Chapter 224
Whenever he felt this frustration, Rubens always sought Macy.
But she is gone now. Since she wasn’t there, he wanted to at least visit where she had stayed, to catch a whiff of her scent.
He felt it might calm him somewhat.
‘Ridiculous. I’m not even an animal.’
As he burned his cigar with a self-deprecating sigh, the carriage hurriedly arrived at the Bayatten mansion.
The mansion was as desolate and silent as a ghost house today.
Among all places, the path to the basement was particularly dark and eerie.
Finally reaching a large iron door, Rubens opened it without hesitation.
Inside, time seemed to have stopped right after Macy left.
The disheveled bedding, the book she had been reading, the pen, the shackles, the art tools he had brought in but she never touched, and the fireplace where the maids had already removed the embers after hearing of his visit—everything remained untouched.
‘This place remains the same.’
Though the owner of these things was gone, it wasn’t unpleasant. Leaving it like this, it seemed only a matter of time before Macy returned to this place.
Rubens walked to the bed, gently touching the right side where Macy always lay.
He bent down, pressed his nose to the sheets, and took a deep breath.
The last one to lie there had been Isabella, yet Macy’s scent still lingered.
A warm, sweet, fresh fragrance. A scent that soothed the mind and softened the heart when embraced.
Ironically, the peaceful fragrance made his lower body ache, as memories of sleeping with the woman came flooding back.
“Macy…”
Rubens felt no need to hold back. He unbuttoned his pants and freed his already hard member. Lifting the blanket, he breathed in the remaining scent and slowly moved his hand.
“Haah…”
The long-missed scent was intensely stimulating. Closing his eyes, the image became clearer.
The membrane that enveloped his member. The tears that fell and the blush that bloomed all over her body.
When he fully put it in like this, she involuntarily let out muffled moans. It was as beautiful as a butterfly pinned to a branch fluttering its wings.
Rubens spread his precum and rubbed it as he picked up the pace.
“Hngh, ugh. Ahh. Eren, ahh…!”
His powerful thrusts echoed like an apparition in his ears.
Before his eyes, Macy spread her legs wide and welcomed him. With a face full of pleasure, she clung to Rubens’s neck as his hips continued their rhythm.
He panted heavily, gripping the sheets and shaking his hips like a madman.
“E-Eren, wait…!”
A faint moan sounded, and Rubens trembled deeply as he thrust in deeply. He came with a wet sound. Opening his eyes lazily, the image vanished like a mirage.
The stillness enveloping him was so vast that even his irregular breathing seemed loud.
As cold reason returned, he felt pathetic lying alone on the bed, having satisfied his desire himself.
Frowning, Rubens roughly wiped his soiled hands on the sheets and stood up.
Clang.
“What’s this?”
Looking down, he noticed something at his feet—a long, triangular wooden-handled knife lying on the floor.
‘An art knife.’
The art knife was stained with red paint. He had thought Macy hadn’t touched the art supplies, but apparently not.
Such a trivial detail caught Rubens’s attention. He picked up the knife and carefully inspected the stubborn stains.
The blade was sharp towards the tip. Then a comment from the doctor came to mind.
“It seems she harmed herself with an art knife.”
“Harmed herself?”
Rubens initially refused to believe it. Macy, who trembled at the slightest pressure, harmed herself?
“But it seemed unconscious. Fortunately, the blade wasn’t very sharp, or it could have been fatal because she wounded near her heart.”
That night, Rubens removed the gauze from Macy’s wound and inspected it. Strictly speaking, it wasn’t the heart but the Name—his name—that was injured.
The raw wound, as if she had mutilated it in disgust at his name. So the red on the knife wasn’t paint but Macy’s blood.
“Damn it…”
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