52: Chapter 52 Shame and Anger! Submission! Sylvia's Letter!

White Cliff Castle, top floor, master bedroom.

When Rowan Flynn pushed the door and entered, Elise was already there, as if she were well-acquainted with the place.

She had finished checking on the children and distributing the gifts that her mistress had meticulously prepared, and then made her way to this room she knew so well.

The room remained the same as before.

Luxurious, soft, and a large bed.

It still carried the distinctive, comforting scent of Rowan.

Only on the desk, there were a few books she did not recognize.

cauldron of hecate: forbidden alchemy

"What the hell has Rowan been doing this year?"

"Reading such strange books..."

Elise stood before the floor-to-ceiling window, gazing at the silver-glinting waves of the North Sea in the distance, thinking to herself.

Hearing the sound of the door opening, she turned around.

Rowan was not surprised to see Elise there; he closed the door behind him, shutting out the outside world.

He then walked to the large recliner, sat down, relaxed his body, and calmly surveyed the woman before him.

A year later, she was indeed even more beautiful.

It was not the moon-like, cold, and noble beauty of Sylvia.

Instead, it was a more vibrant, wild beauty, like thorns blooming in the wind on the wilderness.

The long journey had not worn down her looks; instead, it added a texture of weathered experience.

Her light blonde ponytail accentuated her slender neck, and her body under the hunting outfit was lithe and full of strength, as if she were a leopard in peak condition, rather than a maid.

Especially those eyes—still full of spirit, yet they had settled with a touch of restrained brilliance.

The evaluation of [84 points] was well-deserved.

In terms of looks alone, she was only slightly inferior to Sylvia and Aria, representing a different style of beauty.

He had already discovered that to reach above 90 points, relying on external appearance alone was not enough; one inevitably needed to carve a unique brand on the path of transcendence.

That was a quality that transcended flesh and skin, reaching straight to the origin.

Elise was also watching Rowan.

This male master who had once shared countless intimate moments with her seemed to have added a few more degrees of steadiness and restrained authority.

He just sat there quietly, yet he made her feel an invisible pressure, causing her heart to tighten.

She recalled the complicated instructions her mistress had given her before she left.

Rowan sat in the chair, his body leaning slightly forward, his fingers tapping lightly on the armrest.

He stared into Elise's eyes, and deep within his amber pupils, a hint of eerie red light flashed extremely quickly.

"Elise," he spoke, his voice not loud, but carrying an unquestionable magnetism, "Come here."

Elise was startled, then her delicate brows furrowed, and she subconsciously wanted to retort.

"Who do you think you are?"

But when the words reached her lips, upon meeting Rowan's deep gaze, she did not know why, but her heart trembled slightly, and the mockery she was about to utter was swallowed back.

Scenes that made her face heat up and heart race flashed through her mind, and a long-lost, familiar thrill surged from deep within her body.

She bit her full lower lip, and a look of struggle flashed across her face.

In the end, she lowered her eyes, moved her feet, and walked step by step to the front of Rowan's chair.

A knowing, light chuckle flashed through Rowan's mind.

As expected.

With a mere 84 points, and having been soaked in his Charm aura by his side for three years, her resistance had long since been worn away for the most part.

Dealing with her was still as easy as pie.

He looked at the beautiful face within arm's reach, her breathing audible.

Elise carried the dust of her journey, mixed with her unique, fresh body scent, which had a peculiar allure.

Rowan suddenly spoke, his voice calm but with a commanding tone: "Kneel!"

Elise's eyes widened abruptly, rage erupting within them!

He actually dared to...!

Did he really think she was still that maid who could be ordered around by him?

She was now here on the orders of the Latour Ducal Mansion, representing her mistress!

She opened her mouth to reprimand him.

However, when she met Rowan's calm, waveless eyes again, that surging anger seemed to collide with an invisible wall of ice, rapidly cooling and dissipating.

Replacing it was a strange mix of fear, submission, and... a hint of secret emotion she herself had not realized.

She did not understand why, but her body seemed to recognize the master before her reason did.

Her cheeks flushed slightly, and her breathing quickened.

After struggling for a moment, she avoided Rowan's gaze, her long eyelashes trembling.

In the end, she slowly bent her knees and knelt before Rowan's chair.

Rowan looked down at her, seeing the earlobes that had turned slightly red from humiliation, and smelling the fresh fragrance from her hair.

He reached out and untied the hair accessory holding her high ponytail.

Her smooth, long hair instantly cascaded down.

Then, Rowan stroked her cheek, which carried a touch of heroism, slid to the back of her head, and pressed down lightly.

This was a gesture she had once been extremely familiar with.

Elise stiffened all over, instantly understanding his meaning.

She raised her head and glared fiercely at Rowan!

Her eyes were watery, with shame and anger intertwined.

But under the gaze of those deep eyes.

She pursed her lips, leaned her body forward, and moved closer.

Then... lowered her head...

...

It was unknown how much time had passed.

Outside the window, the sky was approaching twilight.

The bedroom was permeated with a lingering, hazy atmosphere.

Rowan leaned against the headboard, his toned upper body bare.

Elise, like a lazy cat, lay sideways on him, her cheek pressed against his chest, her light blonde hair spread out, panting slightly.

An intense round of exercise had directly washed away the estrangement and tentative probing brought about by their long separation.

[Charm Lv3 Proficiency +18]

[Drain Lv2 Proficiency +8]

[Free Attribute Point +4]

A good harvest.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder; the ancients truly did not deceive me.

With a faint smile, Rowan ran his fingers through Elise's hair, one stroke after another:

"Tell me, what did Sylvia send you here to do?"

Elise moved in his arms, finding a more comfortable position, and replied in a muffled voice:

"To deliver things. Gifts for the children, as well as some books and supplies that the territory might find useful. My Lady... although she is in the Imperial Capital, she has always been thinking of you."

She paused, seemingly unable to understand why she had so easily... been taken advantage of again.

She had clearly made all kinds of mental preparations before coming, warning herself to keep her distance and leave after completing her mission.

But the moment she saw him, the moment she met those eyes, those resolutions crumbled.

This man possessed an irresistible, corrupting attraction.

"Is that all?" Rowan asked, his fingers tracing down her smooth spine.

"There is also..." Elise suddenly sat up, rummaged through the clothes scattered by the bedside, took out a letter sealed with wax, and handed it to Rowan, "A letter from my Lady for you."

Rowan took it.

The wax seal bore the crest of the Latour Family, intact.

He tore it open and pulled out the letter paper inside.

The paper was delicate, carrying the cedar scent that Sylvia loved.

The handwriting on the letter was still beautiful, but it had a bit more calmness and distance than in his memory.

There was no salutation, nor was there a signature.

The beginning consisted of detailed, almost nagging, parenting instructions, mentioning almost every aspect that needed attention for each child.

Then came some excellent resource support for the territory.

Books, medicinal herbs, seeds, etc.

Throughout the entire letter, the tone was restrained, the logic was clear, and concern was hidden between the lines, yet there was not a single private word, not a single greeting, and not a single affectionate term.

It was as if it were not written to the husband with whom she had once raised seven children, but to an old friend with whom she needed to settle affairs.

Rowan read it quietly.

His fingertips brushed over those neat characters.

Then he slowly folded the letter and placed it aside.