I Had No Complaints About This Marriage - Chapter 52

Unthinkingly, Esina found herself musing again.

“This… feels too good.”

For a hastily arranged marriage, it wasn’t bad at all. She truly believed that.

Then, burying her face in Herman’s shoulder, she bared her teeth and bit down. It was an instinctive reaction, her vision whitening from the excessive pleasure.

“……”

Herman felt every bit of that warmth and stinging sensation, all while turning over in his mind when Esina had last told him she loved him. Even this bite felt like resentment, like hatred she was leaving behind—

“Ah!”

He, too, stopped thinking at that point and focused on the act.

The night passed, leaving behind an unbearably long stretch of emptiness.

“…Haah.”

Hours later, Herman slowly swept his bangs back as he looked down at Esina, who had fallen asleep as if she had fainted. Outside, late night had already settled in.

“I’ve gone mad.”

He had pushed Esina to her limits many times before, but never to the point of making her pass out mid-act. The realization brought with it a strange sense of self-reproach.

Herman reached out and pulled the bell rope. Somewhere in this secretive townhouse, maids would bring hot water—so they could clean Esina, who was drenched in all manner of fluids, tears, and sweat.

“…She really should be pregnant by now.”

Though he didn’t fully believe it was possible, given how relentlessly they had done it, it would be strange if she hadn’t conceived.

With a self-deprecating smirk, Herman got up and stepped out of bed to find a clean cloth. He wanted to wipe Esina down as soon as possible. The memory of once trying—and failing—to clean her in a bathtub resurfaced, stirring a restless impatience in him.

He hadn’t taken more than a few steps when—

Thud.

His bare foot caught on something strangely heavy.

Half-buried in the shadows where the light didn’t reach, Herman only realized what it was after picking it up.

‘Esina’s things.’

A ruined dress, a tattered cloak, and an old bag.

The more he examined them, the more the signs of long use bothered him.

‘Where did she even get these cheap things?’

At the very least, none of them were things he had bought for her. Everything sent to Esina was handpicked—only the finest.

Then perhaps… they were things she had brought with her?

If so, from when?

‘…From her time at the Lehier household?’

‘That bastard Roger Lehier.’

In Herman’s mind, Roger’s status plummeted from just another acquaintance to someone he never wanted to associate with again.

Then, in the faint glow of the scented candles, he saw it—something red staining the clothes and bag.

“……”

It looked as though something had spilled or leaked. Upon closer inspection, the red powder had left traces all the way to the floor, scattered in a thin layer.

…And where he had stepped through it, it looked almost like bloody footprints.

An uneasy feeling creeping over him, Herman followed the trail. It ended under the bed, where—when he looked—he found a glass vial with its lid half-open, still containing some of the red powder.

“…This.”

Unmindful of the powder staining his hands, Herman picked up the vial and examined it closely.

Then he froze in place.

He knew this substance all too well.

Before marriage, it was something women who didn’t know he used magic tools would often take after sleeping with him.

Sometimes, he had even bought it himself and gifted it to them as a courtesy…

“…Flemmel.”

A medicine made from crushed Flemmel flowers.

The most effective, expensive, and least side-effect-prone contraceptive—now mockingly staining his hands and feet red, like blood.

As if taunting him for never daring to speak of love.

Herman stood there, motionless, as though he had just ripped out his own heart with his bare hands.