我洗碗时在厨房要了我

Ophelia was damaged goods.  She would bring shame to Killorn and his reputation. She was good for nothing, but her stubbornness.

Ophelia's palms burned with the memory of smacking him. She didn't regret it. As her husband, he was supposed to protect her. He was late in saving her. She was already trained to be terrified of a wooden stick that'd be shoved down her throat. She was taught the arts of seduction, but never succeeded. What saved her skin multiple times was her eyes and hair—an exotic treat, the people would call her.

Ophelia failed miserably in all of her "training" lessons and even now, she didn't remember a single thing from those hazy rooms.

"I-if that i-is what you w-wish," Ophelia stammered out.

Killorn's brows shot up. Her stutter had gotten much worse. He had an inkling it was not because of her anxiety. This time, House Nileton had broken her for good.

Ophelia might've stammered before, but it was nowhere this bad.

"M-my l-lord!" Ophelia cried out when he grabbed her by the collar.

Ophelia thought she was looking death in the eyes.

Killorn yanked her closer, his eyes set on fire. Her heart was caught in her throat. She was brought to her knees, peering up at him helplessly. He released his grip. She was defenseless. He saw it in her trembling shoulders, the words she bit back, and the lack of tears in her eyes.

"Divorce is not what I wish for," he seethed in a harsh voice.

Without warning, Killorn grabbed her by the waist and hoisted her onto his lap. She was frozen as a rock, her limbs stiff. When would she ever stop shaking around him? He thought they had made progress, but all of it was gone.

When Killian woke up without her, when he searched the entire castle for her, that was when he thought he had lost her for good.  He desired for her to feel safe in his arms but he underestimated the torture and trauma that his wife had endured, not to mention witnessing her own husband murdering an entire family before her eyes.

"I am asking if divorce is what you desire?" Killorn roughly demanded, grabbing her by the chin.

Her bottom lip jutted out, resembling a child who never got to utter their concern. He bent his forehead and rested it against hers.

"Do you wish to leave me again, Ophelia?" Killorn snaked his arm around her hips, bringing her upon him.

Killorn connected their bodies even closer, which was easier than expected. Her clothes were thin and he was irked by the material. This was the perfect kind of dress to tear off a woman before violating her; a deliberate choice of attire by the auctioneers.

Killorn's blood boiled. He shouldn't have burnt them alive. He should've skinned every man in the auction house. How dare they touch what was his? How dare they sell a noble lady like her? How dare they shame his wife?

"N-no…" Ophelia confessed, grabbing onto his armor tightly, ignoring the crimson stains this time.

Ophelia was surprised by the outcome of this conversation. She expected him to drag her by the hair all the way to the church. She thought he'd command the priest to annul their marriage whilst she clung onto his legs and begged.

"P-please, I wouldn't f-fathom it," Ophelia emphasized.

Ophelia needed him more than he'd possibly think. If Killorn left her, who would want her? It didn't matter. He was one of the only people in the world who treated her well, despite his bluntness.

"Ophelia," Killorn murmured, his tone softening for once. "Tell me what they did to you. You are stuttering so much that it is unlike your normal tendencies. Am I making you that anxious?"

Ophelia froze. Within seconds, she scrambled off his lap and back to her seat. It happened in the blink of an eye—so fast, that he didn't process it. Killorn blankly glanced at his empty thigh. Then, he angrily narrowed his eyes.

"You're a quick runner," Killorn pointed out.

Ophelia shivered at the ferocity that hid under the silkiness of his mellow voice. She pressed herself tightly upon the corners of the carriage ride.

"Use those same legs and come back to me."

"M-my l-lord—"

"Now."

Ophelia shamefully glanced out the window. She couldn't find it in herself to be worthy of his tender touches. She found herself to be dirty. No respectable lady would be sold like that. She had no right in being his wife, much less, deserving of his affection.

Killorn's aloof voice pierced the air. "If you do not tell me, I won't be able to understand the extent of your suffering."

Ophelia's heart skipped at the softness of his speech. She didn't have the guts to say anything. Her mind was desperately trying to lock away the memories of her hellish experience at the hands of Nathan.  She didn't want to relive those memories.

Equally, Ophelia didn't want Killorn to know the truth of her suffering; he may decide to proceed with a divorce if he knew the extent. Instead, she opted to lean her head against the window and squeeze her eyes shut. A stifling silence passed through them. She didn't have to look at him to know his brooding gaze was roaming all over her body.

At her somberness, Killorn's tone hardened. "I should've protected you better, Ophelia. I know that."

Ophelia tensed. She immediately glanced at him. "M-my lord, I-I didn't mean to l-leave that m-morning, I-I wanted to fetch you your m-morning water from t-the well."

"So it is my fault you were taken."

"N-no, I…" Ophelia realized they were both at a wrong. Was she a fool for trusting in her family's servants? They had always mistreated her, but she never thought they'd be in cahoots with the Nileton family.

Was Killorn an idiot to not hold onto his wife tighter in the morning? Obviously not, he was exhausted from riding across the country to return home to her.

"I-I only h-have myself to b-blame," Ophelia whispered.

Killorn gritted his teeth. He had caused her despair and suffering, but she was blaming herself. He was stabbed with guilt. No amount of pain upon House Nileton would repair the wound in their relationship.

Finally, Killorn lowered his voice. "Come here, my lovely wife, let me hold you."

Ophelia couldn't understand his motives. Why did he always want her presence to be that close to him? Didn't men hate clingy women? Wouldn't her body heat be too much for a warm man like him?

"A-are you c-cold?" Ophelia suddenly asked him.

Killorn blanched. What?

"O-oh y-you must be," Ophelia realized. Maybe that was why he consistently wanted her next to him—so they could warm each other up.

Ophelia glanced around the carriage and saw that above her seat was a blanket. She quickly unfolded it and scurried over to pass him the comforter. It was soft to the touch and smelled faintly of fresh laundry. When she placed it onto his lap, he grabbed her wrist.

Ophelia held back a startled yelp. She stared at him, his large form was as intimidating as a black lion. Even when seated, he was just a sliver taller than her. Her voice died in her throat. His alluring eyes swirled with curiosity, his lips slightly curled. He was dangerous and determined, two of the deadliest combinations.

Within seconds, his face was close to hers. She could nearly smell his minty breath that cooly brushed upon her beguiling skin.

"You think I'm cold, Ophelia?"