Chapter 68
I Must, Whatever It Takes

“You’re back, Layla.”

Madam Mona, who had been pacing in front of the cottage, rushed toward her.

“Well? What happened? Did you see the lawyer? What did he say?”

Layla only shook her head faintly.

The servants of Arvis, moved by pity for Bill Remmer, had secretly pooled money to send Layla to a law office. When she accepted it with tears of gratitude, she’d dared to hold on to a thread of hope. Now her face held nothing but despair.

“I heard the Dowager wishes to forgive him, but Madam is unyielding. It’s strange… He never meant it. You’d think they could let it go.”

“Would it be possible for me to… meet Madam somehow? Just once?”

“I don’t know, Layla. That may not be wise. Better to appeal to His Grace. I heard from one of the Dowager’s maids—since the two ladies can’t agree, they’ve left the decision to the Duke.”

Layla blinked slowly, dizziness washing over her. Madam Mona quickly steadied her and led her into the cottage.

“It might be a blessing in disguise. For matters like this, His Grace may be more merciful than either lady. Let’s not lose hope, Layla.”

She sat Layla in a chair by the hearth and rubbed her trembling shoulders gently.

“But if this goes on, you’ll waste away before Mr. Remmer does. You need to eat. I’ve set aside your favorites.”

“Thank you, Madam… I’ll eat… later.”

Mona sighed deeply, again and again, before leaving the cottage. When the door shut, Layla raised her hands to cover her face.

The lawyer’s words had been even harsher than the constable’s. With luck, Bill might escape prison, but lawsuits would drain time and money. And restitution was unavoidable. Fighting the Herhardt family in court was foolish.

‘Appealing for clemency is your only chance.’

That had been his advice. Clemency from the Herhardts—or rather, from the Duke himself.

It had already been three days since she’d stood before him. She had fought to reject that impossible bargain, yet here she was again, cornered before him.

Her lips chewed nervously. She rose and staggered to the kitchen, drinking only cold water. She hadn’t eaten or slept properly for days; her body felt hollow.

But Uncle Bill must be suffering far worse.

The memory of his aged, worn face stabbed her chest with pain.

Layla sat alone at the table. Kyle gone. Uncle Bill imprisoned. And she left alone. The solitude was unbearable.

I can’t live like this. I have to save Uncle Bill. No matter what.

But the only path left was the Duke’s bargain. No matter how she turned it over, it always ended there.

She forced herself up, only to collapse back down, shaking with humiliation as she recalled the Duke’s eyes on her.

Had it been raw desire, she might have felt less debased. But no—he had been calm. Even amused. She knew that face well. The look he wore when hunting for sport. The look he wore when he tormented her until she cried.

She rose, fell, rose again, until at last she collapsed across the table. No more tears came—only ragged breaths, sobbing like broken gasps.

Perhaps to others her life seemed small, but to Layla it was everything. She had built it with care, lived it with pride. She wanted to go on living like that—earnest, unashamed.

And yet this life—trampled so easily by one man’s idle whim.

Layla clenched her fists. No. I won’t let it be destroyed like that.

But then… Uncle Bill?

The name undid her resolve, dragging her back down.

Darkness pressed down on her frail back, until she could not lift her head.

When Matthias signed the last document of the evening, night had already deepened.

“You may leave,” he said curtly to his aide.

Mark Evers gathered the papers and slipped out. Alone again, Matthias leaned back. He often spent long hours in the annex, but now with the main house without electricity, he stayed here even more. Of course, he admitted to himself, that was not the only reason.

Tonight, Layla would come.

He felt it, a certainty. She had tried for days to find another way. By now she must know—the only path left.

He remembered her face the day of the accident, when Bill was taken away. Crying, calling after him. In that moment, Matthias had understood exactly how to clip the wings of his beautiful bird.

So he had acted. Simply, naturally.

He knew it was not the best way to gain what he truly desired. But first, he had to hold her fast. Keep her from flying away. Even if the order was reversed, even if the road grew long, he would, in the end, take that joy for himself.

He reached for his cigarette case, placed one between his lips, but did not light it.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

A faint, hesitant knock at the door.

Matthias tossed the cigarette into the ashtray and rose. He stood a while, waiting for the throb in his throat to still. Then he opened the door. Cold river wind swept in—and with it, Layla’s pale face.

They only looked at each other. But for the flutter of hair and coat in the wind, the moment could have been frozen in time.

At last Matthias moved, stepping back to let her in. Shivering in the bitter night, wearing no coat, she crossed the threshold. The door closed and locked behind her.

She stood in the same spot where, days earlier, she had begged him to spare her uncle. Same place. But her face was different now. No hope, only fear and resignation.

Matthias sank back onto the sofa, legs crossed, just as before—indulging her last scrap of pride.

“I’m nothing to you, Your Grace,” she whispered at last, after many deep breaths.

The absurdity made him chuckle. “So?”

“If you stain your life—for nothing more than a passing desire for someone like me—then even for you, it would be a loss. A bargain that leaves you poorer.”

In her dim eyes, a faint light flickered.

“So please… name another condition. Anything else. I’ll do it. I’ll do anything, Your Grace. Truly. Anything.”

“Layla.”

His eyes narrowed, then curved with a mocking smile.

“There’s a castle we own, south of Berck, in a resort town. Quite beautiful—famous in the empire. My grandfather bought it. For a woman he loved. She lived there, cherished, until the day she died.”

“Your Grace…”

“My father too… fond of music. He kept many women near him. The one who stayed longest was a renowned singer. My mother even liked her. She was truly gifted.”

Matthias lifted his eyes, studying her.

“Shall I tell you how the world remembers them?”

His voice was almost kind. Layla’s breath caught. She didn’t need to hear it. Everyone knew. Those names still glittered, even in death.

“So stop worrying for me. Now—what’s your answer?”

His gaze swept her face, her throat, her trembling chest.

“O… only for one night?”

She glanced over her shoulder again and again, then forced her eyes back to him. She had already decided when she came here. Yet she clung to the faintest chance.

But in his world, she wasn’t even a stain.

Realization steadied her.

Think of it as falling, as breaking a bone. Painful, but healable. She would rise again, walk again, live on.

Matthias’s lips curved faintly.

“I told you, Layla. I don’t make losing bargains. Do you really think you’re worth all that—for just one night?”

“Then… what? Do you mean to keep me as your mistress?”

He gave no answer. Only stared.

Layla turned to flee—but stopped. If she left, all hope was gone. Bill would rot in prison. Their lives destroyed forever.

She clenched her teeth, turned back. He lounged on the sofa, waiting, as though he had foreseen it all.

So this is who you are. If you want it, you’ll break it to have it. Without guilt. For sport. And then you’ll discard me. Like those bloody birds you shot and left to die.

Her eyes burned red as she glared at him. He smiled, rose, and walked toward her. She collapsed where she stood.

Unperturbed, Matthias knelt before her.

“…!”

When his hand reached for her blouse, she instinctively clutched the fabric.

“Layla.”

His voice was cold, his breath hot against her cheek.

“You must. Whatever it takes.”

His fingers brushed the back of her hand, then gripped her chin hard.

“If you hate it—the door’s there.”

He forced her head to turn toward the door. Then released her, as if granting freedom. That, more than anything, filled her with loathing.

Corner me, then pretend to give me choice. Cruel, vile man.

“You… I’ll never forgive you,” she whispered, voice breaking.

“As you wish.”

He tugged her blouse sharply. Buttons snapped and scattered across the floor.

She toppled back, and his voice followed, soft as velvet.

“I’ll be expecting you, Layla.”

She opened her mouth to curse him—but then his lips were crushing hers.

Tongue forcing past her lips, breath harsh and mingling. The weight of his body pinned her down, merciless.

Wet, hungry sounds filled the room. Saliva slid down her chin. His hands ripped away her skirt, her stockings, her underthings, tossing them aside.

“Beautiful.”

Straightening, Matthias looked down at her as though admiring a creation of his own.