The Serpent of Paradise - Chapter 67

Anastasia could barely stand properly.

The first reason was that before they crossed over to the main building, Mikhail took her wildly in her room, behaving more roughly than usual.

He roughly yanked down her dress, then bent Anastasia over the desk in an instant. Startled, Anastasia flailed her arms and tried to grab him, but the attempt was futile.

Mikhail pressed Anastasia’s back down with his large hand. Her pale body was crushed and distorted against the dark oak desk. Mikhail bent at the waist and whispered into Anastasia’s ear.

“Stay still.”

“…!”

Goose bumps rose over Anastasia’s skin at the voice and breath brushing her ear. Her body instinctively understood that she would be safe if she obeyed him. The gleaming toe of a polished black shoe moved closer to Anastasia, whose feet barely touched the carpet. Then she heard the sound of a buckle being undone.

A moment later, Anastasia’s body jolted violently.

“Ugh!”

She braced herself, but it was even more overwhelming than she expected. Yet her body, long accustomed to him, accepted every sensation he gave her.

“You really do swallow whatever you’re given….”

“Mikhail….”

A sob seeped into the voice she forced out with difficulty.

“Did you say I only give you delicious things?”

Mikhail moved as he murmured in an even lower voice. He wanted to silence the lips that uttered such innocent words. He wondered whether she would still be able to say the same thing then. Feeling the pleasure Anastasia gave him, Mikhail moved even more forcefully.

In the room growing steadily darker, Anastasia was forced to endure his torment.

By the time he finished everything, the room was so dark that she could barely see her own hand. Completely exhausted, Anastasia lay collapsed on the carpet and watched him light the lamp. Unlike Anastasia, who was an utter mess, Mikhail looked so immaculate that no one would believe he’d been behaving so lewdly only moments ago. If not for the few creases remaining around the front of his trousers, his neat appearance might have made Anastasia wonder whether what just happened was nothing more than her imagination. For some reason, a wave of sorrow washed over her.

Mikhail looked at the clock and clicked his tongue briefly. It was already well past the time he specified. Anastasia assumed he would abandon dinner in the main building and remain in the annex. But Mikhail bent down, pulled Anastasia up from where she lay collapsed on the carpet, and said, “Oh dear. You’ll have to get ready again.”

“Get ready…?”

When Anastasia’s eyes widened in surprise, he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed. Anastasia couldn’t raise her face as Mikhail looked impassively down at her body, which bore blatant traces of what happened. After setting her down, he went outside and summoned Natasha, who was waiting farther down the corridor.

“Make her presentable again.”

“Yes.”

Natasha immediately entered the room and picked up the dress lying crumpled beside the desk. Then she quickly went into the bathroom, returned with a wet towel, and began wiping Anastasia’s body.

“I-I’ll do it.”

Horrified by Natasha’s hand casually wiping away what Mikhail left behind, Anastasia recoiled from her touch. Natasha often took care of Anastasia when she was in disarray. But Anastasia had never exposed herself so blatantly before.

In the room still filled with the heat and scent of their violent act, facing another person while she alone remained completely exposed was so humiliating that it brought tears to her eyes. But Natasha continued wiping Anastasia’s resisting body as she said, “You need to hurry.”

Anastasia said nothing more. Natasha wouldn’t listen to her anyway.

Her disheveled hair was tied neatly again, and she was dressed once more in the gown Natasha hurriedly smoothed out. But her damp eyes, swollen lips, and the marks left across her body couldn’t be erased.

When Natasha announced that she was finished, Mikhail entered the room and regarded Anastasia with satisfaction. Then he immediately took her hand and led her to the dining room.

***

Anastasia struggled to raise her head and examine the people looking at her. The second reason she found it difficult to stand properly was the gazes pouring over her now.

The Countess turned her head away as though she saw something she shouldn’t have. Catherine scowled fiercely. Ilya looked back and forth between Anastasia and Mikhail with a horrified expression. And Elizabeth stared at her with indifferent eyes, calmly, as though she expected this all along. Each of their different gazes stabbed Anastasia’s heart with a different kind of pain.

Unable to raise her face, Anastasia lowered her head. Meanwhile, Mikhail pulled over the chair beside him and said, “Anastasia, sit here.”

When he placed the chair beside his own seat and called her over, Anastasia’s body trembled. She knew very well what that position signified.

‘Mikhail knows too.’

When they first ate breakfast together and he taught her table manners, hadn’t he explained it himself? There was no possibility that Mikhail was doing this by mistake because he didn’t know.

When Anastasia remained frozen and trembling, Mikhail seized her hand and led her to the chair. To someone who didn’t know, it would have looked as though he were tenderly escorting his partner. But Anastasia felt her hand beginning to ache in his grip.

Thud.

Mikhail forced the bewildered Anastasia down onto the chair, then took his own seat with a satisfied smile.

The seat belonging to the master of this place.

***

The atmosphere at dinner was, quite literally, dreadful.

The air was so sharp that it seemed a single wrong movement would leave someone cut. Amid that murderous atmosphere, the servants brought in the prepared meal. It was a formal Ils-style dinner, with each course served in order. Elsewhere, the table would have been filled with warm, cheerful conversation, but no one spoke a word.

Ilya pressed down his trembling fist and looked back and forth between Mikhail and Anastasia. If he followed his heart, he would demand to know what Mikhail thought he was doing and condemn his disrespect at once. But doing so would mean explaining once again, in front of Anastasia herself, exactly how she was being treated.

It would have been a horrible humiliation even if Anastasia didn’t understand, but judging by the way she couldn’t even raise her head, she seemed to know everything. Speaking of it in this situation would only wound her again. As Ilya struggled helplessly with his anger, his gaze landed on Anastasia’s exposed chest.

Ilya clenched his teeth at the acts the marks on her body forced him to imagine. Then his eyes met Mikhail’s. Mikhail seemed to be smiling, but his gaze was sharp enough to make Ilya flinch slightly the moment they met. It was the same gaze Mikhail gave him in the study.

Ilya realized why Mikhail arranged this dinner. From the very beginning, he intended to show Ilya this sight.

Tightening his grip on the spoon, Ilya forced himself to speak.

“Miss Anastasia seems unwell. I think it would be best for her to rest.”

Anastasia flinched at his words. Mikhail withdrew his gaze, turned to Anastasia, and asked in a gentle voice, “Would you like to go back and rest, Anastasia?”

“….”

Anastasia didn’t answer. No, she couldn’t. Beneath the accumulated physical and mental exhaustion, Anastasia could no longer think clearly.

Mikhail watched the silent Anastasia, then picked up the spoon she hadn’t touched and filled it with the soup before her. He brought it to her lips as though telling her to eat. Sometimes, when they ate a late meal after joining their bodies, Mikhail held Anastasia in his arms and fed her this way.

It was hardly different from what he did then, so how could it feel so completely different now? When Anastasia remained still, Mikhail pressed the spoon more firmly against her lips as though asking what she was doing.

“Stop. It seems Miss Anastasia doesn’t particularly like it.”

At Ilya’s words, Mikhail gave a quiet scoff and replied, “That can’t be true. Anastasia enjoys swallowing anything I give her.”

Anastasia’s face instantly burned at his words. She knew he wasn’t talking about the soup. Her already reddened eyes grew wet again. Anastasia pushed Mikhail’s hand away from her mouth. As though he wouldn’t force her any further, he set the spoon down again. Anastasia hurriedly picked it up so he couldn’t offer it to her once more and lowered her head in thought.

Why was Mikhail acting like this? Why was he deliberately humiliating her in front of everyone?

Feeling as though she was being punished, Anastasia couldn’t understand what answer she was supposed to give.

But she truly couldn’t bear remaining here any longer. Her mind, numbed by humiliation, gradually began filling with anger. Why was he doing this? Why in the world was he doing this to her…?

Just as the indignant Anastasia was about to say she wished to leave, someone spoke.

“I heard you summoned the servants who used to work in the stables.”

“…!”

At Elizabeth’s sudden words, Anastasia gasped in surprise. For the first time since entering the dining room, she raised her head. Elizabeth’s eyes, which she met again for the first time since the day Elizabeth told her to learn the etiquette of a mistress, were terrifyingly cold.

When their gazes met, Elizabeth smiled. At that moment, an ominous chill ran down Anastasia’s back.

It couldn’t be.

Elizabeth smiled brightly as though the vicious atmosphere in the dining room had nothing to do with her and said, “It was lovely to see them again after so long. I do hope they’ll work at Edenhurst again… I truly do.”

Clatter.

The spoon fell from Anastasia’s hand onto the table.