On Rational Marital Life - Chapter 30

It was Layla’s voice.

“It’s fun. There’s a lot I don’t know, but I’m listening carefully.”

The voice came from the three-seater sofa. Though no one was visible on it, the hem of a dress peeked out from beside it—deep blue, like a drop of ink in a basin of water.

Layla and Jerry were sitting on the floor, leaning against the sofa.

‘What are they doing?’

Even after their divorce, when she had come to him drenched in rain, looking exhausted with only a few months left before childbirth, Layla had still carried herself with elegance.

Yet now, she was sitting on the floor. Had she hurt her ankle? As Blake approached, puzzled, he heard Jerry’s voice.

“But is it okay to sit on the floor like this? The teacher said we’re not supposed to sit anywhere but on chairs…”

“I told you it’s fine. But don’t tell anyone else, okay? It’s our little secret. Here, have some candy.”

The rustling sound of a wrapper filled the air.

This mansion was vast—so much bigger than the small seaside house Blake had grown up in. There was no salty sea breeze here, no fishy smell from the wooden floors, no sand clinging to his feet even after stepping indoors.

Yet, hearing Layla and Jerry whispering under the sofa brought back memories of that tiny house.

The sound of his mother cooking with her back turned, the crackling of burning firewood, and the voice of his father as he repaired fishing nets, telling him stories of myths and legends.

That was the happiest time in Blake’s life.

He couldn’t see Layla and Jerry, but he was drawn into the atmosphere they created.

“You’ve only just started learning, so it might be hard to say how the lessons are. But if you don’t mind, I’d like to hear about what you’ve learned and how you feel about it. Of course, only if you want to. I’m not trying to watch over you or judge you—I just want to share our daily lives.”

Her soft, quiet voice was smooth, like pudding melting on the tongue—rich, sweet, and warm. Blake tensed instinctively.

He knew exactly how ruthless Layla could be. Others gossiped about her embezzlement or the fact that she had given birth out of wedlock, but only Blake knew her true sins.

Things that had yet to happen.

No, that wasn’t right. If there were no child, those events would never come to pass.

“We’ve suddenly become family, but we don’t know much about each other. To get closer, we need to talk. If we only discuss the weather or food every day, that would be boring, wouldn’t it? Every time you tell me about your lessons or little things from your day, we’ll take one step closer to each other. If you don’t dislike me, I’ll tell you about myself, too.”

Jerry was a child, but one who had earned his own way on the streets. Knowing that, Layla spoke cautiously, careful not to wound him.

“Jerry, let’s try a little at a time to become family.”

As Jerry shyly lowered his gaze, Layla gently stroked his hair.

Then she looked up—and locked eyes with Blake.

She slowly stood up, clearly embarrassed at being caught sitting on the floor, but pretending as if it were nothing.

“If you were here, you should have made a sound. Eavesdropping is rude—ah!”

Blake grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward him. With the sofa between them, Layla caught onto the backrest to keep herself from falling.

Her large eyes grew even wider.

She was a refined, noblewoman. She knew how to suppress her emotions, how to hide them behind a composed exterior. No matter what hatred or resentment she might feel inside, she never let it slip in front of Blake.

That was why he had never realized, in his past life, how much she despised him—to the point of taking her own life.

Blake’s hand gripped her neatly arranged hair.

Her carefully coiled locks unraveled, cascading over her delicate shoulders. The silky strands in his palm reminded him of that moment.

When he had gone to the police station to confirm the body, damp, tangled hair had spilled out from beneath the dirty cloth covering it. Even before seeing the face, he had known.

It was Layla.

But now, she was alive.

Warm blood pulsed beneath her soft skin, and her breath came hot and uneven. Her flushed face and trembling eyes reflected only him.

Looking into her eyes, desire flared inside him—an uncontrollable, overwhelming need.

And then, like a curse, the words fell from his lips.

“I love you, Layla.”

“Wait, Blake—mmph!”

Blake smiled as he pressed his lips against Layla’s, catching her completely off guard.

It was impulsive.

They had spent their wedding night together and shared several passionate nights since then—engaging in acts that would have left a noble lady utterly scandalized. And yet, Layla was still clumsy, even in a kiss.

He chased after her retreating tongue, entwining with it. Gripping her hair, he pulled her closer, pressing her now fuller chest against his firm muscles. Her heartbeat pounded just as wildly as her breathless panic.

With her small hands, Layla tried to push Blake away. But she couldn’t escape him, and a thin strand of saliva stretched between their parted lips before breaking.

In his arms, Layla glared up at him with tear-filled eyes.

“B-Blake! There’s a child! Jerry is watching—”

“Jerry, go back to your room.”

Layla turned her gaze to see Jerry hesitating before leaving. In the next moment, Blake leaped over the sofa, standing right in front of her.

Instinctively, she stepped back.

Towering over her by at least a head, his broad frame and fierce gaze bore down on her, like a predator ready to devour its prey.

“Blake, wait—calm down for a moment, just—”

“I’m not losing control.”

His words didn’t match his actions. As his strong arms wrapped around her, Layla squeezed her eyes shut.

The moment their lips met again, Blake’s gaze turned cold.

Despite the fact that Jerry wasn’t her own child, Layla was gentle and affectionate toward him.

She was that kind of person.

And yet…

How deep must her hatred and despair have run for her to give up the life growing inside her?

What kind of heartless resolve had it taken for her to carry a child in her womb, only to throw herself off a bridge?

“Hngh—mmph!”

As if laying his emotions bare, Blake’s kiss grew rougher. His fingers tightened around her waist, gripping her with a possessive force. His tongue ravaged her mouth, but when he finally pulled away, there was a heavy silence between them.

Layla gasped for breath, staggering backward. Her legs trembled, weak from the intensity of the moment. But Blake didn’t take his eyes off her—he wasn’t about to let her escape.

Still watching her, he began to remove his clothing one by one. His shirt fell to the floor, revealing the scars crisscrossing his chest.

“I love you, Layla.”

With a devastatingly charming smile, he wrapped his arm around her waist.

He whispered those words again—I love you—letting them sink into her.

One day, he wanted those words to unravel her.

One day, he wanted her to cling to him in despair.

* * *

“Your Highness, please save me. If a letter of protest reaches them, my family will send me to the countryside. Or worse, they might force me into a convent. I’ll have to live the rest of my life in prayer, wearing rough linen and eating dry bread. I can’t live like that. Please, Your Highness, save me.”

Crown Prince Ethanwalk looked down at the woman kneeling at his feet, her head bowed in desperate pleading.

Her dark circles and roughened skin revealed that she hadn’t been sleeping well since the news of the protest letter. Though she had tried to mask her anxiety with makeup, it was still evident in her tense expression.

Erica Rowan.

She had once been Layla’s lady-in-waiting, clinging to her like an extension of her own limbs. An ambitious woman who had dreamed of rising to a position of power, believing that if Layla became queen, she could use her influence to dominate high society.

Through her efforts, she had even secured an engagement with a respectable family. And yet, she had also subtly tried to entice Ethanwalk with lingering gazes.

Now, she lifted her eyes to look up at him.

With Layla’s downfall, Erica had been pushed out of central society as well.

She had once been confident and charming when standing behind Layla, but now, with swollen eyes from crying too much, she didn’t even look pretty enough to warrant an empty compliment.

Her thin fingers crawled toward his boots, wrapping around his ankle. Ethanwalk glanced down at the delicate hand clinging to him.

“Your Highness, please… Once, you were fond of me. Please, show me kindness just this once. Please save me, Your Highness…”

Even as she sobbed, she tried to force a smile, attempting to make herself appear more appealing to him. It was pathetic.

Ethanwalk gave her a pitying smile.

“So, that barbarian actually defended Layla, claiming she’s still his wife?”

“Yes, he’s completely obsessed with her. They say Layla is seducing him with her body. Every night, moans echo throughout the Burman estate.”

“Hah, Layla Edgestone.”

He already knew.

The Burman estate, which had been expected to remain cold due to the politically arranged marriage, was now notorious for the heated sounds that filled its halls at night.

Ethanwalk had even seen Layla leaving the estate in a carriage during one of his undercover outings—on the day he visited Wynwood.

She had worn a wide-brimmed hat and a scarf, but Ethanwalk had recognized her instantly.

Her slender neck, barely hidden beneath the thin scarf, had only drawn his attention more.

She had sat still, lowering her gaze, yet she exuded a different kind of allure than before.

That night, for some reason, she kept invading his thoughts.

Looking down at Erica, he spoke with gentle sympathy.

“You poor thing, your face is a mess. Go home, freshen up, and wait. I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

“Ah, Your Highness…”

Tears of joy welled in Erica’s eyes as she leaned her cheek against Ethanwalk’s palm. She slid her hands up his arm, attempting to embrace him, but he shushed her and shook his head.

“Tonight, just go home, bathe properly, and get some rest. Eat well, and relax.”

“Yes, Your Highness. I will wait for you, always. You are my light.”

With a deep kiss on his hand, Erica left the room.

The moment she was gone, Ethanwalk poured his wine over his hand and scrubbed it with a handkerchief.

“I am nothing more than a light for a single woman?”

“You are the light of this nation, of all its people.”

A soft voice soothed him.

A woman in a black veil entered from the adjacent room, her lips curling into a cruel smile, having clearly heard the entire exchange.

“That woman will continue to wait for you, you know.”

“I never said I would go to her.”

“You really are wicked. That’s part of your charm, though.”

The woman knelt at his feet—the spot reserved for an obedient pet.

She lifted her gaze, batting her long lashes as she looked up at him.

“Your Highness, will you really let that arrogant barbarian be?”

At her words, the corner of Ethanwalk’s lips curled upward.