Chapter 69
Benefactor

“Promise…”

The faint whisper pulled Matthias back from the haze of pleasure, still buried deep inside her. Lifting his head, he met the green eyes gazing only at him. He released her hair, which he had gripped until it hurt, and cupped Layla’s flushed cheek.

“Mercy… you promised… you must…”

Her broken words slipped out between ragged breaths. Understanding what she meant, Matthias let out a short, bitter laugh. Even in this moment, this maddeningly earnest woman clung to that plea. And strangely, he didn’t hate it. Whatever her reasons, those clear eyes that held him so wholly sparkled like jewels.

When he only looked at her in silence, Layla, desperate, lifted her limp hand and clutched his arm. Her face seemed on the verge of tears. With a sigh, Matthias gave a reluctant nod. At that, Layla exhaled, releasing him. Before her hand even fell to the floor, her eyelids fluttered shut.

She was asleep. Only Matthias remained, still watching her.

Once more.

He didn’t know why the thought came. He stared at her for a long time, but nothing changed. Her face turned away, eyes shut tight—unyielding refusal was all he found there.

Smirking faintly, Matthias suddenly seized her hair again and yanked it hard. Fear flashed in her eyes as their gazes clashed. Then he crushed his lips down onto hers.

A fair trade, he thought.

When Layla awoke, the room was already filled with daylight.

She pushed herself up against the headboard, praying it had all been a nightmare. But the aches in her body, the marks scattered across her skin, left no room for illusion.

She stared blankly at her disheveled self. She had collapsed here straight from the Duke’s annex, unable even to wash away his touch. She longed to scrub every trace of him from her, but she had no strength left. Simply making it back to the cottage alive had been her limit.

Her body bore handprints, stains of blood, and other marks she dared not think about. Shuddering, Layla forced herself out of bed. The pain was everywhere, each throb pulling tears to her eyes.

It’s nothing.

She repeated the lie as she washed herself over and over.

In the end, it will be nothing.

She knew it never could be, yet she clung to the self-deception. By the time she dressed and sat at the table, she wore an air of forced composure.

Eat. Regain strength. Go to Uncle Bill.

Focusing only on the task at hand, she placed food onto her plate. Though her throat rebelled, she forced it down with water.

Only after swallowing the last piece of bread did she notice the stack of letters at the end of the table. Picking it up, her calm expression crumbled. Kyle’s letters. All of them, in his unmistakable handwriting.

Her hands trembled violently as she tore open the top envelope.

My dearest Layla.

So began the first letter he had sent when autumn came.

“Thank you, Your Grace. Truly… I don’t even know how to express my gratitude.”

Bill Remmer bowed again and again, his face flushed. He looked haggard from the ordeal, but hope shone in his eyes brighter than ever.

“To grant me such mercy…”

He trailed off, eyes wet.

Just then, Layla entered the police station.

“Layla!”

Bill’s booming voice rang out, startling everyone present—including the Duke of Herhardt and the lawyer who had come to negotiate clemency. All eyes turned to Layla.

“Uncle! What happened—”

Her smile froze the instant she met Matthias’s eyes.

“Congratulations, Layla,” an officer said warmly. “His Grace has pardoned Mr. Remmer.”

“Ah… yes.”

Layla’s gaze was dragged back to Matthias. His eyes on her were cool, detached—as if the night before had never existed.

“…Thank you, Your Grace,” she whispered, bowing deeply, swallowing the storm inside. But her hands curled tight, her throat dry, her eyes unsteady. Surely awkward, yet no one seemed to notice—no one but him.

Their eyes met again. This time, Layla glared, lips pressed tight.

If you’re going to put on a show of defiance, you’d best hide those trembling hands first.

Matthias glanced at her pale fingers, then gave a soft, incredulous laugh. He hadn’t needed to come himself—his lawyer alone would have sufficed. But of course, he came for her. For Layla Llewellyn, his brazen mistress.

Later, the annex was quiet once more. Quiet, except for the ruin left behind. Matthias’s shirt was stained with blood, cuff buttons torn, hair damp with sweat. He looked at himself, disheveled from rolling on the floor with her, and let out a self-mocking sigh.

Layla lay curled on the carpet, nothing on her but shoes and stockings slipped to her knees. Firelight touched her pale skin, marked red with his hands and blood. He liked how easily her body held his imprint.

He nearly called her name—but instead pulled out a cigarette with uncharacteristic haste. He never lit it. His gaze traced slowly from her feet back up to her tangled golden hair. Her stillness grated on him. He could drag her up with one hand, but that wasn’t what he wanted.

With a grimace, he crushed the cigarette in the ashtray. He couldn’t stand the sight of her lying there like discarded trash. He almost reached to pull her up—but stopped. Even the sound of his footsteps made her stiffen. Still she refused to turn toward him. Stubborn woman.

He dropped his jacket over her trembling body. She flinched, but did not look back. It was hard to tell who was humiliating whom.

Suppressing his foul mood, Matthias turned to the bath. Strangely, though she irritated him, he also felt oddly satisfied. By the time he finished his shower, he even thought of softening toward her. But when he stepped out—the room was empty.

Layla had fled.

He found nothing but a few torn buttons, stains on the carpet, and strands of her golden hair. Seeing his jacket neatly rehung, he let out a crooked laugh. He could picture it: Layla, clutching her blouse closed, fleeing into the frozen night. She had wanted to escape him that badly.

He had not followed. Because he knew—if he had caught her, he would not have been gentle.

And seeing her now, at the station, he knew he’d been right. Even after hours had passed, he still felt that same emptiness as the night before.

“You’ve made a great decision, Your Grace. Truly worthy of the master of the esteemed House of Herhardt.”

The officer’s words pulled Matthias back to the present. He gave a polite reply, then left the station. Bill, Layla, the officers—all trailed after him. His aide and driver hurried to meet him.

“Your Grace, I will never forget this kindness. Not until the day I die—no, not even after!” Bill bowed low again, voice choked with emotion.

“It’s nothing, Mr. Remmer,” Matthias said coolly. His eyes flicked to the woman at Bill’s side. Layla’s gaze met his—not grateful, but burning with defiance.

“I’ll see you again at Arvis.”

With that, he stepped into the car. Layla never once forced a smile.

Watching her from the window, Matthias’s lips curved faintly. He would see her unravel before him again. He would make certain of it.

“You mean… we’ll keep living here? How?”

Layla’s disbelief made Bill chuckle as he patted her head. Together they walked toward Arvis’s gates.

“All thanks to the Duke’s generosity.”

“What?”

“He’s allowed me to keep living in the hunting lodge, working for Arvis. I refused at first—how could I return after what I did? But His Grace said this: the one who destroyed the glasshouse should be the one to restore it. That it would be my greatest atonement. He even said I was the one who had tended Arvis’s paradise, so who better to bring it back.”

Bill’s voice thickened with tears. The days he thought he’d spend in prison had been torment—less for himself than for leaving Layla alone.

“And the ladies? Will they allow it?”

“The Dowager agreed gladly. Even Madam was persuaded in the end. Truly, we owe it all to His Grace. He’s our benefactor, Layla.”

Benefactor.

The word struck Layla like a cruel joke. Her head spun.

Uncle must never know.

She repeated the vow, steadying herself, though her heart still pounded wildly.

Bill smiled, his arm around her shoulders. “The gardens and glasshouse are like a part of me. Destroying them left a guilt I could never bear. But to restore them—that’s the only way to ease my heart. It’s the least I can do to repay this great kindness.”

“…Yes, Uncle.”

Her voice trembled.

“So don’t worry anymore, Layla. For your sake, I’ll be careful. I’ll do better than ever before.”

By then they stood at Arvis’s grand gates. Bill’s worn face shone with renewed vigor.

“Bill! You’re really back!”

Servants rushed out to greet him. Layla, freed for a moment, let her eyes rest on the gates.

The golden crest gleamed like ornate bars of iron.