The fact that he remained the same, even after seeing what she had done yesterday, was pure stubbornness, no, downright defiance.

“Your only role is to try desperately to meet my expectations.”

Knowing how much Martian hated such stubbornness, Ron’s behaviour was now unbearable.

She forced his mouth open and slid her fingers inside, grabbed his tongue and twisted it. At the same time, she stomped down between his thighs.

“Zhin, ngh…”

Despite the sharp pain, his body shook, but he held on.

He didn’t enjoy the sadism, he simply endured it.

Even though his trained body didn’t resist her touch, there was no emotion, no desperation in his expression. Just sheer endurance.

Martian found this extremely irritating. The man she had met yesterday might have been arrogant and self-centred, but at least he hadn’t tried to hide his feelings.

He had called her Mistress and was desperate to please her. Even a novice could behave like a dog.

But the one she’d spent years training couldn’t live up to her expectations.

Martian pushed her fingers deeper into Ron’s throat. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he choked. When he instinctively tried to pull away,

Martian grabbed his hair with her other hand to hold him in place.

“I can use you like a servant, sure.”

Her fingers thrust in and out of his throat, making choking sounds.

“But you’re not really a servant, are you? Your role is to be the concubine who spreads his legs.”

“Hngh, g-guh…”

His strained breathing fell heavily, along with the glistening spit that dripped down.

And between the panting, broken sounds, he managed to squeeze out a muffled apology.

It was hard to make out, but there was only one thing he could be trying to say:

“I’m sorry.”

“Ron, if you’re going to be the one spreading your legs, then act like it.”

Tears finally streamed from his reddened eyes. Whether they were a purely physiological reaction to the irritation in his throat, or tears born of the wounds Martian’s words had inflicted, he couldn’t tell. Either way, the sight was undeniably pitiful and desperate.

Under normal circumstances, the sight might have aroused her, but not this time. With a look of irritation, she shook off the hand that was tormenting his throat.

Ron leaned forward, coughing weakly, struggling to hold back the dry heaves that were making him gasp for air.

A tap of Martian’s foot on his knee made Ron stagger, but he managed to pull himself up. He soaked a soft towel in water and knelt before it again, this time to wipe his hands, which were stained with his own saliva.

Despite his best efforts, frequent coughing fits forced him to swallow the spasms with difficulty.

Martian snatched the towel from his hands and wiped them herself. Then she spoke coldly:

“Get another servant to clean this up. You’re dismissed.”

For a whole week after that, Martian did not even call Ron. With the privileges of concubine status taken away, Ron was reduced to nothing more than a servant.

No, strictly speaking, he wasn’t even a servant. He no longer had any assigned duties. Displaced from his role as Martian’s personal servant, he became nothing more than surplus manpower.

In the end, the menial tasks of the servants awaited him: carrying sacks of food, washing the dirty work clothes of the other staff. It had been three days since he had eaten a proper meal at noon.

Dinner consisted of a single small steamed potato and half a piece of hardened bread – worlds away from the meals he had eaten when serving at Martian’s side. The food was so tough that he had to soak it with saliva just to chew and swallow, but the gnawing hunger refused to subside.

His entire body felt drained to the bone and the gnawing hunger was pure agony.

“I knew a day like this would come. Living so carelessly, just because the Viscount favoured him… once he’s thrown out, he’ll have no choice but to sell himself.”

On the fourth day of Martian’s continued neglect, people began to openly mock Ron. But Ron said nothing. He simply carried out his duties. No matter what was said, it was far better to endure it than to be thrown out into the streets. Words alone were nothing he couldn’t take.

What really hurt was his heart. When he closed his eyes, the memory of that night flashed vividly before him – and sleep would once again elude him.

That night hadn’t been about training him. If Martian had wanted to use it as a lesson, if she had been aware of Ron’s presence and treated it as a performance, he might have been humiliated, but he would have tried to learn and imitate.

But it wasn’t. That night was simply a time for Martian to indulge a new lover. She unabashedly showed her delight in him, her face aglow with joy as she threw herself into the man.

Pushing him until he sobbed, slapping his white b*ttocks, then kissing his back with an expression of affection – everything about that night was about taming the new man and showing Ron in no uncertain terms just how little he meant to her.

It was nothing short of devastating.

Ron had been by her side for a long time. Many ‘dogs’ had come and gone from Martian’s side, but none had stayed as long as he had. He had fooled himself into thinking that he had most of her affection.

Watching her tame another in front of him made him realise that it had all been an illusion.

Martian worshipped her men as much as she liked, regardless of how she treated Ron. Even when he was in the room, she had given herself completely to the other man without giving him a second thought.

It was an unbearable pain.

He felt rebellion rising inside him. He didn’t want to imitate them. He had been stubborn, hoping, perhaps foolishly, that Martians would treat him a little differently.

“A thing that spreads its legs should act like it.”

That was what Martians expected of Ron.

A dog who would eagerly accept every touch from his master, who would willingly open his legs at his command. A dog who would do anything to please his master, even if someone else was being favoured right in front of him. That was what she demanded of him.

Used goods, once stripped of their value, were thrown away without a second thought.

Ron had to know his place. That was why he was in this situation now. Martian was teaching him exactly what life was like without “spreading his legs”.

“I won’t throw you away so easily. So you don’t have to be too afraid.But you must make an effort.I don’t want to keep a worthless dog when there are so many others who could take your place.”

These were words she had spoken to him once.

A worthless dog.

As he replayed the words over and over in his mind, Ron closed his eyes. His body ached as if it had been beaten all over and he was tired to the bone, but sleep stubbornly refused to come.

In order to become a dog of value, he had to endure the feelings of grief and resentment he harboured. He had to hide them.

When the time came, Martian would call him to see if he had been properly trained.

If he wanted to return to her side, he would have to show the appropriate attitude.

Ron covered his face with his hands.

Tears that had been steadily trickling from the corners of his eyes soaked his palms.