The Villainess's Secret Bedroom Service
Chapter 37: The Penitential Room

Chapter 37: The Penitential Room

Once Damien was finally able to regain control of his breathing, he suddenly realized how light and energetic he felt, as if he were reborn in an entirely new body, filled to the brim with unused vigor and strength.

Excited to share his emotions with Rosalie and thank her for her help, he carefully tapped her on the back, but the girl did not respond and continued hanging down from his shoulders, almost lifelessly.

"Lady Rosalie? Lady Rosalie, are you alright?"

The duke gently took her petite body in his arms and rounded his eyes in utter shock – she was unconscious, pale, and cold, with only her faint breathing and slow, quiet heartbeat as the signs of her still being alive.

"God, Lady Rosalie, can you hear me? Damn it, it must have been too much for her!"

It was the first time in years that Damien felt genuine panic tightening his chest. The initial exhilaration from their Acme exchange had disappeared in an instant, leaving nothing but suffocating fear that now squeezed his heart like barbed wire. Still feeling rather restless, he draped his black uniform jacket around Rosalie’s cold body and rushed back to the mansion, flared up by the feeling of unfathomable fear that even a mere second of hesitation would lead him to lose her.

And he could never let that happen.

As Damien marched toward his bedroom with Rosalie’s unconscious body pressed tightly to his chest, both Richard and Logan met him with distressed and worried looks distorting their faces.

"Your Grace! What happened to Lady Rosalie? Shall I send for a doctor?"

The butler ran to Damien nearly losing his monocle but the duke only shook his head and gestured for him to stay away from them – although the girl’s upper body was covered with his jacket, it was adorned with his kiss and bite marks all over, and he could not let anyone witness that embarrassing sight.

"It appears that Lady Rosalie has overexerted herself... We fell asleep for a while, so I am just going to let her rest in my room until morning. Richard, please see to it that a representative from the Temple is sent to visit the lady first thing in the morning. I want to make sure that her condition is fine."

Damien carefully laid Lady Ashter on his bed and covered her with a soft silk blanket, ordering the maids to prepare a clean nightgown for her, while Richard followed him inside his room and said in a hushed tone,

"Forgive me, Your Grace, but the Temple has already assigned a specific representative to treat Lady Rosalie. His name is Altair Nestor, he is His Holiness’s first disciple."

"Very well, then. Just make sure that he comes here as soon as he can."

"Yes, Your Grace."

The butler offered his lord a bow and left the room almost soundlessly. Damien took a seat beside Rosalie and placed his big hand on her glistening forehead, checking if her body temperature had returned to normal. Fortunately, it seemed like she was no longer cold, and there were no signs of fever or pain. If he didn’t know what had happened, seeing her lying in bed so peacefully, he would have simply assumed she was in a deep sleep.

"What kind of power do you possess, Lady Rosalie? You have always been a mystery to me. Although an enchanting one."

Damien brushed Rosalie’s damp hair away from her face and let out a long, weary sigh.

"Thank you. You have done more to me in the past two days than anyone has ever done to me throughout my entire life. Nothing I can offer will ever be enough to repay your kindness. But I will still try to give you anything you want."

***

The penitential room was engulfed in ominous darkness, pierced only by a faint glimmer of candlelight casting bizarre shadows on the cold tall walls. The deafening silence shattered as something heavy struck living flesh, echoing through the empty space like a thunderstrike.

"Ugh!"

Each strike was followed by a low, harsh groan seeping through the gritted teeth. Again and again, one hit after the other, the pain-filled, animal-like howling kept echoing through the dark room, until finally it stopped with a final, the most meaningful strike.

Altair lowered his right hand, clutching the black, blood-smeared whip, and dropped his head on his chest, still kneeling in front of an empty wall. His broad back was a mess of long, deep gaping wounds, dark red blood streaming down from them like dozens of tiny rivers. He gripped the handle of the whip tightly in his right palm and hissed quietly through his teeth,

"It’s not enough... It’s still not enough... I cannot erase you with this... This pain is not enough."

Overwhelmed with both anger and disappointment, the man rose to his feet, threw the black whip on the floor, then walked up to a large metal bucket filled with cold water, and poured it all over his messed-up back, washing the dark blood away from his deep wounds. He watched as the dirty puddle under his feet kept filling up with little droplets of his dark blood when the silent room was suddenly shaken up by a light knock on the door, followed by a rather loud creaking sound that invited in a somewhat tall but thin man in his early twenties, dressed in a simple white uniform worn by the Temple Attendants.

The man peeked from behind the thick wooden door, still afraid to come in, and said in a quiet, timid voice,

"Revered Altair, His Grace Grand Duke Damien Dio requested your presence at his mansion as soon as possible. It appears that something happened to his fiancée, Lady Rosalie Ashter."

Altair let out a tired sigh, then covered his face with both hands and scoffed, his subtle laugh bordering on a suppressed fit of madness. Once he finally managed to calm down his bizarre excitement, he looked into the small rectangular mirror on the opposite wall and murmured, his eyes glued to his own distorted reflection,

"In that case... I guess I better take care of this mess first."

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