The Villainess's Secret Bedroom Service
Chapter 145: Dramatic Self-Sacrifice

Chapter 145: Dramatic Self-Sacrifice

Damien, cloaked in the shadows in the distant corner of the bustling banquet hall, observed Rosalie’s animated camaraderie with both princes. Their shared laughter and easy banter echoed across the room, magnifying the hollow ache in his chest. Jealousy, inexplicable and formidable, surged through him, engulfing his heart in a suffocating tide of emotion.

Restlessness and unease gnawed at him, a sense of disquiet stirring deep within his soul.

"This does not sit well with me," he murmured, his voice barely audible above the hum of the crowd. "I... I feel incredibly insecure."

Although he acknowledged Rosalie’s unwavering commitment to their relationship, her constant reassurances of love, and the absence of any sign of discontent when they were together, a nagging suspicion persisted within Damien whenever he witnessed her engaging with others, whether men or women. It was as if an insincere facade concealed her true feelings.

"Why does it feel like this?" he questioned, a pang of insecurity tainting his thoughts. "Her smile, it seems to brighten in the company of others. She appears more carefree, she appears happier. Am I imagining things? Is it just my own jealousy clouding my perception of our happiness?"

Frustrated and at odds with his own tumultuous emotions, Damien balled his hands into fists, shutting his eyes in an attempt to quell the chaos within.

Struggling to rationalize his jealousy, Damien reflected on the years he had harbored feelings for Rosalie, his advances hindered by her challenging circumstances and his own persistent insecurities. Now that she reciprocated his love, an overwhelming possessiveness consumed him. He could not shake the fear of losing her, a result of having longed for her affection for so many years.

As his internal turmoil threatened to consume him entirely, the hushed footsteps of Felix drew near, jolting Damien back to the bustling reality of the banquet hall. Felix’s presence broke through the tumultuous thoughts, grounding Damien in the present moment.

Felix, attuned to his lord’s pensive countenance, extended a glass of sparkling wine to the duke, a genial smile adorning his face as he positioned himself at Damien’s side.

"Your Grace," he began, "among this merry gathering, it seems you are the sole soul not reveling in the festivities."

Damien regarded his aide with a perplexed expression, briefly acknowledging the statement before redirecting his gaze toward his wife, choosing to disregard the observation. Felix, too, glanced at the duchess, emitting a subdued sigh before resuming,

"Indeed, Your Grace. Since your return from the battlefield, Her Ladyship’s state has undergone a remarkable transformation. There is a newfound radiance, a buoyancy to her spirit that is unmistakable."

Damien, his brows furrowed in contemplation, mulled over Felix’s observation, uncertainty flickering in his gaze as he directed it back at his loyal aide.

"Do you truly believe this?"

"The Lady was deeply engrossed in establishing her charitable pursuits alongside Her Highness, often dividing her time between your study and the very bedroom you once shared," Felix continued, his voice laced with conviction. "It was palpable, Your Grace, her longing for your presence. Never have I seen her smile with such fervor during your absence. If concerns about her happiness in the company of others trouble you, rest assured that her joy stems from the knowledge of you standing by her side."

As Felix’s earnest words reverberated within Damien’s consciousness, a profound shift occurred, as though a taut knot deep within him unraveled, granting him an unexpected sense of solace. The once unyielding, vice-like hold on his heart slackened, dissolving the unbearable weight and anguish that had plagued him.

"Thank you, Felix. It’s reassuring to know Lady Rosalie holds such sentiments."

Felix returned the gesture, his expression warm and comforting.

"In my role as your personal aide, Your Grace, I deemed it necessary to be forthright. Please, for the sake of my audacity, do not let despondency take hold. Trust in Lady Rosalie. It appears to me, and to all around, that the two of you have become each other’s saving grace, each other’s miracles."

Setting the now-empty glass of sparkling wine onto the tray held by one of the passing servants, Damien prepared to navigate through the bustling crowd toward his wife. However, as his gaze swept the area where he last spotted her, Rosalie was nowhere to be found.

***

As soon as Rosalie managed to steal a rare moment of solitude, she resolved to seize the opportunity for a brief respite, seeking solace in the cool embrace of the evening air. Quietly, almost as if she were evading notice, she skillfully maneuvered toward the terrace, gently drawing the rich, opulent purple curtains closed behind her, leaving the festive uproar of the banquet hall in her wake.

Resting her forearms on the broad, pristine white ledge, she indulged in a deep, satisfying breath, savoring the delicate fragrance wafting up from the exquisitely blooming garden below.

Despite fervently hoping that her well-being wouldn’t decline so swiftly within the confines of a mere day, the duchess found herself grappling with the toll of her demanding responsibilities and the strain of remaining on her feet throughout the entire evening. Not only was she thoroughly fatigued, but a growing sense of illness also gnawed at her, casting a shadow over the festivities.

"I ought to be reveling in the joy of my birthday celebration, especially given the rarity of having so many guests gathered around me. Yet, even amidst the company, solitude seems a more appealing prospect. If only this illness would relent..."

"Are you feeling unwell, My Lady?"

Rosalie’s heart skipped a beat as a familiar masculine voice broke the tranquility of the night, its echo resounding in her ears. Altair materialized almost mysteriously, his cascading white hair catching the moon’s luminous rays, his features etched with genuine concern as he approached the lady.

"I do beg your pardon, Lady Rosalie. I was taking a moment of respite in this secluded corner, but it seems my thoughts had me thoroughly engrossed. Your presence only caught my attention when you spoke."

Soothing her racing pulse, Rosalie pressed a hand against her chest and offered a reassuring shake of her head.

"No harm done, Altair. It appears my senses are on high alert without cause."

"You mentioned you are not feeling well. Can you tell me what’s troubling you?" Altair inquired gently, his concern evident as he leaned in for a closer examination of Rosalie’s pallid complexion. However, she instinctively recoiled, her body language betraying a sense of self-consciousness that she could not quite explain.

The reasons for her reluctance were hazy, wrapped in a web of conflicting emotions. Perhaps it was a simple, albeit immature, desire not to disrupt the flow of her own celebration, a selfless yet irrational inclination toward a kind of dramatic self-sacrifice. She was determined to preserve the perfection of the moment, safeguarding it until the very last note of the night.

"Please, do not concern yourself, Altair. It is likely just fatigue, considering I’ve been active since early morning," Rosalie reassured, her voice carrying a gentle undertone. "Besides, I do hope you will rejoin the other guests in the banquet hall. I would not want you to spend the entire evening in solitude."

With a soft, gracious smile, she conveyed her appreciation before gently concluding,

"I must return now. Please excuse me."

As the duchess made her way toward the curtains, a sudden wave of dizziness and weakness overcame her, her legs giving way as the world spun before her eyes.

Vision blurred and senses faltering, she reached out in search of something, anything, to steady herself, but found no support. With a resounding thud, she crumpled to the ground, prompting Altair to dash toward her in a flurry of concern and alarm.

His expression was etched with a blend of worry and dread, his voice quivered as he cried out,

"Lady Rosalie!"