The Contract Wife Tries to Leave - Chapter 155
Smack!
It was a far more humiliating blow than a punch. Blood trickled from Ilian’s split lip, a faint, drained smile slipping through. In the deep shadows, his eyes glimmered fiercely.
“Haha… damn. You know exactly what I hate.”
This was how Ilian’s father used to beat him.
That wretched man, whom Ilian loathed to even call “father,” would deliberately set traps, waiting patiently for Ilian to fall into one. Out of ten traps laid, he’d catch him in one. Then, as if on cue, he’d publicly beat Ilian in front of his subordinates.
This was his method to try and subdue the young beast. The old hyena, well into his sixties, still clung desperately to his position as chief, greed making him pathetically hold onto the throne.
“You should be grateful I’m not killing you.”
Leonid’s icy voice cut through, slapping Ilian’s other cheek. Alternating between each side, Leonid struck him nearly twenty times before finally kicking him in the stomach, sending him sprawling to the ground.
Ilian, sitting in a pile of scattered banknotes, looked up at Leonid with a bitter smile. Despite his swollen, bruised face, his expression was oddly at ease.
Leonid drew a revolver from inside his coat, aiming it squarely at Ilian’s head. He could feel the silent tension from the men who had been watching the scene unfold, holding their breath. The revolver’s silver barrel, engraved with intricate patterns, glinted under the room’s lights.
“Your Excellency, the Marquis…”
“…”
“You got your name engraved on your gun? You’re more of a narcissist than you look.”
Ilian smirked, but Leonid responded with a subtle smile. Perhaps it was that expression that instinctively grated on him, and Ilian’s face stiffened for a moment.
“If you touch what’s mine again…”
“…”
“…I’ll make sure to smash that skull of yours.”
Leaving those words, Leonid turned his back. As he passed, the men around him flinched, stepping back. Just as Leonid’s hand gripped the door handle,
“Wasn’t Johanna Lucerne supposed to take this money from you? As payment for bearing your child.”
It was a raw provocation, shedding the formal tone of “Your Excellency, the Marquis” for a crude taunt.
Leonid, still holding the door handle, slightly turned to look back. Ilian’s voice carried on, tinged with mockery.
“When she realizes she doesn’t have to pay you back… Johanna will try to escape from you.”
“…Do as you please about informing Johanna. And…”
Leonid pulled a small item from his pants pocket and tossed it carelessly toward Ilian.
A lukewarm metal sensation met Ilian’s palm as he instinctively caught it. When he opened his fingers, a blue diamond ring glittered brilliantly in his hand.
“That kind of cheap thing doesn’t suit my omega.”
With a cold scoff, as if he wanted Ilian to hear it, Leonid kicked open the door and left without hesitation.
Much later, in the heavy silence, Ilian’s low voice echoed.
“My omega, he says…”
A hollow laugh escaped him in disbelief. After all, it was nothing more than fleeting lust.
On that distant day when their bitter fates first intertwined, Leonid had seen a monster in Ilian’s eyes, and Ilian had seen the same.
They recognized each other. That’s why the deal, backed by a promise of murder, could be made at that time.
Back then, they had been mere children, not even ten years old.
‘For kids, that’s…‘
He smirked, ignoring the wary looks from his subordinates, as he took out a cigarette and put it between his lips. Lighting it and taking a deep drag, the taste of blood mingled with the smoke in his mouth.
It was a taste like filth.
* * *
“The Marchioness is in the gallery.”
“…”
Annette informed Leonid politely as he returned to the estate. He nodded, slightly displeased, and made his way forward. He wanted to head straight to the gallery but felt he should wash up first. He had brought back something dirty.
After thoroughly cleaning up in the bathroom attached to his room, he changed his clothes. Though his hair was still damp, he didn’t care and headed to the gallery. For some reason, he felt an unusual impatience, though there was nothing urgent.
As soon as he threw open the gallery doors and stepped inside, his eyes went to the painting of a winter landscape as usual. Johanna was dozing off, leaning against the wall beneath it.
“Why would she sleep here…”
He’d never seen anyone fall asleep in a gallery. Amused by the absurdity, he let out a small laugh and walked toward her carefully. His steps were so quiet that they barely made a sound against the floor.
He was about to wake her from her slumber, her head drooping in half-sleep, but he changed his mind and gently lifted her into his arms. Straightening up, he glanced up at the painting Johanna seemed obsessed with—a snowy winter street.
Strangely, the painting gave him an inexplicable sense of unease. He also didn’t like her fixation on it. Occasionally, he had the urge to dispose of it but held back, knowing she’d resent him deeply for it.
