My Husband Never Dies - Chapter 13
It was a dreadful nightmare.
Evelyn woke up, clutching her aching head from the headache, and struggled to lift her heavy upper body, feeling as though it were soaked in water. It had been a long time since her body felt this heavy.
The high ceiling, the soft blankets, the large bed…
As soon as she recognized that she was in the Duke of Brumfield’s bedroom, she looked warily at the empty space beside her.
The space beside her was empty.
…It was empty.
Strange. The duke’s body was missing.
The master of the manor was dead. There should have been some commotion, but there was none. She couldn’t have missed the presence of another person, so it’s impossible that the body was secretly removed.
The poison she used was definitely lethal. It was a powerful poison that is hard to build a tolerance to. There are drugs that can put someone into a temporary coma, but this was unrelated to that kind of poison. If it were a fake poison, the Duke’s heartbeat would not have stopped as it did.
A chill ran down Evelyn’s spine. She felt the thick liquid flowing down her thighs and pulled back the blanket.
It was a puddle of white liquid pooling between her legs. There was even a pale, dried trail on my inner thigh…
She sucked in a deep breath.
With a trembling hand, she took a dab of the still-dry white liquid and sniffed it. It was the unmistakable, unpleasant smell of sxmxn.
…It wasn’t a dream.
The lovemaking that followed wasn’t a dream…
That’s when she heard footsteps. Evelyn’s body stiffened at the sound of the mansion’s master, and then a calm voice spoke to her.
“Well. You’re up early.”
The Duke spoke to her as though he had spent a peaceful night, his demeanor casual.
“It must have been difficult.”
He approached the bed and effortlessly wrapped his arm around her shoulder, continuing his words.
“Without more sleep…”
But his words trailed off. His gaze slowly scanned Evelyn’s appearance: the white, parched lips, the pale complexion, the trembling eyes, and the cold sweat beading on her forehead. The Duke immediately seized her chin, lifting it to meet his eyes.
Whether he was pleased or surprised, his expression was unreadable as his gaze bore into her. Then, his voice, filled with a strange sense of exultation, broke the silence.
“Do you remember?”
Instinctively, Evelyn knew that she should not affirm this, and so she remained silent.
However, her silence was almost as good as a confirmation. For the first time, she found herself making a grave mistake in such a life-or-death situation.
“You remember.”
The Duke’s voice, laced with a faint laugh, echoed strangely. His low chuckling sent a chill through her, rendering her unable to even move her lips.
“You remember it all, don’t you?”
“Wh-what…?”
Evelyn barely managed to respond, but the Duke only laughed, his shoulders shaking with amusement. Strangely, though it was just an ordinary laugh, Evelyn felt an overwhelming sense of being dominated by him.
“Hmm.”
The Duke soon stopped laughing, his hands cupping her cheeks as he gazed at her with a look one might reserve for something utterly precious.
“Yes, if you’re my wife, you should be able to withstand this much.”
Evelyn, who had endured countless storms since the moment of her birth, found herself utterly at a loss as to how to escape this situation. Yet, in a manner typical of men with their beloved wives, the Duke pressed gentle kisses to her forehead, the tip of her nose, and her lips.
“I thought Adrian had done something foolish, but it seems I was wrong.”
There was an inexplicable admiration in his voice.
“Where could he have gotten something like this?”
An inexplicable joy.
“He did something commendable, so I suppose I should spare him.”
Incomprehensible words…
Evelyn could only look at him with a confused gaze. The man, meeting her eyes, whispered softly, his face adorned with a radiant smile.
“My wife. What should I call you? Eve? Yes, wasn’t it Eve?”
Evelia Locke.
The man casually uttered the old nickname that street women who sheltered her used to call her, twisting his lips with a smile.
“My sweet Eve.”
An incomprehensible wave of emotions washed over her.
It didn’t feel real at all.
