chapter 2
“Kyyaaaaah!”
Caught off guard by the sudden attack, Desdemona let out a shrill scream.
She tried to yank her hand back belatedly, but once the man bit down, he refused to let go.
‘Even if he’s still just a pup, a Beringham is still a Beringham, huh.’
How could he stay so perfectly true to his setting?
Behind her mask, Fiorentia unconsciously let out a faint chuckle.
Could he have heard even that tiny sound, one so quiet it was nearly impossible to catch?
Still biting Desdemona’s hand, the man shifted his gaze and looked directly at Fiorentia.
At that moment, Fiorentia felt as though she had been caught in a snare.
The man’s blue eyes seemed to tighten around her throat.
‘Ah…’
Her mouth went dry, and her breath caught.
With faintly trembling fingers, she touched her face.
Instead of soft, smooth skin, her fingertips met the hard, cold surface of her mask.
Only then was she finally able to breathe again.
‘How ridiculous. I’m wearing a mask—how could he possibly see my face?’
Meanwhile, Desdemona still hadn’t managed to pull her hand free, and her shrill screaming continued unabated.
Stamping her feet like a child, she shrieked,
“Is this thing seriously a rabid dog or what?! Let go! Let go right now!”
The man must have clenched his teeth even harder, because Desdemona’s scream rose another octave.
Only then did Fiorentia finally exhale the breath she’d been holding and hurriedly tear her eyes away from him.
A beat later, she noticed Desdemona’s face twisted like crumpled paper.
She was still struggling desperately to yank her bitten hand from the man’s mouth.
In a voice tinged with tears, Desdemona snapped irritably,
“Are you all just going to stand there staring?! Get him off me right now!”
Only then did the two guards rush forward in panic.
“You bastard!”
One grabbed the man’s shoulder while the other seized his hair and yanked his head backward.
There was no mercy in their movements.
It seemed they were trying to act as violently as possible, knowing Desdemona would punish them later otherwise.
“Ugh!”
The man, who had been biting down as though determined to tear Desdemona’s hand clean off, was finally forced away.
“This really is a damn mutt.”
Desdemona clutched her bitten hand.
Clear marks of his even teeth stood out sharply against her skin like a declaration, and blood streamed from the wound.
“Ahh…”
Desdemona groaned.
‘That must hurt.’
Unable to look away in time, Fiorentia found herself staring directly at the gruesome injury, her brows knitting slightly beneath the mask.
But that was the extent of her sympathy.
‘Who am I to pity anyone?’
Her own situation was far more pitiful than Desdemona’s.
And besides, hadn’t she practically brought this injury upon herself?
‘Serves her right.’
Meanwhile, seeing the blood pouring from her wound only seemed to fuel Desdemona’s rage further.
“You cursed bastard!”
Grinding her teeth, she raised her uninjured hand high and slapped the man across the face.
Smack!
“How dare you—!”
Smack!
The sharp cracks rang out one after another.
Just moments ago, Desdemona had acted as though she would gladly offer him her heart and soul.
Now she looked like a demon straight out of hell as she screamed at him.
“I said I’d cherish you and treat you well! And you dare bite me?!”
Her eyes blazing with fury, Desdemona kept swinging her hand.
“From the moment you were captured, you became my dog! I’m your master!”
Violence and rage poured from her all at once toward the man who rejected her attention with every fiber of his being.
Perhaps because of the curse mark branded into him, the man no longer seemed to have any strength left to resist.
Even after his large body collapsed sideways onto the floor with a heavy thud, Desdemona couldn’t control her fury.
When she could no longer slap his face, she hiked up the hem of her dress to reveal her ankles and began stomping and kicking him with her shoes.
“I thought I might spoil you a little! But trash like you deserves to be used as an experiment until you die!”
By now Desdemona’s hair had become completely disheveled.
No one dared try to stop her violent outburst.
‘At this rate, he’ll die before I can even help him escape.’
Unable to watch any longer, Fiorentia finally stepped in herself.
“Sister, please stop now.”
“…What?”
Desdemona, breathing harshly, turned her dark red eyes toward Fiorentia.
‘She looks ready to kill someone with that glare.’
Meeting Desdemona’s heated stare calmly—even though it looked as though she might slap her at any second—Fiorentia said,
“You said he was difficult to obtain. Wouldn’t it be troublesome if he died?”
The word die seemed to reconnect the strand of reason that had snapped inside Desdemona’s mind.
She let out a long breath and brushed back her disheveled hair with her uninjured hand.
“You’re right. It would be troublesome if this one died.”
Her eyes were still furious, but her muttered voice was noticeably calmer than before.
Feigning concern, Fiorentia added,
“And first, you should treat your hand.”
Desdemona’s gaze dropped downward.
Perhaps because she’d been flailing it around so violently earlier, the wound was bleeding far more heavily now than when she first pulled it free.
“I’d hate for such a beautiful hand to scar.”
Desdemona’s face twisted even further.
Extreme narcissism, self-pity, and inferiority.
There were no words more fitting to describe Desdemona.
She didn’t particularly like her appearance, but she certainly wasn’t the type to willingly accept damage to it.
As Fiorentia expected, Desdemona finally stopped hitting the man.
The man’s body sprawled across the floor now looked even larger than when he had been curled up defensively before.
Only then did Desdemona roughly yank her hand free from Fiorentia’s grasp as though shaking something filthy off.
Fiorentia showed no offense at all and simply folded both hands politely in front of herself.
Before the unconscious man could suffer even harsher punishment from Desdemona, she decided it would be best to take him away herself.
“By the way, Sister.”
Careful not to irritate Desdemona any further, Fiorentia spoke again.
“If you would permit it.”
“…?”
“I’ll take care of this beast.”
Desdemona, who had already half-turned away, whipped back around toward Fiorentia.
One sharply raised eyebrow revealed her displeasure.
Pressing a handkerchief against her wound, Desdemona asked,
“…You?”
Fiorentia had always lived quietly, almost as though she didn’t exist, having learned through long experience that provoking Desdemona never ended well.
Whenever Desdemona deliberately did something cruel to frighten her, she always dragged Fiorentia along to watch.
As a result, Fiorentia’s already timid personality had become even more fragile.
And yet now, that same Fiorentia was stepping forward herself.
To Desdemona, it was an unusual sight.
‘What is she scheming?’
Trying to discern her intentions, Desdemona narrowed her eyes at Fiorentia.
But because Fiorentia wore the mask Desdemona herself had provided, reading her expression was difficult.
“What do you mean by ‘take care of him’ personally?”
When asked again, Fiorentia answered immediately without hesitation.
“I intend to treat him.”
Perhaps because of the mask, her voice sounded strangely muffled, as though something obstructed it.
Desdemona questioned sharply,
“Treat him? Why would you?”
Throwing the handkerchief aside carelessly, she glared suspiciously at the mask covering Fiorentia’s face.
Fiorentia lowered her gaze, careful not to give her the slightest opening.
“He seems valuable to you, Sister. You may wish to punish him, but it doesn’t seem like you want him dead… and very few people know of this beast’s existence.”
Desdemona arched one eyebrow.
Fiorentia.
Her beautiful yet timid half-sister who always seemed somewhat lacking.
It had been a very long time since she had spoken this clearly—and with such reasonable words—in front of Desdemona.
The feeling was oddly unsettling.
Desdemona gestured for her to continue.
“It wouldn’t make sense for you to personally tend to this beast’s wounds, Sister. The head maid and the butler are already busy people. And I doubt the guards would care enough to watch over him carefully.”
“…Hmm.”
“So wouldn’t I be the most suitable person for the job?”
Desdemona’s suspicious eyes slowly swept over Fiorentia once more.