The Evil Ladies Form An Alliance

CHAPTER 33: A Temporary Owner

Clifford, ever observant of Rosette, caught the subtle shift in her demeanor. The radiant smile that had lit up her face just moments ago faded, replaced by a shadow of loneliness. Her eyes dropped to the ground, and her lips quivered as if caught in a battle to hold onto a smile. Concern flickered in his gaze as he leaned closer, gently resting his head on her shoulder. His arm moved instinctively, wrapping around her with protective warmth.

"While you were recovering, Johnson took special care of those lovely flowers," he murmured, his voice a whisper against her ear. "You always said they were your precious ones."

Rosette’s cheeks flushed a delicate pink as the warmth of his breath ghosted along her neck, trailing down to her chin. His embrace was overwhelming his muscular arms and large hands enveloping her completely, making her feel small and sheltered. Despite herself, her lips parted, and words spilled out before she could stop them.

"They are gorgeous." Her voice was soft, almost tentative, but sincere. She meant it.

Clifford’s lips curved into a gentle smile as he extended his arm, plucking a single bloom from the bush. He held it delicately between his fingers, the vibrant yellow petals catching the light. "You often come here," he began, his voice tinged with fondness, "to pick fresh flowers for our room."

The word hung in the air—our room. Rosette blinked, startled, her gaze snapping at his face. "In our room?" she repeated, her voice a mix of surprise and confusion.

Her reaction startled Clifford, and he stiffened slightly. Realization dawned on him, and he froze, his usually calm demeanor faltering. His eyes darted to hers for a moment before he looked away, clearly uneasy. He’d said something he wasn’t supposed to, and the weight of the mistake left him fumbling for a way to fix it.

Rosette, meanwhile, shifted her gaze subtly, her irises flicking toward him. She caught the faint furrow of his brow, the way his lips pressed into a thin line as if silently berating himself. The tension between them was palpable, heavy with unspoken truths.

The memory of what the maids had whispered to her surfaced unbidden in her mind: "The Duke has been so distraught since he was made to move out of their shared bedroom with the Duchess."

At the time, Rosette had been groggy, caught in the haze of her recovery. She hadn’t understood the significance of the words or even noticed the enormous portrait of them together that adorned the walls of what she now realized was their bedroom. Heat flushed her skin as the realization sank in. Her body tensed, and she felt her face grow warmer, a deep crimson spreading from her cheeks to her ears.

Clifford’s slip brought back memories of the argument he’d had with Doctor Elwing. His voice had thundered through the halls, filled with disbelief and frustration.

"What?! Why do I have to move out of our room?" he had shouted, his tone sharp with anger.

Doctor Elwing, however, remained calm, his voice steady and composed. "The Duchess hasn’t fully recovered, Your Grace. Since she has no memory of you, it would be best to give her some space to acclimate to her surroundings and the people around her."

Clifford’s tone softened, his anger replaced by heartbreak. "But she’s my wife…" His voice cracked slightly, his emotions slipping through. "How am I supposed to close my eyes at night when my wife isn’t beside me?"

The doctor sighed, offering a patient yet firm reply. "Duke, this is for her well-being. She needs time."

Left with no choice, Clifford had reluctantly conceded. He had clenched his fists, his body taut with frustration, before exhaling deeply to release his anger. For Rosette’s sake, he had agreed, though the decision visibly weighed on him.

Now, standing in the garden, Rosette’s heart ached with newfound understanding. She glanced at Clifford, whose unease was still apparent, and felt a pang of guilt. Her lips parted as if to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. The depth of his love for her was undeniable, and the weight of it left her breathless.

The heat in her cheeks deepened, spreading through her body as her thoughts spiraled. She had never imagined they had once shared a bedroom, a space filled with memories she couldn’t recall. The knowledge made her feel flustered yet oddly comforted. For a moment, she allowed herself to wonder what it must have been like to share that closeness, that intimacy with him.

Clifford, still beside her, hesitated before finally speaking, his voice low and tender. "I… didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable," he said, his words laced with regret. "I just… miss you."

In Rosette’s eyes, Clifford resembled an eager, affectionate puppy, his longing gaze brimming with a quiet plea for her attention. There was something utterly disarming about the way he looked at her—vulnerable yet undeniably charming. Without thinking, she turned toward him, her body acting on its own accord. Her arms wrapped around his solid frame, pulling him close in an embrace that surprised even herself.

Heat rushed to her face, blooming across her cheeks and spreading down to her nape, leaving her skin tingling. Her heart pounded erratically, and she felt like her entire body was aflame. The fan within her—the one who had adored Clifford from the moment she first encountered his character—was completely overwhelmed. The intensity of her emotions seemed to override her rational mind, leaving her in a haze of instinctive action.

Her thoughts swirled in confusion as she held him. Wh-what should I say in this kind of situation? she wondered, her inner turmoil clear on her flushed face. The words Clifford had spoken earlier lingered in her mind, but she had no idea how to respond to them. The depth of his affection, his raw honesty, left her utterly speechless.

Back when Satomi played the role of Cindy, the heroine in the game, she had always relied on carefully scripted dialogue choices to interact with him. Those options were safe and predictable—a roadmap to navigate his affections. But now? Now Clifford stood before her, not as a series of pixels on a screen, but as a living, breathing man. His warmth, his presence, his palpable emotions were all too real.

Her tongue felt heavy, as though it had been stolen. Every word she thought of sounded inadequate, too shallow to meet the weight of the moment. She clung to him a little tighter, her confusion mingling with an undeniable sense of comfort in his embrace. It was strange, and overwhelming, and yet… she didn’t want to let go.

"Rosette," Clifford said softly, his voice a soothing whisper that seemed to linger in the air.

Her heart skipped a beat. "Y-yes!" she stammered, startled by the sudden intimacy of his tone.

"Can I kiss you?"

The words hung between them, their weight palpable. Rosette froze, her mind spiraling into chaos. The boldness of his request sent a shockwave through her, leaving her speechless. Her grip on him instinctively tightened as if holding onto him could anchor her in this whirlwind of emotions.

She didn’t know what to do. Her thoughts tumbled over each other in a frantic rush. A kiss? The mere idea of it left her breathless. Her world felt as though it was spinning, the garden around her fading into a blur. She couldn’t think, couldn’t form words, couldn’t act. All she could do was cling to him, her arms wrapped securely around his broad frame, her heart pounding like a drum in her chest.