The sunlight bathed every inch of the room in a soft glow. It had been over an hour since she’d fallen asleep, but Richt hadn’t slept a wink. Leaning against the bedhead, he turned his head to quietly gaze at his sleeping wife.

Her butterfly-like eyelashes were gently closed, and her finely wrinkled rosy lips were slightly parted. Regular breaths flowed from her innocent nose. The face that had endured throughout the night was now relaxed.

Richt raised his hand to stroke her lush blonde hair. The fine hair wrapped around his hand like silk. Everything was as it should be. Their room, the bed, and Isabelle lying next to him.

Everything was as it should be, yet everything was wrong.

Last night, his wife had asked for a divorce. It was completely unexpected. He had been excited at the thought of holding Isabelle again after a long time, but in an instant, his head had become muddled. He didn’t know how to react and ended up doing nothing.

He had once thought that they would have children, spend old age together—everything all seemed natural that he had taken them for granted. Was it all just his illusion? What had changed his wife?

The day he first met her was still vivid in his memory. At that time, he was 26, and Isabelle had just become an adult.

A meeting between noble families. An arranged marriage. A life of conformity as an heir. The meeting that he originally had no expectations became the most crucial turning point in his life.

A count’s lady-like atmosphere. A refreshing smile. Golden hair flowing in gentle waves. Her appearance was captivating at first glance, but what he liked more was her calm and quiet demeanor throughout the meal.

At the time, Richt had thought that the inevitable marriage would not be too tiring with a woman of her character.

However, that thought shattered at his father’s funeral, who died after a long illness. On that day, Richt had to endure the malicious whispers mixed with condolences from everyone at the funeral. It was funny to hear them say behind his back what they wouldn’t dare say in front of him.

‘He doesn’t seem sad at all. How can he be so nonchalant?’

‘I heard that the heir to the Calitheon throne is cold-blooded, so I guess it wasn’t just a rumor.’

‘That’s right. It gives me the chills just looking at his emotionless face.’

Watching his father’s coffin being buried in the ground, Richt showed no tears, and that became the reason for criticism. It was natural; he wasn’t sad enough to cry. His father, the late Duke Calitheon, was a cold and harsh man, to say the least.

Driven by his determination to create the perfect successor, the Duke instilled nothing but discipline and responsibility in his son. If Richt showed reluctance to accept his education, the Duke’s control and suppression quickly followed.

Isabelle was the only one who stood up for him when people, who didn’t know the full story, started pointing fingers and making up stories about Richt.

‘Please refrain from uncertain speculations. How can you say such things at a funeral? It’s chilling. Those of you casually flapping your mouths without knowing anything are even more chilling.’

Her voice was calm and gentle, yet it carried a considerable authority. He’d gotten a good sense of her personality from their first meeting, so he had a good idea of how much courage it must have taken for her to spit out those words. Richt, who had secretly observed from behind, couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at her courage.

And then, their first night.

While trying to lighten the mood with a glass of wine, Isabelle accidentally knocked over the bottle. As a result, Richt’s shirt was stained red. Startled, Isabelle quickly approached him.

‘Oh my, what should I do! It looks like you’ll have to take off your clothes. I’ll clean it for you.’

She took out a handkerchief from the drawer and carefully wiped the stain away. Slyly, her fingers touched his chest. At first, he thought it might be intentional seduction, but her face was serious, like she was in trouble.

Richt watched her with a smile on his face, knowing what was about to happen and wondering if she was being so innocent.

A small hand tickled his ribs, eagerly brushing at the stain, and, Richt’s earlobe suddenly flared. It was a pleasant heat. He accepted her touch, savoring the sensation. The subtle scent of her skin wafted in, and before he knew it, his c*ck hardened.

It was a first. The first time his body and heart reacted to a woman.

Despite numerous approaches from his admirers, none of the numerous paramours had made it to his bed. He shrugged off the curiosity mixed with concern that something was wrong. He had no intention of getting close to a woman he didn’t like just because of a rumor.

He wondered if Isabelle knew that the first time he buried his c*ck inside her, Richt felt compelled to become her voluntary slave. He was willing to be engulfed by the ecstatic sensation she provided, even if it meant dying.

It was then that he realized how strong his instinctual urges were. Just thinking about Isabelle made his c*ck rise without much effort. The agony of not being able to embrace her because they rarely met was almost unbearable.

Richt was extremely wary about succumbing to his desire, but Isabelle, like a massive tidal wave, was unstoppable and he couldn’t help but be swept away. He shook his head, unwilling to dislike the unfamiliar sensation.

Besides, she was a woman who made no demands, asked nothing from him. Unlike most people who approached him and try to take advantage, she was the opposite. She always quietly stood by his side, making him comfortable. The insomnia that had plagued him for a long time was cured because of her.

Falling asleep with her in his arms was like a drug. No matter how nervous he was, after holding her, his head would clear and his sharp mind would calm down like never before.

That stability and peace of mind was something he couldn’t exchange for anything, and for the first time in his life, he felt happy.

Thus, Isabelle gradually expanded her presence within him, becoming more than just his wife, but his own.

Yes, Isabelle belonged to Ritch. Therefore, any attempt to escape from him was unacceptable.

Her eyelashes, nose, hair—her face remained unchanged, but she had changed. Or more precisely, her heart had changed. No, she might not have genuinely expressed her feelings until now, as she might not have liked him from the beginning. Maybe for her, marrying him might have been a task she had to accomplish.

She had no temper to go against the will of her family. That was true of most young noblewomen, but it was especially true of Isabelle. She was quiet, docile, and fragile.

Richt thought she was satisfied because she had never expressed any dissatisfaction throughout their married life. But it seemed like that wasn’t the case.

Her request for a divorce was still a massive shock to Richt. He had never suspected that there would be any cracks in their married life. Where did things go wrong? Could he fix it? An unexplained shiver of anxiety ran down his spine and across his body.

Richt washed his face dry and recalled the events of the night before. A low sigh escaped his lips. He hadn’t intended to be so rough.

Yesterday, he had been half-crazy. The mere mention of being bored had sparked him into a frenzy. The unfulfilled desires accumulated during his stay in the capital, coupled with the infrequency of their encounters, led to a lack of restraint.

He could never forgive her for trying to escape his grasp. He had never been so outright with the concealed instincts she had hidden behind a refined façade and so he violated her like an animal as she cried and thrashed about.  Yes, it was an apt description of his actions.

How could she change when he was still the same, when he still loved and adored her. Every day in the capital, he could only fall asleep by m*sturbating to the thought of Isabelle like a madman.

How could she ever think of leaving me?

Damn it!

He felt like a fool for looking in vain for her to change her mind. A sickening feeling of possessiveness and betrayal like he’d never felt before crushed his entire body.

What was the problem? No matter how much he thought about it, he couldn’t figure it out. Until her birthday last month, there were no signs at all.

Divorce.

It’s absolutely unacceptable. He had to correct it.

But how? By what means?

Looking at the peacefully sleeping Isabelle next to him, his desire surged again.

Damn lust.

He thought, amidst the complicated thoughts in his mind. Even after indulging in it all night, his desire showed no signs of abating. His c*ck was already swollen as if it might burst.

A part of him wanted to be inside her, savoring her silky softness all day long, tying her up if she didn’t like it, making her moan in protest.

Until she admitted that everything was a lie, that she genuinely wanted him, that she wanted him to f*ck her over and over again.

Richt reluctantly tore himself away from the bed, suppressing groans. He had to quickly deal with the matters in the capital and come back.

He couldn’t leave Isabelle with these futile feelings.