Sera continued as the tears kept falling. "I'd bet my life that all day long, you've been playing the victim in your own head. Telling yourself how wronged you were, and yet, in your infinite mercy, you decided to speak to me first. Blah, blah, blah..."
"The level of your hypocrisy is staggering, Theo. Even your movements during this conversation were calculated. A romantic interrogation designed to pressure me, to force a confession and make me the villain."
Without warning, she lunged toward me in a sudden, aggressive motion.
Protection was instinctive; arms were raised to shield the face from an expected strike. But the blow never came. Instead, a sharp, mocking laugh echoed through the room.
"Hahaha! Do you see it now, Theo? You don't even trust me."
"I bet you've been feeding your ego with nonsense. Thinking about how you've graced me with your hunting, providing food and gifts while I do nothing but complain and stir up trouble. You tell yourself you only accepted this marriage because I trapped you."
"But the truth is, you are the master of your own choices. You accepted. Whether it was for your father or for your own lust, I don't care. You accepted, so stop playing the martyr."
"No... I... didn't mean..."
Before the stuttered defence could be finished, Sera vanished from sight. Her voice drifted back, cold and final. "I don't need to hear your excuses. I'm sick of them."
The attempt to follow her was cut short by the sound of a locking door.
I was left standing in the hallway, alone with a mountain of useless justifications.
Hah... wow.
Am I really a hypocrite?
Why did her words sound so undeniably logical?
Defeat weighed heavily on my shoulders as I retreated. Something was gnawing at my soul, a corrosive doubt that refused to let go. But then, the frustration bubbled over.
Damn her. Why should I have to justify myself at all? Fine. Yes.
I am a hypocrite. The greatest hypocrite to ever live.
The son of hypocrites. And I don't even care to explain it anymore. Fine, I'm a hypocrite. Damn that woman.
The realisation that she had fled under the guise of being "tired" while I had spent precious minutes of my life listening to her insults burned. I had stood there, silent and taking it, yet at the first sign of a defence, she played the "exhausted" card along with a crocodile tear.
I hate you, Sera.
Heh.
A long breath was drawn, venting the internal pressure. People will believe whatever they want to believe, especially when they aren't prepared to hear the other side.
The only refuge left was the training room.
Upon entering, my eyes immediately fell upon the Smiling Imp machine.
"It's been a while since I used you. Time to change that."
The device stood waiting—a specialised nightmare designed for the sole purpose of grinding down the body to force the Regeneration ability to reach its absolute limit.
The machine was entered without a shred of hesitation.
Like a flood meant to nourish the soil but instead drowning it in a violent surge, the terrifying needles pierced the skin.
A scream tore through the silence of the room.
The pain was so absolute that identity itself was forgotten. There was no Theo, no marriage, no hypocrisy—only the searing agony and the desperate prayer for the clock to run out on this torturous penance.
Two hours later.
Consciousness returned alongside stings of pain and an unbearable, soul-crushing fatigue.
The exhaustion was total.
After standing up with great effort, the kitchen became the next destination. Food was consumed ravenously, anything within reach swallowed whole. If anyone had witnessed the scene, their perception of nobility would have shattered instantly; the way the food was devoured was far from elegant.
But hunger reigned supreme.
That wretched regeneration training... if it weren't for the memory-erasing treasure it provided, such self-torture would never be justified. To remember that level of agony would surely lead to madness or a crippling phobia of the machine itself.
Once satisfied, the bathroom was the next stop.
Entering the bedroom, Sera was visible on the bed, sleeping peacefully. A sudden urge to wake her and force a confrontation surfaced, but it was suppressed. The path continued toward the bathroom, which was located within the same suite.
The movements were silent.
The bathtub was filled with cold water, and I sat inside it.
The thought of sharing a bed with her was intolerable. The cold basin was a much more honest companion.
Deep relaxation began to set in.
One hour later.
The tension had fully drained away, and sleep began to hover at the edges of the cold water's embrace.
Perhaps the morning would bring an even more deathly pallor to the skin, but it didn't matter. Waking up in a cold tub was preferable to waking up next to her.
Suddenly, the bathroom door creaked open.
Intuition identified the intruder immediately, but her intentions remained a mystery. There was no reason for her to be here.
She walked toward the tub and stood over me, her gaze looking down.
"Husband," she said softly. "Come sleep with me."