Chapter 83

Realizing belatedly that a woman was under the desk, Campbell closed his mouth and placed the envelope in front of Leon.

"You can continue your report."

After all, the woman wouldn't understand what was being said.

"Why are your eyes that color?"

"Mutant?"

"Is your sandy hair also a mutation?"

"It's because my great-grandmother had brown hair."

How ridiculous.

The woman knew nothing.

Clever Campbell continued his report without directly mentioning the woman.

"Following Captain's orders, I thoroughly investigated the public and private activities of the commander around 26 to 28 years ago. I've also attached the records of the Royal Guard, which was the commander's unit at the time."

Leon put aside the Sinclair case and opened the envelope containing the investigation results of the commander first.

"As you can see, we obtained quite interesting testimony from a close associate at the time. It seems your suspicions were correct."

"Good to hear."

After Campbell finished his report and left, Leon looked through the interview of the associate mentioned by Campbell in the investigation results of Commander Davenport.

Page by page, the corners of Leon's mouth turned up as he read.

It seemed rash to jump to conclusions based solely on her unique eye color and hair, but he trusted his instincts.

And once again, his instincts were right.

'By the way... What was Angela Riddle's purpose?'

As he recalled the events around the time when the woman under his desk now had planted the roots of a life that would never receive anyone's blessing in her mother's womb, Leon smiled.

'That year, the king changed.'

His heart began to race. A thrilling sensation, like when he watched fresh blood flow through a captive's body, spread through his veins.

Leon leaned out from behind his desk and looked down at the woman lying in the sunlight.

One, a diligent maid.

Two, a cunning spy.

Three, a first love who left only nightmares.

Four, the daughter of an enemy he wanted to kill but couldn't.

Five, a pet that played on top of its master's head.

There was no longer a word in Leon Winston's dictionary with a longer definition than 'Grace Riddle.' And it wasn't over yet.

Six, a mongrel born between the royalists and the rebels.

Seven, a descendant who fed on the life of the head of his family.

And the fifth definition needed to be revised.

Grace Riddle is Leon Winston's dog, but not a pet dog, a hunting dog. A mongrel hunting dog with a superior military dog as its father.

And the eighth definition. A woman whose very existence is her biological father's weakness.

Thanks to this, the royalist dog, Leon Winston, could rule over the old royalist dog, who was far above him in rank.

How could he not be pleased?

"Why?"

The woman, who had been lying in the sunlight like a dog rolling in the mud, furrowed her brow and asked. Leon bent down and stroked her face.

"Because you're beautiful."

The woman's frown deepened.

"I'm not joking. You really are beautiful."

To give me such a precious card in my hands. If I had loved you, I might have accidentally confessed my love.

He lifted her white hand, which was gripping the carpet, and kissed the back of it with lips filled with genuine gratitude.

"Thank you, Miss Riddle."

Or should I call you Miss Davenport?

Leon let go of her hand and picked up the collar. As he slowly wound the chain, the woman pouted and got up.

Grace obediently sat between his legs. He wrapped his hand around the back of her head, and she rested it on his firm thighs as instructed. Under the hand that petted her like a dog, Grace fell into thought.

I really can't understand what's going on in his head.

Why did he suddenly call me Riddle? Lately, he's been calling me Bella or dog. It was unsettling. The sudden compliment also made her uncomfortable.

"You're really beautiful. Your eyes hold the sea."

Why did that voice come to mind? Grace shook her head slightly to clear the ringing voice from her mind.

His hand stopped, and a short click of the tongue was heard. The fingers that had pushed her hair back now traced the curves of her ear.

Grace thought of her fiancé in the hands of another man.

Is Jimmy worried about me?

No, he might still be failing despite his continuous attempts. The security around Winston's place should be tighter...

But the raid on the prison was successful. Logically, the security around Winston's place shouldn't be as tight as the prison.

His fingertips, which had been caressing her lips, slipped into the gap. Grace licked the tip of his thumb as a reflex and fell into thought again.

It would be enough to spread the rumor that Captain Winston keeps a maid in the underground torture chamber. If the rumor reaches Mrs. Winston and the Duke, there might be a chance.

If the rumor doesn't work, that's not it. If it had, Mrs. Winston would have already stormed into the torture chamber.

The man, who had been playing with a handful of Grace's hair, asked.

"What are you thinking about?"

At that moment, Grace suddenly realized that she had been swayed by Winston's words and was blaming Jimmy.

"I'm thinking about how to kill you."

A chuckle sounded, and the hair wrapped around his long fingers unraveled in a whirl.

"I really want to kill you too."

His index finger traced a straight line down Grace's neck, following the pulse.

That man can't cut or strangle that spot. So, his brutal words about wanting to kill her sounded like a desperate cry that he couldn't do anything about her.

That made her heart even colder.

'What do you want me to do?'

Grace bit her lip to keep from spilling out the emotions rising in her throat.

Liking someone is not a pardon.

The emotions were entirely his, so there was no reason for Grace to take any responsibility.

Every time she thought that she had planted the seeds of those stubborn emotions in his heart with her own hands, she had to repeat these words.

To her, who was in a life-or-death situation in his clutches, his confusion was nothing more than a rich man's amusement.

The rich, who have so much, still stumble in unhappiness over the one thing they can't have.

To be his unhappiness...

That wasn't bad.

'Then I'll make sure you never have my heart.'

It was a very simple and effective revenge. A smile crept onto her face without her noticing, and the hand that had been tracing the veins on her neck suddenly grabbed the dog collar.

"Come up."

When Winston released the shackles, she obediently spread her legs and sat on his lap. Grace's heart froze and boiled as she looked at his face, which was clearly defined even in the backlight.

Clack. The man pulled the collar. It was an order to kiss.

Master, who has my body but not my heart. As you command.

Grace grabbed his tie and pulled it like a dog collar. It was a petty revenge.

She blocked his lips with hers, which were leaking a laugh of ridicule. She pressed and parted the flesh, pushing her tongue between his teeth. She hugged his neck and tore at his tie, licking and sucking his lips as if to devour them.

It was an aggressive kiss.

Until recently, she would have shuddered with self-loathing if she had been forced to be more proactive. But now, she began to feel a sense of superiority in taking the lead, even if the situation could reverse at any moment.

"Mmm..."

"Haa..."

The guilt of doing with another man what she should have done with her fiancé dulled over time. After all, it was just something she had to do to survive.

And after all, that fiancé...

Stop.

She was about to blame Jimmy again. To shake off the negative emotions seeping into her heart like a snake's venom, Grace focused on the disgusting yet thrilling act of mingling flesh with that snake.

Grace's life was full of contradictions.

The hand that had been roaming over her clothes lifted her skirt. It quickly slipped into her bloomers and roughly grabbed her buttocks.

His arm wrapped firmly around her body, and the man lifted her from the chair while holding her. Surprised by the sudden lift, Grace wrapped her legs around his waist, and their bodies pressed together. It was hot below.

Winston held Grace with one hand and pushed something off the desk with the other. Each time he took a deep breath, his chest pressed against hers, pushing her nipples into her flesh.

Was it the strange friction or the sudden lying down that made her head spin?

Before the black object spinning in the center of her vision stopped, her legs were spread wide. A tearing sound was heard as the tight seam of her bloomers was ripped apart by a brutal force.

Control was lost in an instant, in a way that was almost absurd.

The hot breath on her soft skin made her shiver. As she was startled, her blurred vision sharpened, and the shape of the spinning object in front of her became clear.