Wicked Husband-Chapter 163 - 162

"...he says so."

Michele let out a frustrated groan, gripping the oversized mug of beer in front of her. After taking a massive swig, she slammed it down with a dramatic exhale, yelling, "How could I possibly say no?"

Her outburst drew a calm response from Senon, who sipped on his whiskey with his usual nonchalance. "It’s true. It’s hard to refuse Lady Eileen anything."

Unlike the others, who were nursing beer mugs, Senon had opted for whiskey. His composed demeanor as he sipped from his glass prompted Michele to wrinkle her nose and grumble. "You look like some noble lordling whenever you do that. It’s annoying."

"Not just ’like,’ I am a lordling," Senon retorted, causing Michele to narrow her eyes in mock irritation.

Diego chuckled and jumped in, "He’s not wrong."

Senon’s face turned faintly red as he muttered, "Stop teasing."

Among the knights, Senon was the only one of noble descent. His father, a provincial magistrate and prominent local figure, had high hopes for him. However, as the family’s second son, Senon wasn’t set to inherit the title. While his father and elder brother expected him to assist with the family affairs, Senon had chosen Cesare instead. Despite his family’s vehement opposition, even severing ties, Senon had no regrets.

Setting down his whiskey glass, Senon turned to Lotan, who had been silently drinking throughout the exchange. Lotan’s gaze was fixed on the glass he absently toyed with.

The gathering of knights was taking place at Diego’s house. Adorned with surprisingly charming decor, it was a frequent meeting place for the group. Given how busy they’d been lately, it was a rare opportunity for everyone to come together after visiting the grave earlier in the day.

Normally, Eileen would have joined them as well, but she had left early, likely to tend to Cesare. The knights, who had witnessed Cesare’s hand wound heal before their eyes, thought her concern excessive. Still, understanding that Eileen wasn’t accustomed to such things, they refrained from commenting and simply saw her off.

"Lotan," Senon called, breaking the silence. The other knights, including Diego and Michele, turned their attention to him. Lotan took a moment to respond, fingers brushing the rim of his glass as he seemed lost in thought.

Lotan’s memories drifted back to the past. It was Eileen who had pulled him from the depths of despair after he lost his daughter. She had visited him consistently, bringing flowers or gifting him a teddy bear she had bought with her saved-up allowance.

Though he felt ashamed to admit it, Lotan had come to see Eileen as a substitute for his late daughter, finding solace in watching her accomplish what his daughter never had the chance to.

In a low voice, Lotan finally spoke. "We serve His Grace, but refusing Lady Eileen’s requests is another matter entirely."

His words drew a contemplative silence among the group. Despite their fearless reputations as Cesare’s knights, Eileen had a way of softening their resolve.

As Michele rubbed her chest, muttering about how her heart still ached from Eileen’s earlier request, Diego broke the silence with a thought.

"But if all of this really is for Lady Eileen..."

The knights exchanged glances, sensing where Diego was heading. He continued, "...it makes sense why His Grace wouldn’t tell her."

His words hung in the air, filling the quiet room. The knights wrestled with their thoughts, unsure how to proceed. It was Michele who finally spoke up, a mischievous glint in her eye.

"Well, in that case..."

Her voice lowered conspiratorially. "What if we help Lady Eileen and... gain something for ourselves while we’re at it?"

It was clear that Cesare’s elaborate scheme—to feign an attack on himself and dismantle Count Bonaparte’s household—was part of a larger plan. But there was another aspect that puzzled them.

Cesare had deliberately orchestrated an incident involving a beast, causing it to desecrate the sacred altar at the hunting festival. It almost seemed like an attempt to sever any divine intervention in human affairs.

"For us to truly support His Grace’s grand vision," Michele added, emboldened by the alcohol, "we need to understand what’s really going on."

***

According to legend, Morpheus, the god of dreams, could take the form of anyone the dreamer desired. From appearance to mannerisms, expressions to voice, he could mimic them so perfectly that no one could discern the illusion from reality. Dreamers would unknowingly play along in his crafted dreams, completely at his mercy.

What had Cesare seen in his dreams?

Eileen found herself wondering what version of her Cesare had encountered in his slumber. She wished she could step into his dream and see it for herself, but that was impossible, leaving her restless.

"..."

Suppressing a sigh—lest it disrupt her current experiment—Eileen bit her lip and carefully measured out crystalline granules of morphine derived from opium.

Using a precise scale, she divided the crystals into 30 mg doses, pausing to deliberate her next steps.

After countless trials, Eileen had succeeded in extracting pure analgesic compounds from opium. It had taken numerous failed experiments, involving heating, filtering, and adding ammonia, to finally achieve the crystallization process.

Yet, she had never considered the effort taxing. For Eileen, any amount of work was worth it for tangible results.

Now, however, as she reached the stage of human trials, she found herself hesitant.

Her plan was to test the substance on herself first. With no detectable toxicity or severe side effects, it seemed safe enough. Still, she worried about alarming her staff or acquaintances if something unexpected happened.

Another concern was her own lack of pain. As the creator of this new drug, she felt obligated to test its efficacy firsthand. But would she be able to find someone willing to trust an experimental drug, especially one as enigmatic as Morpheus?

’To make this mutually beneficial,’ she thought, ’I need someone both trustworthy and in desperate need of effective pain relief...’

Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock, followed by the creak of the laboratory door opening. Startled, Eileen turned to see Cesare standing in the doorway.

He was dressed casually in a shirt and trousers, his hair slightly disheveled. Without the polished look of his usual uniform, he exuded a strangely intimate aura.

Caught off guard, Eileen froze, her lips parting as she stared at him. Cesare tilted his head slightly and asked, "Am I interrupting?"

"N-No, not at all!" she stammered, hastily packing away the morphine and removing her gloves and apron before washing her hands. Her heart raced. It was his first time visiting her lab, and she didn’t know how to react.

"What brings you here?" she asked, looking up at him nervously.

Cesare’s sharp eyes narrowed slightly. "Do I need a reason to come?"

Perhaps it was his casual appearance or the playful edge in his voice, but Cesare’s demeanor felt unusually teasing. Flustered, Eileen fumbled for a response.

"N-No, I just wasn’t expecting you..."

Since their intense night together, Cesare’s shoulder had healed completely, leaving no need for further care. That night, he had also given her a definitive answer:

"Of course not."