Chapter 60
I Won’t Hurt You

Only when her back hit the soft mattress did Layla realize where she was, and what was about to happen.

“No, no! Get away! I said no!”

She thrashed so wildly that even the pain in her injured body was forgotten. The white sheets of the seldom-used annex chamber, normally stiff from disuse, were ruined in an instant.

“Stay still.”

Matthias’s hand clamped down on her arm.

“Ah!”

It was her injured arm. Layla let out a sharp scream, and Matthias instinctively furrowed his brows.

When he released her, she twisted her body at once. Nearly tumbling off the edge of the bed, she was yanked back into his arms before she could fall. Realizing this, she fought all the harder.

“Let go! Let me go!”

“You’ll only make the pain worse if you keep thrashing.”

“No! I don’t want this! No!”

Her screams and desperate resistance scraped raw at Matthias’s nerves. Perhaps that was why the rage that should have been directed at Riette von Lindmann, his cursed cousin, now burst forth toward the woman in his arms.

While Matthias paused to steady his breath, Layla slipped away. Crawling across the rumpled bed in her frantic escape, she looked more like prey than a woman. Matthias exhaled a laugh—half sigh, half bitter sneer.

He was only worried about her injuries.

This stubborn, prideful woman would never breathe a word of the accident to Bill Remmer. That was why he came here, carrying medicine. Why he stooped to scribbling a ridiculous note just to lure her out, tying it to a pigeon.

As that foolishness crossed his mind again, he laughed under his breath. Meanwhile, Layla crawled to the edge of the bed—only to be snatched up into the air. It happened too quickly for even a scream.

“Please… don’t. Don’t do this.”

She writhed desperately, but it was useless. Matthias straddled her waist, pinning both her arms hard against the bed. Like a butterfly speared alive, she fluttered helplessly until sheer terror and pain wrung sobs from her throat.

“It hurts… ah, it hurts so much…”

It wasn’t a lie. Even as her body froze from fear, the agony in her shoulder and back grew sharper.

“My lord… it hurts.”

Her tear-blurred gaze clung to his face, pitiful and desperate. He only stared down at her, unmoving, as if savoring the sight.

“Did Riette touch you?”

His voice was low as he tilted his head, eyes sharp beneath tousled hair.

Even amid her sobs, Layla instinctively shook her head. She despised Marquis Lindmann, but she couldn’t let Matthias know. Not that.

No—he had only spoken to her. She’d run because she was afraid. That was all.

Matthias listened to her halting words between sobs, his eyes fixed on her. She wailed, sniffled, then fell silent, exhausted. Her tear-stained face glittered faintly in the dim light.

At some point, his crushing grip on her arms softened, his hand sliding down to lace fingers with hers.

“Stay still, Layla.”

His fingers threaded gently through hers. Her limp body flinched and stiffened.

“I won’t hurt you.”

He lowered his face as he whispered.

Layla thought of the man above her, of herself pinned beneath him, and of this secluded annex by the river where no one else existed. She thought of bolting for the door—but the thought itself only deepened her despair.

“…Really?”

She hated herself for asking, but the words slipped out in a desperate plea. The only hope she could cling to was the barest shred of restraint he might show.

Matthias didn’t answer at once. Layla, lashes wet, stared at him with trembling eyes that were both fearful and pleading.

Finally, after a long silence, he nodded. Relief trembled from her lips in a fragile sigh.

He withdrew one hand, taking out the crumpled handkerchief from his jacket pocket. Though her arms were free, Layla didn’t move. She only kept staring at him, as if willing him to keep his promise.

Matthias slowly wiped her face clean of tears. When she tried to turn away, he held her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. Her emerald eyes, wet and shimmering, had never looked more beautiful.

After brushing away the sweat at her brow and smoothing back her hair, he finally rose. Layla, still frozen like the dead, tracked him cautiously with her eyes. He retrieved a small box from the table—it was a case of medicines.

“Show me your injuries.”

He sat back on the bed. Layla shook her head from where she lay.

“I’m fine. I’m not hurt.”

“You’re in pain.”

“That’s…”

Her words trailed off as she looked away. Instead of arguing further, Matthias undid the buttons on her blouse sleeve and rolled it up to her elbow in one motion. She yelped, twisting.

“Not the arm.”

His dry tone cut off her protests. His hand slipped to the hem of her skirt, gripping as if to lift it.

“M-my back! It’s my back!”

Panicked, she blurted it out before he stripped her bare in search of wounds.

“My shoulder and back. They hurt, but I don’t need—”

“Take it off.”

He released her skirt only to issue the command. She bolted upright, shaking her head furiously, but his expression didn’t waver.

“If you don’t want me to look, I’ll summon a doctor.”

He tapped the box with his fingers.

“Doctor Etman.”

At that name, Layla shook her head violently, almost convulsively. The thought of Kyle’s father seeing her like this—thrown onto the Duke’s bed at night—was worse than death.

“Choose, Layla.”

His voice was softer now, almost indulgent.

“Undress, or face Dr. Etman. As you wish.”

Cornered, she fell silent for a long time.

Matthias waited, patient. He liked her eyes like this—tear-bright but stubborn, fearful yet imploring.

“Promise…”

It was the only word she could manage when she finally opened her mouth. She knew resistance was pointless. He always got what he wanted. He always had, and he always would.

Tears welled again. Hot drops stained her blouse as she fumbled with the buttons, turning her back to him. If she must bare herself, then at least she wouldn’t let him see her crying face. That was her final shred of pride.

Her blouse slipped from her shoulders, silk sliding against pale skin. For Matthias, time slowed. The image burned into his mind—the delicate neck, the fragile shoulders, the slender back marred with dark bruises.

He stared for a long while. The mottled bruises spread from her shoulders down her spine and waist. No wonder she had cried like a child in pain.

His throat bobbed with a swallow. That she had ridden her bicycle home like this was both astonishing and maddening. Left to herself, she would have hidden it and suffered in silence.

The thought made his chest tighten with something like fury. He reached out, touching her back.

“Ah…!”

She flinched violently, curling away.

“If it hurts, tell me.”

He examined her carefully, tracing bones and muscles with his fingers, pausing whenever she whimpered. Her shoulders still moved fine, ribs and spine seemed intact. He exhaled, satisfied.

His hand lingered at her shoulder, squeezing gently. She trembled, head bowed.

Like soothing a frightened creature, he stroked her back. She was slender, almost fragile, yet soft beneath his palm. A sigh slipped from him.

“Layla.”

She startled at her name. Her gaze flicked upward—to the gilded mirror above the mantel. And there, she saw herself.

Her disheveled state struck her with shame. But worse was when her eyes met his in the reflection. Blue eyes she had seen countless times—yet now, they seemed unfamiliar.

Why…?

She couldn’t look away, even while trembling. His gaze was clear, almost innocent.

Matthias exhaled sharply, glancing back at her bruised skin. His lips dried with heat. When his eyes returned to the mirror, he realized—he was the first to look away. In all the years he had known Layla Llewellyn, that had never happened.

Damn it.

He lowered his lips to her shoulder, kissing the bruises. Whether to ignore the strange feeling, or to soothe her pain, even he wasn’t sure.

“It’s alright.”

His breath whispered against her ear, lower and rougher than usual, tinged with heat.

Unable to face the mirror any longer, Layla dropped her gaze—only to see his large hand splayed over her bare waist. She tried to pry it off, but he caught her smaller hand, holding it firm as his lips continued their careful path.

Layla squeezed her eyes shut.

On her aching skin, his touch was as soft as feathers.