On Rational Marital Life - Chapter 8

Blake placed a firm hand on the boy’s shoulder and declared, “He’s my son.”

My… son?

Layla was momentarily stunned, wondering if she had misheard.

“Captain, have you lost your mind?”

There had never been any rumors about Blake having an illegitimate child.

Yet the boy standing before them looked old enough to have been born when Blake was barely fourteen.

Bringing a child home the day after his wedding was hardly proper behavior toward his wife, but Blake Burman had never been one to care about etiquette.

Layla quickly regained her composure.

“You’re saying he’s your son?”

The answer didn’t come from Blake—it came from Whaler, who gave the boy a once-over, raising an eyebrow as he responded curtly.

“Since when does the captain have a son? If he had one this old, he would’ve brought him home long ago.”

“As of today, he does. I’m adopting him. Get the paperwork done.”

Had Blake only just discovered the boy’s existence?

At least Whaler, despite his usual indifference, seemed aware of the need for some level of propriety. He stole a glance at Layla, mindful that even in a political marriage, certain formalities should be observed.

“You got married yesterday. And now you’re talking about adoption? Do you realize that if you die, this kid will inherit your estate?”

Of course, Whaler’s objection wasn’t out of concern for Layla—it was about something else entirely.

“That’s exactly why I’m adopting him.”

“Father. I’ll call you Father from now on.”

Blake smirked, pulling a dagger from his belt. Its polished blade gleamed in the sunlight.

“If an unmarried son dies, his wealth goes to his parents, doesn’t it, Whaler?”

“I was just joking. What a bright-looking boy! I’ll take care of the paperwork immediately. Leave it to me.”

Whaler instantly abandoned his protest, turning to the child with sudden seriousness.

“Call me ‘brother.’ From now on, I’m your older brother.”

“Yes, sir.”

Layla observed the child closely.

His sun-darkened skin was similar to Blake’s, and his sharp eyes bore some resemblance as well.

If this had been a proper marriage, discussions would have taken place beforehand regarding the division of assets, whether an illegitimate child would be officially adopted, and how inheritance rights would be structured in relation to any future legitimate heirs.

Though Strover and Graemers were separate nations, they had once been one kingdom and still shared many cultural similarities. The handling of illegitimate children was one such similarity.

Even if she and Blake were unlikely to have children together, she should have been informed if he had an existing heir.

Sensing her gaze, Blake turned to the boy and said, “She’s my wife. You’ll be living with her too. Introduce yourself.”

“Hello. My name is Jerry. I’m ten years old.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Layla… Layla Burman.”

A child of his age, especially one from a commoner background, would normally freeze up when speaking to a noble.

But Jerry did not.

A young maid entered, carrying a tray. She trembled slightly, and the soup in the bowl wobbled precariously—likely due to Blake’s presence.

“Y-Your meal is ready.”

The tray held a light meal—soup, sandwiches, and fruit.

Blake stared at the food with a dissatisfied expression.

It felt as if he were silently chastising her for eating so late in the day. Layla hurriedly explained.

“I only just woke up.”

“If you missed mealtime, then you should eat now. You must be exhausted after last night.”

Layla flinched at his words.

Blake turned to the maid.

“Bring me food as well. Not this soup—meat. Enough for six people. You need meat to regain strength.”

“…I’m not that hungry.”

Growl.

Just as Layla finished speaking, her stomach let out a loud noise.

The shock of Blake’s sudden announcement had momentarily distracted her, but now, hunger was making itself known again.

Her cheeks burned red.

A lady wasn’t supposed to make sounds like that. Not once in her life had this ever happened to her.

“I’m sorry. I haven’t eaten in two days.”

Surprisingly, the apology didn’t come from Layla but from Jerry.

He was pretending the sound had come from his stomach instead.

“…Come and eat first.”

While waiting for the new meal to arrive, Layla pushed the food toward the child.

It was clear he hadn’t been properly cared for—Jerry was filthy. Even from across the table, she could catch the unpleasant scent clinging to him.

Grabbing a sandwich with his dirty hands, he shoved it into his mouth, swallowing in large, desperate gulps.

He lifted his bowl and slurped down the soup noisily, clearly focused only on stuffing his stomach as quickly as possible.

He didn’t even attempt to use a fork, eating everything with his hands.

Layla watched his almost combat-like eating habits in stunned silence—until he suddenly leaned down to suck up the crumbs that had fallen onto the table.

That’s when she finally intervened.

After the meal, Jerry eyed his empty plate with longing.

Layla picked up a damp cloth and gently wiped his hands and face.

She had worked with underprivileged children many times through charity events and volunteer work, so she didn’t find it repulsive.

“Is he really your child?”

“Does he look like me?”

Blake’s answer was indifferent.

There was so much she wanted to ask.

What did he plan to do with the child?

Where was Jerry’s mother?

Layla parted her lips to speak but quickly shut them again.

This wasn’t a conversation to have in front of the boy.

“You don’t need to concern yourself with him. I’ll handle it.”

“…Alright.”

That was that.

They had shared a bed, but they weren’t a normal couple.

Layla was entirely dependent on Blake now. If he made a decision, she had little choice but to follow.

Before long, the maids arrived, carrying trays of food.

It seemed the kitchen staff had rushed to prepare it, as steam still rose from the freshly cooked dishes.

“Eat.”

“Yes.”

Layla absentmindedly took a spoonful of soup.

Her eyes widened in surprise.

Ever since the embezzlement scandal, nothing had tasted good.

No matter what she ate, it had all felt like swallowing chunks of unripened cheese—dry, unpleasant, difficult to get down.

But today was different.

As the warm soup settled in her empty stomach, a comforting heat spread through her entire body.

She had thought she had fallen as far as she could go.

Yet somehow, she had regained her sense of taste.

A small, involuntary smile tugged at her lips.

And then—

“You have a fork…”

—her appetite immediately fled.

Layla had known that Blake Burman’s table manners were atrocious.

But seeing it firsthand was another matter entirely.

With a long fork, he speared an entire slab of meat, biting straight into it—no, tearing it apart with his teeth.

Seated beside him, Jerry clutched his own portion of meat with both hands, seemingly afraid it might be taken from him.

It was a beast’s feast.

And yet, in the middle of it all, Blake turned to Jerry and scolded him.

“Use your fork. You’re a noble now.”

This man is my husband. And that child is my son…

Layla laughed bitterly to herself.

How absurd. And yet, even now, I’m wondering how high society will judge this.

Not that it mattered.

There wasn’t a single person left who would send her an invitation anyway.

This was her reality now.

 

* * *

 

The last person to finish their meal was Layla.

Even though she had more than half of her food left, she placed her cutlery down as a signal that she was done. As soon as she put down her spoon, Blake, who had been watching, furrowed his brows deeply.

When Blake rang the bell, a middle-aged maid—who appeared to be the head maid—entered the room.

In an estate the size of the Berman mansion, it was customary for the butler to receive orders from the master and relay them to the staff. Layla glanced at the maid with curiosity, but Blake didn’t bother introducing her.

“Marisa, this is my son, Jerry. Take him, bathe him, and assign him a room.”

“S-Son?”

For a moment, the maid called Marisa turned to look at Layla. Her cheek twitched.

This was the kind of situation where, right after marriage, the husband suddenly brought home a child.

Hiding her smirk, Marisa responded,

“Yes, leave it to me. Young Master, come this way. I’ll take care of you.”

Even when Marisa called him, Jerry didn’t move. He only looked at Blake.

“Go.”

Only after Blake gave permission did Jerry finally move.

Once the two left, only Blake and Layla remained in the tearoom.

Layla swallowed a sigh. Even while seated, Blake’s large physique was imposing. Strangely, he seemed even bigger without clothes than with them on.

“How’s your body?”

Layla, who had been unconsciously staring at him, was caught off guard by the sudden question and coughed. As she swallowed her saliva, it went down the wrong way.

“…Cough. Ahem, I-I’m fine.”

The air in the tearoom seemed to shift.

The dull ache deep in her lower abdomen, which she had been trying to ignore, resurfaced.

After marriage, it was a given that a couple had to fulfill their marital duties, regardless of who the husband was. Layla took a deep breath, mentally organizing the chaotic memories of their first night together.

“What am I supposed to do in this mansion?”

“Do you really need permission for that? Do as you please. Make yourself comfortable.”

Guessing that this meant he had no expectations of her, Layla asked again.

“Please define my role. Since we’re married, I need to know what I should and shouldn’t do as your wife… That way, I can determine my responsibilities.”

“Take your time. There’s something more urgent than that.”

Blake took a sip of his wine, his gaze fixed on Layla. His lips brushed against the glass before pulling away.

“There’s something married couples must do.”

Layla couldn’t hide her surprise. She had assumed Blake had only gone through with their first night together out of obligation.

It was true that producing an heir was a crucial duty, especially among nobles, who were deeply obsessed with lineage. Even without emotions, a marriage could still exist for the sake of children.

Layla thought of the boy he had brought with him.

Jerry, with his tanned skin and silver hair.

Blake had mentioned that there was a woman waiting for him in Strober. If Jerry had grown up without parental care, then that woman likely wasn’t his mother.

There was a woman who had given birth to his child. And there was another woman waiting for him.

So why was he insisting on being involved with her as well?

Unable to find an answer, Layla voiced the most plausible assumption she could make at the moment.

“…Do you want a child?”

“A child? Of course.”

Blake’s expression darkened. A sneer formed on his lips as he glared at Layla.

It was an unsettling change. Layla quickly replayed her own words in her mind, trying to grasp what had triggered his emotions.

“Will you bear my child?”

His voice carried a tone of challenge, as if testing her.

Layla felt confused. The two of them had shared an intimate night after their marriage, but there had been no affection in it.

Blake did not love her, and she had never sought his love as a husband.

But a child was a different matter. Producing an heir was a wife’s duty. Even if their marriage was only meant to last two years, perhaps Blake still expected that obligation to apply.

Before she could answer, Blake spoke again.

“I’m glad you’re healthy.”

A chill ran down her spine.

His lips curved into a smile, but his eyes remained cold as he studied her. His gaze traced her face, lingered on her lips, then moved down to her neck. Finally, his eyes landed on her chest, which was concealed by a scarf covering the scars that marred her skin.

Layla held her breath under his predatory gaze.

“I should get up now. I need some fresh air.”

She turned to leave the tearoom, but before she could take a step, Blake moved behind her in an instant and swept her into his arms.

“B-Blake?”

“We’re newlyweds.”

“It’s still the middle of the day! The sun hasn’t even set yet!”

“And why does that matter?”

Still holding her, Blake strode out into the corridor.

“T-The servants will talk.”

“How is it gossipworthy for a husband to carry his wife? If anything, they should be happy that the master and mistress get along.”

“You have work to do, don’t you?”

“No one would dare summon a man who just got married yesterday.”

“Blake!”

Only when they reached their room did Blake finally set Layla down. Her back pressed against the cold door.

Looking down at her, he reached for the doorknob and pulled it open.

As the door slowly swung inward, Layla found herself being gently pushed inside. The distance between them shrank.

Blake’s narrowed eyes glinted dangerously.

“Let’s do things differently from last night.”