“I will not be able to bear your child.”

Her voice was lifeless and his eyes narrowed at her words.

“Why do you think that?”

“Just look at me.”

The bright sunlight shone harshly on her sunken cheeks, her hair as dry and pale as corn silk, her neck so thin that the veins protruded, her collarbones jutting out sharply.

Regina looked like a vegetable cooked too long – drained of colour and flavour, barely holding its shape, her body on the verge of collapsing.

“As you can see, I can’t possibly carry a child.”

“The doctor didn’t say you were barren.”

“He didn’t say it was possible. Am I wrong?”

He stared at her intently, with an unreadable expression, his gaze as elegant and cold as a well-crafted ceremonial sword. Unable to bear it, she lowered her eyes.

“While I was in a vegetative state, I didn’t menstruate once. It’s been over a year – I’m practically infertile at the moment.”

“Who told you that? The doctor? Or a maid?”

“Why? Is it so strange that I understand my own body?”

“I just want to know who planted this insecurity in you.”

“No – you want to root out a traitor.”

Every servant in this household obeyed Grey’s orders to the letter. If he didn’t allow it, she wouldn’t even know if she was dying of an incurable disease.

This isolated, luxurious cage – its coldness, its loneliness – was unbearable.

“It’s not too late, Grey. Divorce me and take a new wife.”

Smile, Regina. Smile like the future will be bright for both of you if you part now.

Smile like you’re not imagining his ‘perfect’ new wife or the sweet, lovely children he’ll have.

“You really are a cruel woman.”

Grey reached out and stroked her slender neck.

It felt like he was either comforting her – or trying to strangle her.

But he did neither.

“For someone who cries endlessly at the mere mention of divorce, you sure talk easily about splitting up.”

He gently wiped the tears from Regina’s eyes, then licked his fingers. The bitter taste of sorrowful, unrequited love in her tears amused him.

“You love me, don’t you, Regina.”

The arrogant smile on his cold lips backed her into a corner.
“You’ll never be able to leave me.”

Like a hawk seizing a rabbit, Grey grabbed her hair and devoured her lips in a sudden kiss.

His scent, mixed with his body heat, washed over her like a crashing wave, overwhelming her senses.

It was their first kiss in over a year.

Though their lips touched, it felt more like two sharpened blades colliding – sharp and painful.

“Stop…”

She tried to push him away, but even the brief gap that formed was quickly closed.

From his lips pressed against hers, from the hands that held her so tightly, she felt the overwhelming presence of a man who loved her fiercely.

There was no way to resist.

Her weakened hands fell helplessly to her sides and tears streamed down her cheeks like a broken faucet.

Grey, watching her from so close, smiled with his eyes.

“Regina. My wife.”

Grey pressed his lips roughly against hers, as if savouring a beautiful possession.

Not content with that, he trapped her completely in his arms.

The body beneath his palms was so fragile it felt as if it might break – there was no place he could touch her without fear of hurting her.

She was like a glass of water he couldn’t drink from, which only made his thirst worse.

For a moment it felt as if a small hand had touched his shoulder.

Was she trying to embrace him?

No – that was an overly optimistic, self-centred delusion.

Regina hit him with clenched fists, trying to push him away.

The taste of salt lingered on her lips – the only source of colour in that pale face – growing stronger with each breath.

Her small tongue resisted, pushed back, her delicate mouth colliding with his in a desperate friction of refusal.

The words she tried to say never came out – they were swallowed between them, muffled and lost.

Not that he would have heard them anyway.

His ears were ringing, his entire awareness narrowed to the heat of her body pressed against his.

Time seemed to blur – either frozen or racing forward, and he couldn’t tell which. But it didn’t matter.

He was consumed by the softness within reach, tugging at the thin layers of fabric that held her warmth, her scent.

Her white garments fluttered silently to the floor.

Whether time crawled or raced, it would end the same.

She had been swept helplessly along – until she suddenly went limp.

It was as if ice water had been poured over him. Her body slipped from his arms.

“…Regina?”

Barely catching her, he eased her onto the bed and looked at her for the first time.

Her face was streaked with tears.

She was gasping for breath, coughing so violently it seemed her whole body was going to seize up.

“Cough, cough!”

Watching her almost choke on a kiss left him speechless.

Regina looked even paler than the sheets the maids boiled and scrubbed every day.

Only then did he remember that his wife had only recently awoken from her coma.

Disgusted at himself for losing control, Grey pulled out a handkerchief and gently wiped her wet lips.

Huddled and trembling slightly, Regina looked strangely cold.

Although he had covered her with a blanket, the flatness beneath the sheets made him scoff.

“Where do you think you’re going with that pitifully weak body? Instead of wasting time on nonsense, you should concentrate on your recovery. That way you can accept me – and carry the heir of House Cabil, can’t you?”

He pressed down on the area around her abdomen through the blanket, assuming that’s where her womb would be, and Regina’s eyes rolled back in her head.

This time she had actually fainted.

“So fragile.”

He murmured with a click of his tongue.

He pulled out a cigar and placed it between his lips. The bitter taste and warmth burned away the last traces of her from his tongue.

As he turned to leave, his steps noticeably lighter, a soft crunch sounded beneath his foot.

It was that damned divorce petition.

Written with painstaking precision, each letter pressed deep into the paper by a woman too afraid to meet his eyes—afraid that if she did, her heart might falter.

***

In her dream, Regina was walking through a garden of autumnal colours.

Grey was beside her, holding a parasol to protect her from the sun.

“If you let your guard down just because it’s autumn, you’ll end up burnt black.”

“Thank you.”

She hurried to find traces of love in his indifferent expression.

Not realising that it was all part of a strategy to win his favour, she let herself be carried away by his tenderness and began to babble nonsense.

“It’s strange, isn’t it? It’s the same sun, but I don’t like autumn sunlight.”

“Any particular reason?”

“The spring and summer sun nourishes life. But the autumn sun feels like a fiery blaze trying to dry up the last flowers.”

With her beautiful lips pouting slightly, Regina turned to look around the garden.

The grass had already turned golden and dry, and the leaves seemed to be fighting a colour war of yellow, red and lingering green.

Autumn, blooming over the withered flowers, was dazzling.

“I’m curious about one thing.”

“What is it?”

Would you like the next part of the scene translated as well?

Lost in thought, Grey finally spoke, his voice soft and thoughtful.

“Why do women like flowers? They’re not practical. They wither so quickly. And they’re so common, they have no real value.”

Regina, who had been listening with rapt attention, blinked in surprise – then suddenly burst into laughter.

She couldn’t help it. How could someone with such a calm, frosty face say something so utterly ridiculous?

“Is that really what a man who sends me flowers every day should say, Grey?”

“I send them, because of the way you smile when you receive them.”

His eyes fell to the soft curve of her lips and watched as a dimple began to form at the corner of her mouth. Without thinking, he reached out and touched it with his finger – lightly, gently.

There had been a time when even that fleeting sensation, the barest brush of skin, had felt achingly beautiful.

“Now that you’ve stopped laughing, give me your answer.”

“I’ve already said it, Grey.”

“You have?”

“Yes. Flowers may be impractical, short-lived and ordinary… but they’re given just for me.”

A gift meant for no other reason than to bring her joy. That alone made them perfect.

“You think flowers are worthless, but you give them to me anyway – because you know I like them. So how could I not love the flowers you give me?”