Chapter 33

The moment she looked up at Enoch, who was lying on his side with his head resting on one hand, her breath caught in her throat.  

A blaring alarm sounded in her mind.  

His drowsy gaze, flawless features, and the glimpse of his firm, toned chest through his disheveled shirt—  

Even the subtle scent of him, masculine and clean, was irresistibly seductive.  

‘What is this, Enoch Ventus…’

Asla tried desperately to calm her tense, spinning mind.  

She instinctively began reciting the first chapter of the Holy Kingdom’s doctrine—the one she hated most—under her breath, avoiding Enoch’s eyes.  

“…I’m not that sleepy anyway, and it just feels a little too soon…”  

Asla fumbled for words, flustered. Above her head, Enoch let out a low chuckle.  

“What are you thinking about, Asla? I’m not going to do anything. I just want to be near you.”  

“…Enoch.”  

She called his name again and cautiously lifted her head to face him.  

From this close, she could feel the heat of his body and the scent of his skin. It was unfamiliar, yet intoxicating like a drug.  

A thirst she had never known welled up inside her. Gripping the bedsheet tightly in one hand, she finally managed to speak.  

“Enoch… I’m scared. It feels like we’re getting too close too fast.”  

“I’m scared too. I don’t even know why I want to be close to you this badly.”  

“I think I know. You don’t want to divorce me. And… you feel guilty.”  

Asla answered calmly, staring at her husband—sharing a bed with him for the first time.  

Even though her answer felt accurate, Enoch still looked unsatisfied, almost frustrated.  

He grasped her hand tightly and closed his eyes.  

“Don’t divorce me. Stay with me. If you do, I’ll find the answer soon.”  

He kissed the back of her hand and pulled it to rest against his chest.  

“…Do you think I’m someone who deserves you?” 

“Don’t say that. You’re the last noble royal of the Holy Kingdom.”  

“……”  

“So this time… I really will protect you.”  

With those final words, it seemed Enoch was truly exhausted—he soon fell asleep, his breathing deep and steady.  

It was hard to tell how much time had passed with his rhythmic breath filling the spacious bedroom, but Asla felt her strength leave her.  

She was embarrassed at how tense and defensive she had been just moments before.  

‘So this is how Enoch looks when he sleeps…’

He looked like a child.  

His high-bridged nose, beautifully sculpted, and silver eyelashes fluttered softly like butterfly wings.  

‘I wouldn’t mind dying like this.’

Asla smiled at the thought.  

She gazed at Enoch’s face, laughing softly to herself for a while—until her lips slowly curled downward.  

She was happy.  

Happy to have grown closer to Enoch.  

Grateful that he’d kept her from encountering Margo again.  

That he had truly acknowledged how much she had suffered.  

‘Do you really think…this will be the end?’

But as the truths she had tried to bury began whispering incessantly in her ears, she felt a wave of dread.  

Could there still be tragedy left for a princess of a fallen Holy Kingdom?  

Couldn’t she simply forget everything and be happy as the Asla who had just been born anew?  

Lisette Grosset, Pope Brittas, Ian Herta, Gloria Sherita, Walter Sherita…  

Dark names she could not forget, unresolved and looming, floated through her mind.  

Brainwashing. Brainwashing. Brainwashing. 

“Princess.”

Just hearing Lisette’s gentle voice in her memory made her skin crawl.  

Clenching her eyes shut, Asla instinctively buried herself in Enoch’s chest.  

His arms, which had promised again and again to protect her, were firm and warm.  

Maybe, even if the Ventus estate wasn’t safe, being beside this man truly was.  

‘But…’ 

Asla looked up at him with eyes filled with quiet sorrow. 

He wants to protect her.  

But he also wants to hide the truth surrounding her. That uncertainty unsettled her deeply.  

Enoch always spoke of her as a noble princess of the Holy Kingdom.  

No matter how much he knew about the incidents surrounding her, he couldn’t possibly know she’d been brainwashed, emotionally tormented under Lisette.  

Only she and her old nursemaid knew the truth of that long, dark chapter.  

Her life had not been noble.  

Not even a speck of it.  

‘I don’t want anyone to find out anymore.’  

The pain rising in her chest made her bite her lower lip gently.  

Even revealing what she had suffered at Margo’s hands in the Ventus estate had been difficult enough.  

‘Enoch.’  

Asla opened her eyes again and looked at the man sleeping beside her.  

Even if it’s only as his wife—  

Even if it’s only in this way—  

She wanted to keep loving this man who was so kind to her now, and stay by his side.  

But this moment felt like an illusion built on sand.  

If she tried to step outside the frame Enoch had drawn for her, that happiness would surely collapse.  

‘There’s no one I can confide in. I’m so alone.’

Her heart slowly frayed under the weight of confusion and despair.  

Torn in conflict, Asla finally closed her eyes.  

Enoch’s steady breathing created a warm cradle around her, and she slowly drifted into sleep.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Asla, now asleep, shimmered even more ethereally under the moonlight streaming in through the open window.  

Enoch, unable to tear his eyes away from his breathtaking wife, glanced at his wristwatch to check the time.  

Clicking his tongue in disapproval, he reluctantly rose from the bed, his movements slow and unwilling.  

‘I don’t want to leave.’

He gently picked up a lock of Asla’s soft pink hair from the crisp white sheets, then let it slip through his fingers.  

Her delicate body wrapped in her dress looked stifled.  

He reached out, wondering if he should loosen the ribbon that tightened around her chest.  

But then—his thick eyebrows twitched.  

Freezing in place, Enoch pulled his hand back.  

“Why?”  

The dull ache in the left side of his chest had been recurring more frequently.  

He had already summoned his personal physician, but the diagnosis was always the same—nothing was wrong.  

Even though it felt worse whenever he was with Asla.  

The anxiety that he might lose someone dear to him again—  

Was this just another form of a psychosomatic response, another manifestation of his trauma?

Sighing heavily, Enoch finally dragged himself out of the room and down to the lobby. It was nearly midnight.  

Vice President Robert and secretary Talet, already waiting in the lobby, fell into step behind him as soon as they saw him.  

“Sir, is it true you had a picnic basket?”  

Enoch glanced toward the staff, who had lined up with deep bows, and muttered coldly: “Is this what you call discretion? The mouths of staff at a first-class hotel are lighter than feathers.”  

The employees flinched at the chill in his voice.  

Though Duke Enoch Ventus always appeared stunning—radiating a cold brilliance even in the dead of night—he made their knees go weak every time they met him in person.  

It was common for him to show up at the hotel without warning, point out flaws with a terrifyingly icy expression, and vanish again without another word.  

That same man had suddenly invoked Protocol Level 0—the highest alert for important guest arrivals—and had personally escorted his wife in with a gentle smile.  

The staff had to mentally brace themselves to keep from fainting.  

As Enoch cast one last stern look at the poor staff and stepped out of the hotel, Robert grinned beside him with a teasing glint.  

“The rumors of the affectionate Duke and Duchess Ventus are excellent for the hotel’s image. It’s perfect publicity.”  

“Publicity? I won’t let my wife be used like that. Not even for a second.”

When Enoch responded coldly, Talet nudged his older brother’s side, silently warning him to shut his mouth.  

Robert merely shrugged and cleared his throat awkwardly.  

It wasn’t surprising—Enoch had always been hypersensitive when it came to Asla.  

Still, Robert couldn’t help but worry that things might eventually backfire.

In human relationships, any imbalance often leads to cracks.  

Though Enoch and Asla now appeared like a loving newlywed couple after shelving the divorce proceedings, the road ahead still seemed long and uncertain.

‘Does he truly believe the lady knows nothing?’

Robert found it difficult to offer honest advice to Enoch—someone who, despite looking cold and unshakable, had clear emotional pressure points that could collapse under a single touch.  

With a short sigh, he decided to focus on the urgent report first.

“Duke Jemia sent word. He’ll be returning to the meeting room soon.”

“…Must be his age. No need for sleep, apparently.”  

Enoch recalled the irritable face of Duke Jemia—white brows arched over perpetually annoyed eyes.  

The Duke had been threatening consequences if the land purchase agreement was withdrawn, while simultaneously refusing to lower the already agreed-upon price even by a coin.  

To placate the old man, who insisted on repeating the same points for hours, Enoch had secured the most expensive box seat tickets at the opera house.

He had coaxed the Duke to take a break and enjoy the evening breeze.  

Enoch knew the Duke’s mistress in the capital was fond of the opera.  

He had hoped the man would linger longer with her—but the persistent old noble clearly had no intention of letting him go.

“He’s probably anxious. I heard he already issued promissory notes with the bank,” Robert added as he followed Enoch.  

Enoch gave a dry laugh.  

“Promissory notes, huh? Find out which bank.”

“Yes, sir.”

Truthfully, Enoch had no desire to give up the acquisition of Jemia’s western territory.  

If the mysterious fires could be contained and the region stabilized, it would, without doubt, become the most valuable land after the capital within ten years.

‘Duke Jemia has no foresight. He’s burning everything down for momentary luxury,’ Enoch thought bitterly, clicking his tongue.

It was only a matter of time before the Duke lost everything—including his title.  

Even if Enoch went through with the purchase, he needed to renegotiate and cut the price significantly.  

As he considered his next moves, he suddenly called out to Talet.

“Give me a report on the investigation into who intercepted the letters I sent to Ventus Manor over the past two years.”

“The post office confirmed they were properly sent to the Ventus estate. But… the postal worker assigned to that route has gone missing.”

“…So they’ve made a move already.”

Enoch spat a harsh curse.  

The air around them bristled with tension, and the aides swallowed hard.  

It was rare to see their master that furious.