On Rational Marital Life - Chapter 40

After receiving the ledger from Whaler, Layla first opened the storage room.

Checking the ledger started with taking inventory. She needed to see what and how much was in the storage to make sense of the records.

Yesterday, she had checked the food storage, and today, she entered the warehouse where miscellaneous goods were stored.

Viscount Bastian had fled alone in the dead of night due to his overwhelming debt, leaving his wife to deal with the aftermath. In her haste to sell the mansion, the storage had been left in disarray.

It seemed that anything of value had already been retrieved and sold, leaving behind a chaotic mess of old furniture and used goods. If she had the time, she could hold a warehouse sale, but openly selling off items from a fallen noble family wasn’t an easy thing to do.

A thick layer of yellowed dust had accumulated over the white cloths draped over the items.

Her back still throbbed dully, but moving her body and focusing on other tasks made the pain fade into the background.

Layla carefully lifted one of the cloths, making sure not to stir up too much dust. Underneath, she found an easel, perhaps once used by someone in the house who enjoyed painting. There was also a white plaster statue of a goddess from mythology.

She discovered high-quality fabric and a sewing machine. Among the items were children’s clothes, a wooden rocking horse, and a baby crib—likely belonging to the Bastian children when they were young. They were still in good condition, revealing the love and care of parents who had wanted only the best for their children.

A small smile crept onto her lips.

“A charity bazaar would be nice.”

A plan quickly took shape in her mind. The storage room was spacious. She could arrange the items for display and invite people as if it were an exhibition, allowing both gentry and commoners to participate. The proceeds could then be donated to an orphanage under the Bastian family’s name.

“I could have the servants repair and restore some of the items…”

But before she could finish her thought, the gleam in her eyes faded.

Would anyone even come to a bazaar hosted by her?

This used to be her daily life.

She had led countless gatherings—charity bazaars, fundraising events, meal services. She had visited schools and orphanages, done laundry at hospitals in the slums. Noble ladies and young misses would flock around her, hanging onto her every word, following her lead.

As the crown prince’s fiancée, the future queen, she had believed it was her duty.

But now, everything was gone.

The people, the lively atmosphere—it had all disappeared.

Layla lifted her head.

She felt as though she were just like this storage room.

Would her existence, too, one day be forgotten like the items in this warehouse?

“Ah.”

Lost in thought, she had absentmindedly pulled back another cloth—only to startle at what she uncovered.

It was a portrait of a middle-aged man with silver hair, painted down to the waist. His ceremonial uniform was adorned with shoulder epaulets, with golden embroidery lining the edges. His chest was covered in medals and badges.

“That face belongs to a stubborn old man.”

Blake’s voice was blunt and cold.

“Oh, Blake.”

“Why is someone’s portrait just lying around here?”

“I think it’s one of the former lords of the Bastian family. These medals and badges are from about thirty years ago.”

She answered without hesitation, causing Blake’s eyes to widen slightly.

“You even know that?”

“Many different people attend banquets. There are always unfamiliar faces, but if you recognize the insignias, you can understand their history. I’ll teach you later.”

“No need. I have you.”

“…What will you do in two years?”

Blake blinked at her unexpected words.

The two-year divorce they had agreed upon when they married.

He had always thought of discarding her, of hurting her in the end.

But hearing her mention “two years” now, the words, though his own, felt strangely unfamiliar.

He looked down at Layla. She was carefully lifting another cloth, her long lashes casting shadows over her eyes. Since their marriage, she had taken to pinning up her hair, and in the dimly lit storage room, her slender neck stood out even more than usual.

The sunlight streaming through the windows illuminated the entire room, but it felt as though it was gathering around her.

His body reacted before his mind could process it.

She was fully dressed as usual—her outfit wasn’t revealing, her chest wasn’t exposed, her movements didn’t reveal even her ankles, and her sleeves covered her wrists.

And yet, as he looked at her, his throat tightened.

Somehow, this was more enticing than when she stood before him bare.

Then, Blake suddenly realized—

‘This woman is mine.’

There was no need to hold back.

“Blake, about that portrait…”

Layla couldn’t shake her thoughts about the painting.

Any items left behind when a mansion was sold became the property of its new owner. Since portraits were valuable, they were considered assets regardless of the model depicted.

This particular portrait had been meticulously crafted—it was high in quality, painted in a popular style that wouldn’t be too polarizing in taste. The frame alone was an expensive piece.

Although she could sell it to someone else, Layla wanted to return the portrait to its original owners.

Viscount Bastian may have abandoned his family and fled in the night, but a family portrait still held deep meaning.

Leaving it behind only emphasized how chaotic things must have been for the Bastian family at the time.

“Would it be alright to send this back to the Bastian family…?”

She looked up, intending to ask for Blake’s permission—only to find his face right in front of hers.

“How’s your back?”

His voice was deeper than usual as he gazed at her.

Layla sensed something shift in the air.

There was no reason for the atmosphere to change, yet something had. The air felt heavier, sweeter—her cheeks grew warm.

Blake wanted her.

Here, in this dusty storage room.

It was so sudden. Then again, Blake always acted on impulse in ways she couldn’t understand.

Flustered, she lowered her gaze.

“Ah, I’m fine. It only aches a little.”

She instinctively stepped back, trying to put some distance between them, but his arm was already wrapped around her waist.

She felt like a bird caught in a trap.

She wanted to escape, but all paths were blocked. The cage was closing in around her, and she could feel his heated breath against her skin.

Blake whispered in a low, husky voice.

“I’ll check your back again. I didn’t examine it properly before.”

“It’s really fine. I called for the servants when I came in—they’ll be here any moment, so—mmph!”

Her lips were devoured.

Blake skillfully parted Layla’s startled lips, deepening the kiss. Tilting his head at an angle, he pressed their lips together, capturing her flustered tongue and pulling it in as if savoring every drop.

“Mm! Haa—! Mmng!”

She instinctively pushed against his shoulder in protest, but all it did was hurt her hand.

Blake only bent lower, trying to increase their contact even more.

Like a large beast greedily drawing nectar from a tiny flower, he moved his head this way and that, refusing to let go of her lips.

“Mmph…! Mm—!”

Layla grasped his shirt tightly. A tingling sensation ran down her spine.

Was it because he was from Strover, or was it simply Blake’s nature?

He was an unpredictable man.

He always did things she never expected, as if he had been born just to catch her off guard.

Light streamed in through a small window, but the storage room remained dim.

The air smelled of dust, and though she had pulled back some of the cloths, white fabric still hung around them like snow-capped mountain ranges.

She had called for the servants earlier to help organize the storage.

She had no idea when they would arrive.

And yet, in such a place, Blake was kissing her.

Layla curled her legs inward.

Heat coiled deep in her stomach.

She could feel the rhythmic pounding of Blake’s heartbeat through their pressed bodies.

He was a tyrant and a plunderer.

He never asked for permission—always taking, always seizing whatever he wanted.

As his tongue pulled at hers with force, a sharp tremor rippled through Layla’s body, making her shudder to her core.

“Hngh…!”

A soft moan escaped between their slightly parted lips.

Her heartbeat pounded so wildly that she couldn’t bring herself to look at Blake directly.

She had lost the will to resist this invader. She had been conquered.

The arm that had wrapped around her waist now embraced her shoulders.

Even as he kissed her deeply, his hands moved carefully, avoiding her injured back.

His touch commanded her senses, leaving no room for any other thoughts.

Smack.

His wet lips parted slightly before capturing her soft, delicate skin again.

He nibbled, then released, his lips savoring and lingering over her.

Blake’s deep gaze swept over Layla’s flushed face.

Though he was still clothed, the heat of his arousal was unmistakable as it pressed against her lower abdomen.

Layla’s breath came in short gasps. Her breath, her head, her entire body burned.

Holding her tightly in his arms, Blake looked down at her and gave a quiet command. His warm breath brushed against her lips.

“Wrap your arms around my neck.”

“I… I called for the servants. They’ll be here soon…”

Before she could even finish speaking—

Creak.

The sound of metal scraping against metal rang out as the storage room door swung open. Two servants stepped inside.

“Didn’t they say the lady was already here?”

“Huh? There’s no one here.”

Layla bit her lip hard, her gaze fixed on the floor.

From the corner of her vision, she could see Blake’s legs. The moment the door opened, an instinctive thought struck her— they couldn’t be seen like this. Without hesitation, she pulled Blake down with her, hiding beneath the fabric-draped covers.

Blake’s breath tickled her hair. Only then did she realize her mistake. There had been no need to hide. They were husband and wife, merely embracing. It wasn’t as if they were completely undressed, engaging in something obscene—yet in her panic, Layla had hidden away.

“Ah, I must have gotten on Marisa’s bad side. She’s been giving me nothing but difficult tasks lately.”

“Huh? Looks like the lady already cleared some things out. Maybe she stepped out for a moment?”

“Let’s rest until she gets back.”

“Hey, what if she returns and catches us? At least pretend to be working.”

“How long could it possibly take to move a few sheets? We’ll just say we arrived a little late.”

“…That’s true.”

The servants positioned themselves in a spot where they couldn’t be seen from the door. They kept an eye on the entrance, waiting for the mistress to come in.

“Got a cigarette?”

“You always borrow instead of buying.”

“I’ll pay you back when I have the money.”

The faint scent of tobacco drifted in the air, making Layla wrinkle her nose. She didn’t like the smell of cigarettes, and besides, this was a storage room—full of highly flammable fabrics and wood. A single mistake could lead to a fire.

Hiding under the fabric with Blake was also uncomfortable. The only thing covering them was a thin, white cloth, yet the space felt oddly intimate. His breathing sounded louder, and the air seemed to grow warmer.

She lightly tapped Blake’s arm, struggling to see his face.

“Let’s go.”

She had planned to use the excuse of looking for something, but then, she heard the voices of the servants.

“I bought that thing—the one the guy with the monocle sells.”

They were talking about Whaler.

“Hah, you idiot. How could you trust that bastard Strover and buy that?”

“I’m meeting Ellie soon. Gotta be in top shape. They say it’s good for men, you know. Hey, our master and mistress are something else every night, aren’t they? Apparently, it’s all thanks to that stamina potion.”

“Well, I guess he is pretty incredible… Let me know if it actually works.”

Even though they weren’t talking about her directly, there was a hint of embarrassment in the servant’s voice. Another servant chuckled, making a crude slapping sound against his skin.

Layla took a step back from Blake, her face burning. She had known that rumors about their marriage were circulating among the staff, but…

‘My God, a stamina potion?’

She had heard that men were obsessed with those things, just like hair-growth tonics. But she never imagined Blake would be one of them. Come to think of it, no matter how strong or well-trained he was, it didn’t seem realistic for him to keep up like that every night.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“It’s nothing.”

Layla turned away. The idea of taking something like that just for a moment’s pleasure—it was beyond her comprehension.

“Whaler is scamming them. I don’t take that kind of stuff. You know that better than anyone.”

“…Alright. Let’s just go.”

Blake grabbed onto a piece of furniture, shifting his position. His arm blocked Layla’s line of sight.

“You don’t believe me, do you?” His voice dropped. “Well, we can check right now.”

He leaned in, and before she could react, his lips touched hers.