent plea to the universe to just make him go away.

She stayed perfectly still, clutching her blanket tighter, maybe he’d just disappear...

"If I remember correctly," his voice came, deep and irritatingly calm through the door, as if he could sense her precise level of internal meltdown, "you prefer when I just barge in."

What?!

Her face flamed violently, a scorching blush that started at her ears and raced down her neck, as the words slammed into her ears. Her jaw dropped in a perfect display of offended shock. The sheer, unmitigated audacity!

"I—You—!" she sputtered, half choking on her own indignation, scrambling toward the door before he could make good on his utterly unfounded and frankly, insane threat. Because this was his house. Certainly, there would be a master key somewhere. One that would still open the door even with her key jammed on the other end.

The door creaked open, revealing him.

And there he stood.

Fully clothed now. Mercifully. A dark button-up tucked into charcoal slacks, his sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, revealing the subtle flex of muscle. His hair was still damp, though, and messily hidden beneath a loosely wrapped towel like he had been too lazy to dry it properly. A rogue droplet tracked a path down his temple, glistening.

And somehow, in this moment of casual dampness and draped towel, he looked almost adorable. Like a brooding, dangerous, highly attractive cartoon character who’d just stepped out of the shower. The thought, unwelcome as it was, still flashed across her mind, making her stomach do another weird flip.

She stared. And stared some more, her brain short-circuiting at the unexpected visual.

Then he leaned casually on the doorframe, a picture of aloof male perfection, his gaze fixed on her.

And said, flatly, with the barest hint of a drawl, "What are you staring at?"

Alice blinked, caught red-handed by the very object of her mortifying thoughts. She still couldn’t quite meet his eyes, her gaze flitting to his chin, his ear, anywhere else.

"W-What? Nothing!" Her voice came out as a strangled squeak.

He narrowed his eyes, a familiar, unsettling glint appearing. "Are you a pervert?"

Her brain blue-screened. Again.

Her mouth opened, but no words came. It was like her vocal cords had physically retreated in horror.

Then finally—"WHAT?!"

She shrieked, utterly scandalized, the sound echoing a little too loudly in the opulent hallway. "DO I LOOK LIKE A PERVERT TO YOU?!"

"Yes." His voice was smooth, stone-cold, and absolutely unapologetic. He didn’t even flinch at her shriek. "Because what were you doing out there? Spying?"

She gaped. Like a fish. A very indignant, very red fish.

Her hands flailed, a desperate, defensive dance in the air. Her eyes finally flickered up, just for a second, to his. "I was not—I wasn’t spying! It was an accident! Rowan gave me dinner and took me to the balcony! He said I needed a change of scenery!" She gestured vaguely back toward the end of the hallway, as if the very air could testify to her innocence.

His eyes narrowed like the name "Rowan" offended him personally. "Rowan?" The name lingered in the air, sharp and suspicious. He looked at her, then back at the unseen Rowan in his mind, then back at her. His gaze swept her flushed face again, unreadable, but the subtle shift suggested a hint of... something. Perhaps reluctant belief. Rowan was capable of bizarrely unhelpful helpfulness.

Then, wordlessly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a slim, dark envelope.

Alice hesitated, blinking at it. "W-What’s that?"

He didn’t answer. Just extended it with a flick of his wrist. Like it bored him to hold it any longer, or perhaps, like he simply expected her to take it.

She took it slowly, her fingers brushing the crisp paper of the envelope. It was heavier than she expected, with a subtle texture that spoke of expensive cardstock.

And then he spoke, nooking at her, his gaze distant, somewhere beyond her shoulder. Still leaning on the doorframe like her presence was no more interesting than passing weather.

"Don’t lock yourself in," he muttered. "Go out. Drive. Shop. Do whatever women do."

And with that, he pushed off the doorframe, turned, and began walking away, the towel still bouncing lightly on his damp, dark hair, his footsteps silent on the polished floor.

Alice blinked after him, her brain lagging behind, trying to process the sheer randomness of the interaction.

"I—what—drive?" she echoed in confusion, looking down at the envelope like it might spontaneously combust.

She tore it open with trembling fingers and emptied the contents into her hand.

A sleek black car key dropped into her palm, the emblem of a luxury vehicle etched into its surface. Alongside it—

A glossy black card, devoid of any bank name, but with a complex, almost artistic, holographic design that hinted at unlimited funds.

And a laminated pass with the estate’s golden emblem, clearly granting unrestricted access. Entry and Exit under the Wildfire name.

She blinked.

Then blinked again.

What.

The.

Actual.

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"...Is he... okay?" she whispered, staring at the empty doorway he had disappeared through.

By chance...

Was he... trying to seduce her?

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