Chapter 49
A fever seemed to rage both inside and outside her body.
But it wasn’t a typical fever—no coughing fits or loss of appetite—just an intense, boiling heat. Sylvia forced out a dry cough as she sent the fourth doctor on his way.
“Cough, cough.”
To lower the fever, she placed cold compresses not only on her forehead but also on her limbs, belly, and chest. Yet, she couldn’t bring herself to apply anything to the most sensitive, inflamed areas.
Throughout seeing four different doctors, she had never revealed that part of her to any of them—not even to her maid.
‘What on earth… has he done to me?’
For a moment, her husband looked like a monster. Breathing excitedly, blowing hot breaths as he did such things to her most private parts—he no longer seemed human.
He had told her it would hurt a little, that she should endure the pain and not cry.
And on top of that, he promised to let her live. His playful tone made it seem like he was just teasing while inflicting pain, but she hadn’t imagined he’d break her body to this extent.
Her body was changing as if shedding a skin—though invisible to the eye, the sensation came from deep within.
‘It hurts… and it’s burning.’
Even now, a month later, the pain and stinging at that spot remained. She couldn’t imagine how she had endured it on the very day it happened. She didn’t think she lost consciousness.
From start to finish, she had felt everything her husband did to her, fainted once or twice, but consciousness returned quickly.
“Now, shall I open this up a little?”
Monsters had a habit of reshaping the female’s opening at will during courtship.
Human males might only stretch the opening with a firm member, but monsters were different. If a female truly pleased them, they would prepare her body for hundreds or thousands of copulations, altering her interior with their power and fluids.
“Ahhh—!”
“Don’t struggle so much. You almost got pierced wrong.”
Her husband, like a doctor scolding during surgery, gripped her thigh tightly. Between flickers of fading vision, strange-tasting fluids flowed into her mouth. She wondered if her mad husband was spilling his seed in her mouth, but the taste was more like blood.
He probably hadn’t fed her real blood—more likely some kind of stimulant.
Otherwise, her body wouldn’t be trembling with ecstasy despite the pain. She was both suffering and deeply aroused by his touch. Sometimes, between losing her senses, she even wished for harsher treatment, once reaching out to pull his hand closer.
She wouldn’t have done such madness sober.
Lying in bed from dawn till dawn, lost in thoughts of her husband, Sylvia’s resentment toward him and herself grew.
Like a beast, her senses sharpened, and her temper grew sharper too. Since regaining some strength days ago, she openly showed her temper to her husband—but he showed no sign of getting affected mentally.
Today was the day she hoped to see his pristine face crumble.
Late at night, her husband returned home.
“Wife, I’m back.”
No matter how exhausted he looked after meeting the Crown Prince, she felt fully entitled to throw a tantrum.
What on earth has he done to my body? It felt as if she had a second member, throbbing every minute, every second—especially when he was near.
“Didn’t I tell you not to come in?”
This was the sharp shout she threw at his back as he left the room that morning.
Her husband blinked slowly, seemingly not understanding her words. Innocent and naive as he looked, a cunning snake lurked inside. Sylvia closed her heavy legs and firmly ordered him once again.
“I told you we should sleep in separate rooms until I recover.”
“Hmm…? Did you say that to me?”
He was the kind of man who ignored unpleasant words and selectively heard only what pleased him. Many men pretend not to hear, but at least remember what was said. Sylvia’s husband seemed truly capable of forgetting everything he heard.
“I didn’t hear that.”
“You clearly just heard me. Now leave—immediately. Or should I leave?”
Despite boiling inside with resentment, Sylvia understood her position well. The house belonged to her husband; she was little more than a prisoner of the Duke’s household. Even in anger, she could not lose her rationality.
Her husband replied casually:
“No.”
“Then…”
“I won’t leave, and neither should you. Do you want to lie sick like this your whole life? If that’s what you want, I’ll leave.”
With that cryptic reply, her husband stepped toward the bed.
Sylvia flinched, her body was reacting to her husband.
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