Wicked Husband-Chapter 154 - 153

Count Bonaparte continued to proclaim his innocence, but each new piece of evidence only confirmed his involvement in the assassination plot.

In the whirlwind of events, the rumor that Eileen had distributed Aspiria for free at the hunting festival quietly vanished, swept away without a trace.

Everything unfolded precisely as Cesare had intended.

That Eileen remained unaware of the full truth was also part of Cesare’s design.

***

Eileen silently wrung out a cloth soaked in water, twisting it with all her strength until it held just enough moisture. She then carefully pressed it against Cesare’s skin.

She worked around the edges of the wound, where new flesh had already begun to form, meticulously cleaning his shoulder and upper arm. She felt his steady gaze on her cheek but stubbornly refused to meet it.

The task of nursing Cesare had fallen to Eileen. Because of the secret surrounding his body, allowing anyone else to care for him was out of the question.

The knights, while aware of Cesare’s immortality, were too occupied with cleaning up the aftermath of the incident to offer help.

Eileen was the perfect candidate: she knew the secret and possessed basic medical knowledge.

Just as Cesare had said, the bullet wound that pierced his shoulder was healing rapidly. The recovery speed was far beyond human comprehension, making treatment nearly unnecessary.

Yet Eileen diligently cleaned the wound, changed his bandages, and administered medicine she had prepared herself. She did so without uttering a word unless Cesare addressed her first, and even then, her responses were brief.

Today was no different.

No matter how hard she tried, Cesare revealed only the truths he permitted. She had no choice but to wait on the other side of the line he had drawn.

Her silence was the only form of rebellion she could muster against him.

***

"It seems you’re not planning to talk today either," Cesare remarked lazily. Reclined against the headboard, his upper body bare, one hand rested limply at his side while the other held a document.

Eileen pressed her lips together and continued her work in silence. Cesare did not push her to speak, but his gaze remained fixed on her throughout the treatment.

Since his injury, Eileen had been avoiding him entirely outside of these sessions. She took her meals and slept separately, spending the rest of her time locked in the laboratory. Aside from these brief moments of nursing, they rarely saw each other.

This self-imposed distance felt foreign even to her. It was the first time she had so deliberately avoided him.

Not that her resolve was flawless—she often found herself wanting to check on his recovery. But each time the impulse arose, she forced it down.

She didn’t want to let this slide. He had used his body as bait, and Eileen could not accept it.

Not knowing how else to confront him, she had chosen silence as her weapon.

"Eileen."

When he called her name, she didn’t respond immediately. Only after finishing the cleaning did she finally lift her gaze to meet his.

She waited for him to speak, but Cesare merely stared at her. The intensity of his crimson eyes was too much; Eileen quickly looked away, focusing on bandaging his wound instead.

As she carefully wrapped the bandage, his voice cut through the silence.

"It’s been a long time since you’ve taken care of me like this."

Surprised, Eileen looked up instinctively, only for Cesare to reach out and tuck a stray strand of her hair behind her ear.

Her hair had loosened slightly, perhaps from the movement, though she usually tied it tightly while treating him.

Trying not to let her ear betray her by turning red, she replied softly, "I’ve never nursed you before."

"You did scatter flowers for me."

She immediately understood what he meant. It was a memory from when she was 11 years old. That day, Cesare had looked especially exhausted.

Though still a child, Eileen had understood how busy and important the prince was. Yet he had never shown his fatigue in front of her—except for that day.

When she asked why he seemed so tired, he had briefly explained that it was due to a blood draw. Routine as it was for imperial physicians to take his blood, something about that session must have been excessive, as his complexion was notably pale.

That was the first day Eileen had napped under a tree with him. While he slept, she had gathered white jasmine blossoms from nearby and piled them beside him.

When he awoke and looked at her curiously, Eileen explained earnestly that the flowers were known to aid sleep. She even promised to bring valerian root, which was particularly effective, the next time she visited.

He had smiled faintly at the flowers and at her. Then, reassuring her that he was fine, he had patted her head.

Now, as she recalled that memory, Eileen bit the inside of her cheek to suppress a surge of emotion. His memory of such a trivial event seemed unfair, almost infuriating. Yet she stayed silent, finishing the bandaging with quiet determination.

Just as she secured the final knot, Cesare spoke.

"Was it rosemary?"

"It was orange jasmine," she replied instinctively, only realizing a beat later that he had asked knowingly. He was teasing her.

She sighed and tied the knot more firmly than necessary before standing.

"The medicine is on the nightstand. Please take it right away. Now, rest..."

As she turned to leave, Cesare grabbed her wrist, pulling her toward him. She stumbled slightly, catching herself on the bed to avoid touching his injury.

Startled and slightly irritated, she glared at him. But her anger quickly melted when she met his gaze.

"I can’t sleep," he murmured.

Flustered, Eileen lowered her eyes again. "I’ll pick some flowers for you. Orange jasmine..."

"No," he interrupted, his gaze fixed on her, soft but insistent.

"Stay with me."

It was a request without embellishment—plain and unadorned. Yet Eileen couldn’t move. Her body froze, as if bound by an unrefusable command.

The heat from the hand gripping her wrist was intense. For a moment, she wondered if it was the fever from the wound, but the concern quickly faded.

After days of tending to Cesare’s injuries, Eileen had come to realize the futility of her care. Despite her diligent efforts to clean and treat the wound to prevent infection, it had always been an act of self-reassurance. Cesare’s resilience required neither medicine nor intervention.

* * *