57: Chapter 57 The Inevitable Moment! A Girl's Diary!

Facing the now-aroused Elena, Rowan said nothing, responding only with action.

His arm, which held her slender waist, tightened slightly.

Then, he lowered his head.

Clothes fell silently like shedding flower petals, piling up on the luxurious wool carpet.

Elena felt a slight chill all over; at first, she was a bit shy, trying to cover herself with her arms.

But under Rowan's gentle caresses, she soon melted like soft spring water, fully exposing her young and beautiful body to her beloved's eyes.

Embracing each other, they walked toward the wide wedding bed covered in velvet.

...

Next door to the master bedroom.

In that relatively small guest room.

Carlos Gladstone was awakened from his sleep by a faint sound.

The sound seemed to come from the other side of the wall.

At first, he was groggy, thinking it was the wind or auditory hallucinations.

But when he was fully awake and listened closely, the sound became clearer.

After a moment of dead silence...

Carlos suddenly understood what that sound was.

In an instant, a rush of boiling blood surged to his head, causing his still-immature face to flush red, then rapidly fade to a deathly pale.

Humiliation, rage, sorrow, a bone-deep sense of powerlessness...

He gripped the thin quilt on his body tightly.

Who was it?

Which damned, despicable bastard?!

Daring to...

Carlos's mind roared, anger and fear intertwined.

He wanted to rush over, kick open that door, roar, question, or even challenge them to a duel like a real man!

But he... dared not.

He remembered the seemingly gentle but unquestionable arrangements made by Count Farrell after his father's death.

He remembered the cold gazes of the servants in this manor.

He remembered his own frail body and his meager strength that didn't even qualify him as an Apprentice Knight...

In the end, all the anger and impulse turned into deeper despair and icy shame.

He buried himself deep in the bedding, covering his ears tightly with a pillow, trying to block out the terrible sounds that continued like a slow torture.

His small, thin body curled into a ball on the large bed, trembling silently.

Tears finally could not be suppressed, surging from his tightly closed eyes, soaking the cold silk pillowcase.

The night was still long...

...

In the master bedroom.

The storm had gradually ceased, leaving only heavy breathing and intense heartbeats echoing in the quiet room.

Rowan lay beside Elena, feeling the [Drain] skill operating efficiently.

The extreme pleasure of tasting forbidden fruit for the first time, the sinful thrill of breaking moral shackles, the relief brought by rebellious revenge, the confusion about the future, and a trace of fear...

Various intense emotions intertwined into a rich sweetness.

[Charm lv3 Proficiency +32]

[Drain lv2 Proficiency +24]

[Obtained Free Attribute Points +24]

The harvest was bountiful, far exceeding expectations.

A flash of satisfied red light crossed the depths of Rowan's eyes.

His gaze fell on the messy sheets, where there was a striking and fresh speck of crimson.

Like a red plum blossom blooming in the snow.

The corners of his mouth curled into an inexplicable arc.

Then he turned his head to look at Elena, who was in a semi-comatose state due to extreme exhaustion in his arms.

Her flushed cheeks had not yet faded, and there were still tiny tear stains at the corners of her eyes, yet she subconsciously leaned closer into his embrace.

Rowan lowered his head, gently pressing a kiss to her sweat-dampened temple, while whispering in a voice filled with temptation, almost imperceptibly:

"Elena... my charming Little Nightingale... tell me, what does your brother Ravenna... usually like to do? And who does he associate with?"

His breath brushed against her sensitive, rounded earlobe, carrying post-coital laziness and coaxing.

"And your father, the noble Count Farrell... I heard he has been exceptionally busy lately?"

However, the young girl in his arms had been drained of too much physical strength and energy, her consciousness having long since sunk into a warm darkness.

She only mumbled a few broken syllables indistinctly, filled with thick dissatisfaction and sleepiness:

"Brother... arrogant... annoying..."

"Father... bad... went to find that... mistress... illegitimate child..."

Her murmurs grew quieter, eventually becoming almost inaudible.

Her breathing became long and even, and she no longer responded to Rowan's subsequent guidance.

Rowan: "..."

Looking at the defenseless noble girl sleeping in his arms.

He sighed with some helplessness.

Perhaps he... had indeed exerted a bit too much force.

However, there was no need to rush.

He reached out, gently brushing away the sweat-dampened hair from Elena's cheek, stroking her delicate skin.

An [82]-point noble girl, a ripening fruit; the taste was indeed uniquely sweet in its rawness.

"Ravenna..." Rowan looked at the deep night outside the window, whispering silently in his heart, "The two hundred gold coins you owe me, for now, one day's interest can be waived."

"Two hundred and one left."

...

A moment later.

Rowan gently withdrew his arm that Elena was resting on unconsciously, without disturbing her in the slightest.

Then he got up, his bare feet stepping on the soft, long-pile carpet.

Borrowing the moonlight from the curtains, he began to carefully examine the newlywed woman's bedroom.

The room was spacious and magnificent, revealing the wealth and style of the Farrell Family everywhere.

A carved bed occupied the center.

At this moment, the curtains were half-drawn, messy and enchanting.

Against the wall was a vanity table inlaid with mother-of-pearl, scattered with various crystal bottles and jars.

A small desk was by the window, placed with exquisite stationery and a few hardcover books.

Then, his gaze was seized by something hanging on a coat rack in the corner.

It was a pure white wedding dress.

It was draped casually over the back of a chair, the layers of expensive lace and satin as smooth as water still emitting a hazy, holy luster in the dim light.

The intricate embroidery and dense pearls on the skirt hem spoke of the effort and value put into making it.

Rowan's gaze lingered on that touch of pure white for a moment, the corners of his mouth curling into a playful arc.

He stopped looking at the wedding dress and began to search the room.

Until he felt a hardcover notebook with a clasp deep in the bottom drawer of the desk.

He pulled it out.

A dark blue leather cover, the edges somewhat rounded, as if it were often browsed.

Rowan walked to the window, borrowing that ray of cold moonlight, and opened it.

This was a diary.

The handwriting was somewhat immature and neat at first, becoming more fluent as it went on, even occasionally carrying some irritable self-talk.

When he turned to a certain page, his pupils shrank suddenly.

For a long time, he whispered in his heart: "Worth the trip..."

After finishing the young girl's notebook, Rowan gently closed the diary and put it back deep in the drawer as it was.

There was no expression on his handsome face, only a flash of unexpected surprise deep in his eyes.

The moonlight was swallowed by thick clouds at this moment.

The room sank into deeper darkness.

Two steady breathing sounds, one deep and one light, intertwined in the warm, cloying air.