Chapter 9
Chapter 9
“Ack!” A brutal hand forced Gwen to her knees. Her prized face was a mess: a livid bruise bloomed on her eyelid, her lip split and crusted with blood—a testament to her desperate struggle.
The servants who had dragged her before Isaac retreated instantly. Gasping, Gwen looked up. Towering height, a raw physicality, and predatory yellow eyes burning beneath deep-set, shadowed brows. Though only twenty-eight, the man radiated the heavy authority of a ruler, not the rashness of youth. An unfamiliar terror washed over Gwen, her eyelids twitching.
“Did you push Arietta?”
“No!”
“Your friends say you did.”
Gwen gritted her teeth. ‘Those lying b*****s!’
“She jumped! I didn’t push her. I didn’t even touch her.”
“Jumped?” Isaac’s voice turned glacial, a silent demand for her to justify her words. “Why would Arietta jump?”
“She was jealous of me!” Gwen blurted out, as if she had been waiting for the chance.
Behind Isaac, the physician failed to stifle a laugh, a puff of air escaping his lips. Under Gwen’s murderous glare, he quickly composed himself. The idea of Arietta, treated like delicate spun glass, envying a lowly servant like Gwen was absurd. Especially considering Arietta’s unshakeable self-assurance and staggering self-centeredness.
“She found out I spent the night with you. That…”
“I heard that story too,” Isaac cut her off sharply. Gwen, oblivious, nodded and simpered. ‘He understands. We shared intimacy. We’re close.’
With a face that was both a smile and a sob, she crawled towards Isaac, whose expression remained unreadable.
“I swear I didn’t push her. It wasn’t my fault. She did it herself. Maybe she wanted to frame me…” She clutched at Isaac’s trousers, pleading for him to believe her. But then, Isaac shook her off, the heel of his boot pressing hard against her forehead, as if to repel a dirty hand.
“Ack!” A grimy mark stained Gwen’s skin. Tears welled in her wide eyes, her lips trembling with shock.
“How could you do this?” she asked, incredulous. “Last night, you adored me! You desired me so fiercely!” She wailed, even as Isaac’s cold gaze bore into her.
“I didn’t.”
“What…?” Confusion clouded Gwen’s tear-streaked face. Her hands, braced on the floor, trembled.
‘What is he talking about? I screamed his name until my throat was raw.’
Her hips still ached, a throbbing between her legs, her n*pples still swollen from his attentions. ‘He whispered sweet nothings, and now he pretends it never happened?’ Tears of injustice welled up.
“Don’t lie. You… you wanted me. You… you can’t just discard me like this after… after what happened!” Such words were unbecoming of a Downstreamer. Who on the surface placed such importance on a single night?
And to accuse Isaac, a man of absolute power, to his face? Only a fool would dare. The physician watched Gwen’s reckless accusations with mounting dread. If Isaac’s anger ignited, he knew he would be caught in the blaze.
But instead of rage, Isaac knelt, gripping Gwen’s chin.
“Think carefully,” he said, his gaze fixed on her d**g-dilated eyes. “Was it really me?”
Gwen’s eyes widened. She had taken d***s last night, as she did every day. Without them, she was consumed by anxiety and boredom. Only when the d**g lingered in her veins did she feel sane. It was while wandering the halls in a d**g-induced haze that she had met ‘Isaac.’ She had thrown her arms around his neck, her voice a sugary purr. ‘Oh, Master Isaac…’
Isaac tightened his grip on her chin, his yellow eyes gleaming. “Think hard.”
A tremor ran through Gwen. Her pupils dilated further, trying to focus on Isaac’s shadowed face, obeying his command.
“Was it really me?”
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