Wicked Husband-Chapter 149 - 148

At the same time, a searing anger burned within her, and a suffocating helplessness dragged her down, as if she were drowning in an endless ocean.

Shattered, Eileen opened her mouth to speak. Her voice, cracked and fragile, emerged faintly:

"But... you still feel pain, don’t you?"

On the night of their wedding, when Eileen first saw his bare body, she had noticed the scars etched across his sturdy frame. She had silently hoped he would remain in the safety of the capital, far from the battlefield, to endure no more pain.

But Cesare treated his body as a mere tool, discarding it with little care. To Eileen, it was as if he had thrown a priceless treasure—one she didn’t dare touch—into the dirt.

"Your nerves aren’t dead. It’s just... your wounds heal faster than anyone else’s. Isn’t that right? And yet..."

She paused, struggling to breathe. The words caught in her throat, choked by the overwhelming anguish that threatened to suffocate her.

"Why?"

Her voice trembled, barely audible.

"What are you doing this for...?"

She thought she finally understood, even if only a little. Cesare must have undergone some kind of ritual, sacrificing something to gain his immortal body.

He must have endured excruciating pain—punishments so cruel that even his iron will had been scarred. It was a torment that had left a shadow over his present, darkening the lines between nightmares and reality.

Piecing together fragments of what he had let slip, Eileen had formed a picture of his suffering. But one piece remained elusive—the most crucial piece. Without it, the picture would remain incomplete.

What was his purpose?

Cesare, the Grand Duke of Traon, Supreme Commander, a war hero beloved by the people of the empire. He was a man who could have anything he wanted with the mere extension of his hand.

So what, then, had he desired so desperately that he endured such brutal agony to gain an immortal body?

It wasn’t immortality itself—Cesare wasn’t the type to crave such a thing.

"You’re doing all of this—even now, risking everything—because there’s something you want. No matter how immortal you are, there must have been safer ways, even if they took longer."

This method didn’t seem like Cesare at all. He was someone who understood the weight of his position.

He knew well the consequences of treating his body as a tool—the political and diplomatic ramifications his injuries could have on Traon. Even as an immortal, the news of the Grand Duke of Erzette being injured would send shockwaves through the empire. And yet Cesare had thrown himself into danger, using himself as bait.

He claimed it was efficient, but even that explanation felt hollow.

What was driving him to such urgency?

It was as if he were racing against an unseen clock, hurtling forward recklessly. That, too, must be tied to his ultimate purpose.

"Please... tell me."

Eileen’s voice trembled with desperation.

"Tell me what you want, Cesare."

For the first time, a flicker of something broke through Cesare’s usually unreadable gaze. Eileen caught a faint crack in his red eyes, like a surface on the verge of shattering.

But even then, he didn’t break. He held back whatever emotions churned within him, containing them. Instead, he simply reached out and pulled her into his arms.

His embrace was as warm as ever. Yet this time, it wasn’t enough for Eileen.

She pushed against him with all her strength, but Cesare easily held her still with one arm, pinning her in his embrace. In a low voice, he murmured:

"I’ve only ever wanted one thing from the beginning."

Cesare first met Eileen when he was 17 years old.

Though on the verge of adulthood, Cesare’s position at the time was precarious. His mother, consumed by madness, engaged in bizarre rituals, claiming they would resurrect her deceased lover.

Born a twin, Cesare’s mother favored only Leon. Yet, when it came to the excruciating toll required for her occult practices, she used Cesare exclusively.

Her baseless belief that Cesare’s body, bearing the blood of the Traon imperial line, would be effective for her rituals drove her actions.

Taking strands of his hair or drops of his blood were the least of her demands. The vile acts she subjected him to were so repulsive that even knights would attempt to intervene, angered by her depravity.

Cesare went along with it all, granting her the last courtesy owed to the woman who had brought him into the world.

But the immense exhaustion was inescapable. Wasting time on fruitless actions weighed heavily on Cesare, who loathed meaningless endeavors.

On the day he first met Eileen, he had just returned from indulging his mother’s whims. Days like those left him particularly tense, prompting him to carefully avoid any unnecessary words or actions.

Having chosen to endure this, he felt it was only right to shoulder its consequences himself. There was no reason for his frustrations to affect the innocent staff around him.

To calm his nerves, he took a stroll through the palace when a small child suddenly crossed his path.

The child, clearly on the verge of tears, wore an expression that screamed lost. Despite that, she bit her lip to stifle her cries and cautiously took one step forward at a time.

Her small hands were balled into fists, her eyebrows furrowed tightly in determination as she navigated her way through the corridors. Passing by the lily garden, her steps carried a surprising resolve for someone so young.

A child wandering the palace—it was an odd sight. Cesare stopped in his tracks, and naturally, Lotan and Diego, who were following closely behind, noticed her as well.

"Oh, look at this kid wandering around," Diego murmured in surprise. Though the girl appeared to be about eight or nine—hardly a baby—Cesare didn’t bother correcting him.

At that moment, Cesare’s gaze lingered on the child. And that’s when she noticed him.

For a split second, Cesare felt a twinge of dismay. His experiences on the battlefield, starting at a young age, had left him with an air that often frightened children. This little girl, already lost and frightened, would likely be even more intimidated by him.