“How about it? Ready to admit I was right?”

The man murmured, his voice low as he gently licked and nipped at her earlobe.

“You’ve already forgotten the pain, haven’t you?”

His teasing tone sent a rush of heat to Tilda’s face. And just as he said, the pain had begun to fade.
Her breathing was unsteady now, and she hadn’t even realized it.

The fever that had burned through her body was easing—along with the agony he’d helped suppress.
At this point, it felt too deliberate, too effective, to dismiss as mere manipulation.

‘Who is this man, really…?’

His voice had sounded familiar for some time now, and an image—a face—was beginning to form in her mind.

‘No… it can’t be…’

But before the thought could fully take shape, it was broken.

“I give you a moment’s rest and you start drifting off.”

His hand, which had been slowly tracing the curve of her shoulder blades, slid downward—cupping the arch of her lower back before gliding over her thighs in slow, deliberate strokes.

And then—his fingers brushed a place far too intimate.

Tilda jolted, breath catching in her throat.

‘No—this is wrong!’

Her face flushed deep crimson in an instant.
‘Not here. Not now. Not like this…Not with someone whose face I don’t even know.’

But as if to disarm Tilda’s resolve once more, the man traced her collarbone with the tip of his tongue, licking and sweeping over it in detail. With the heat of his breath brushing her skin, a languid sigh escaped from Tilda’s lips.

When his face finally lowered to her br*ast, Tilda pushed him away forcefully.

“Stop…!”

For the first time, her voice came out clearly. The voice that had been rough and barely audible now finally sounded like her own.

The man asked mockingly.
“If I stop now, won’t it start hurting again?”

“…I’d rather scream in pain.”

“I’d rather see you gasping in pleasure than crying out in agony.”

Tilda bit her lip hard. She had never heard such obscene words in her entire life. Raised in a sacred household, she had always been close to theology, striving to model herself after the goddess’s purity.

Unaccustomed to such blunt and primal talk, Tilda felt a heat coil deep in her stomach. At some point, the pain had completely vanished.

Tilda muttered under her breath, as if cursing.

“You’re crazy. Getting aroused by a patient who can’t even see? You’re clearly suffering from s*x-obsessed mania.”

“If you were just crazy about s*x, it wouldn’t be so unfair to hear this from you.”

As he said this, he gently inserted his finger into Tilda’s v*gina.

“Ah!”

Tilda gripped the blanket tightly. The man’s breathing quickened with every shiver of his body. His fingers, which had been moving slowly back and forth across her moist v*gina, began to move faster. Tilda couldn’t resist; she was blind and knew that if she showed even the slightest opening, she would be engulfed by pain.

At that vulnerable moment, the man inserted another finger. True to his word, the pain vanished, replaced by an unfamiliar sensation that slowly spread through her body.

Tilda knew what he was doing to her was wrong, but the heat already taking root deep in her belly made it hard to resist his provocative touch. It was something that would surely make the goddess Vallinea weep.

“This should be enough.”

The man whispered, his voice low and rough with restrained breath.

Even just those words were enough for Tilda to sense how aroused he was.

She knew this might be her last chance to resist him, yet the haze clouding her thoughts made it impossible to voice her refusal.

Paradoxically, she found herself wishing that the man would fill the emptiness inside her and ease the burning fever within her.

Tilda was startled by her own longing.

‘Was I always so easily swayed by desire?’

She couldn’t tell whether this was because she had lost her sight, causing all her senses to shift inward, or whether the pain had changed something in her. But never before, not even with Windsor, had her body burned like this.

In fact, he used to complain that she was unfeeling. She had thought so too, believing that intimacy was simply part of marital routine, nothing more and nothing less.

But with this man, something was different.

“Ah!”

That fleeting thought vanished as something thick pressed against her, distracting her. The sensation of being slowly forced open drew a restrained groan from her lips.

“Ugh…”

“Relax. It’ll hurt less.”

His voice was gentle, and as if trying to comfort her, he continued to place delicate kisses across her skin, moving forward slowly.

“Mm…”

He let out a low sound, and for the first time, Tilda found herself wondering what he was thinking.

‘What expression is he wearing right now?’

“Haa.”

When he finally reached the end, the man let out a deep sigh. Tilda sighed, too. She could feel a hot sensation in her lower body.

“Stay as still as possible. Then you can enjoy it too.”

That’s what he said! Before she could complain, the man moved his hips. When a hot pain arose from below, Tilda inwardly cursed the man once again.

Given her body’s fragile state, it was inevitable that it would hurt. The swollen p*nis moved in and out of her at a moderate pace. With each movement, the man let out an impatient breath.

She could sense his desire from his breathing alone, yet he never urged his actions, as if holding himself back.

Why…? The moment she realised this, Tilda relaxed her body. Seizing the opportunity, the man thrust his p*nis deep inside her.

“Ugh!”

Tilda grabbed the man’s forearm tightly. A tingle shot down her spine as something flashed through the pain.

The man pressed the same spot on her forearm, his slender fingers brushing against it. A sharp, tingling sensation surged through Tilda, stealing her breath.

“Hah… yeah!”

A raw sound escaped her lips before she could stop it.

He continued, unrelenting in his focus, and each movement sent flickers of sensation dancing through her mind. The overwhelming pleasure began to eclipse the pain, leaving Tilda frozen in place, unable to process the intensity.

“Breathe.”

His voice steadied her. Tilda blinked rapidly, then finally let out a long, shaky exhale. Only then did he resume moving.

Driven by something she couldn’t name — pain, heat, or sheer instinct — Tilda reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging to him.

He responded by placing gentle kisses across her face, each one light and deliberate, like the soft tapping of a bird’s beak.

In that moment, Tilda began to understand why her body responded so fiercely to this man’s touch.

His hands and lips were filled with a tenderness Tilda hadn’t felt in years—not since her mother’s death.

After that, her father had grown cold and distant, and Windsor…
Windsor had only ever looked for ways to blame her. For everything.

Maybe that’s why she reacted so intensely to the affection of a stranger—a man whose face she had never even seen.

It was pitiful. Pathetic, even.

Ashamed, Tilda pressed her lips tightly together, trying to swallow the rising wave of self-loathing.

The man, unaware of her thoughts, gently kissed her closed eyelids and whispered.
“Do you know why they took your sight?”

Tilda said nothing. She couldn’t. The weight of sorrow in her chest left no room for words.

“Because your eyes shone brighter than anyone’s.”

She hadn’t expected that.

And for the third time, tears slipped down her cheeks. But this time, they weren’t born of pain or confusion.

For the first time, what overwhelmed her wasn’t physical suffering—but something warm. Something quietly kind.

And with it came a deep, aching question that settled in her heart like grief:

‘How could a man who didn’t even know her unlock her frozen heart so easily…when her own husband never even tried?’

Why did the only person who truly understood and loved her—her mother—have to leave so soon?
Why had her father never once said, “It wasn’t your fault she died”?

And why…

‘Why was she only realizing all of this now?’

The grief she had buried for so long beneath layers of indifference, composure, and silence finally broke free.
Tilda sobbed—raw, uncontrollably—her chest rising and falling with every breath.

Like a child who had just had their favorite candy stolen…She cried as if her world had been shattered.

The man brushed away her tears with his tongue, as though tasting something precious—sweet, like syrup.

“I wanted to see you gasping with pleasure, not crying like this.”

Despite herself, Tilda managed to choke back her tears just long enough to respond, voice thick with emotion.

“…You’re a pervert.”

“I’ll take that, It’s not exactly wrong.”

His shameless honesty made her exhale—half a laugh, half disbelief.

In the darkness, she began to form an image of his face. She couldn’t see him, but… she didn’t need to.

The voice that had comforted her. The strength in his arms. The way he teased her, provoked her, caught her off guard. It was all unmistakable.

She knew who he was. She just didn’t want to admit…that it was him she had shared all of this with.

Considering his status, what was happening now was something that absolutely should not be.

“…Will my sight truly return?”

“As surely as your body has already healed.”

And he was right. Even without the overwhelming waves of sensation, her body no longer ached. The pain had completely vanished, and the fever had subsided.

It was strange. To think her sight could return as well—something not even divine power had been able to restore.

She thought she knew who this man might be… and yet, she still felt lost in a maze.
‘Who is he, really…?’

Just then, as if to remind her of his presence, the man moved his hips. He struck a sensitive spot unexpectedly, and Tilda flinched.

“Ah—!”

The man chuckled softly at her unguarded reaction. Even without her sight, she could now easily imagine the expression he was wearing.

And this time, Tilda didn’t try to push him away. There was no point in resisting—not anymore. What was done could no longer be undone.

So, like surrendering to an unstoppable tide, Tilda clung to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and giving herself up completely.

Tonight would be the only night she allowed herself to accept a man like this—shameless, unrelenting, and yet the only one who had held her when she was at her lowest.

Today, she had been handed divorce papers by her husband.
She had learned a horrifying truth. She had nearly drowned in the freezing sea.

Everything that had happened—too surreal, too impossible—felt like a dream she hadn’t quite woken from. So she decided this night would be no different. A fleeting illusion. A daydream that would vanish with the morning light.

The man, sensing her surrender, responded in kind—his movements deepening, his presence consuming.
The night seemed to stretch on endlessly, their bodies locked in a rhythm born of desperation and release.
Over and over, they met at the edge of everything, until at last, she collapsed against him, utterly spent, her consciousness slipping away like a candle’s dying flame.

Only then… did the world grow still again.

When Tilda next opened her eyes, she was met with warmth.

Sunlight spilled across her face in golden streaks. Above her, the sky stretched wide and clear—flawless blue without a single cloud. She could see it.

‘She could see everything.’