Chapter 178: His Birthmark
Lorraine stepped out of Aralyn’s room, her footsteps soft, almost hesitant. The hall was empty, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows on the walls. And there, standing in the quiet, was Leroy.
"She’s fine," Lorraine whispered, her voice low, careful, as though speaking louder might shatter the fragile balance between them.
Leroy nodded without a word. His hand came to rest firmly on her back, grounding, steady. But more than Aralyn, it was her he worried about. He could see it in the way her eyes lingered on the closed door, in the way her chest rose and fell with silent concern.
Lorraine genuinely cared for Aralyn.
For the first time, a deep regret settled in Leroy’s chest, sharp and undeniable. He shouldn’t have left her to deal with the Dowager at all. This mess, this cruel arrangement, had only made everything worse. Never once in his life did he regret a decision he had made this soon.
"She’s just stressed," Lorraine said, though even to herself the words felt hollow. She wasn’t certain what had stressed Aralyn. The woman had always seemed in high spirits just moments ago. Perhaps it was this—the weight of expectation, the dangerous gratitude that hung between them.
Aralyn had been in a good mood before. Content, even. Until Leroy removed his mask.
Her eyes lifted, meeting his face. Now he wore the mask again, flawless as ever, but... something was different.
That birthmark that marked his cheek, subtle yet undeniable—a flaming shadow against his pale skin.
Her brow furrowed.
The Dowager had explicitly ordered him to conceal it. Why would she do that? Why did him exposing it make Aralyn react wildly? She looked like she had seen a...
Lorraine remembered her own dream where she saw his flame-shaped birthmark, on fire.
Her mind raced, every theory sharper than the last.
And judging by the way his eyes briefly flickered away, clouded, unreadable, he was probably wondering the same.
The air between them thickened, charged with unspoken questions neither dared voice aloud.
Aldric approached them after ensuring Aralyn had received the medicines. If anyone had a clue about the truth, it was him.
"What is it about the mark on Leroy’s face, Aldric?" Lorraine asked, her voice steady, though laced with a quiet urgency.
Leroy froze, his eyes widening at the question. But before suspicion could take hold, his attention shifted toward Aldric, curiosity mingled with something heavier, almost desperate.
"You know something, don’t you?" Leroy’s voice was low but firm, probing.
Aldric exhaled deeply, his gaze flickering around as if searching for an escape. But Leroy was faster, stepping forward and blocking any chance of retreat.
"There is... a theory," Aldric said slowly, pressing his lips together as though the words themselves were bitter. It was clear Emma hadn’t spoken of this to Lorraine yet, Aldric figured. But was it time for the reveal? If it was revealed, it would cause a great commotion.
A mixture of surprise and dilemma etched across Aldric’s face.
"I cannot speak it before confirming," Aldric added, his tone measured but heavy. "I will definitely—"
"Tell us what you know," Lorraine interrupted, her voice sharper now, imbued with determination. This was no longer a matter of suspicion, it was urgent, serious, a secret that demanded light.
Aldric’s eyes landed on Leroy, and his words came slowly, as if each syllable was dragged from the depths of regret.
"It’s about..." He swallowed hard, as though the truth was too coarse to voice. "...the way he was raised."
The weight of his admission hung in the air, thick and unexplained, stoking their curiosity further.
But before Lorraine could press for more, Aldric turned his gaze to her, shifting the conversation like a blade.
"Have you decided what to do with Hadrian?" he asked, his voice clinical, almost cruel. "You cannot keep him there for all eternity. Some of us have other matters to attend to."
Lorraine’s eyes narrowed, sharp as steel. "You speak as if he’s garbage to be discarded."
"He’s a pile of horse manure," Aldric snapped, unflinching. "If you don’t clean it up soon, he’ll stink up the whole place. And decide what to do of that half-sister of yours. She has almost lost her mind thinking she could die in the next attempt."
Lorraine sighed, a slow exhale that carried more resolve than defeat.
"I’ll end it tonight," she said softly, her gaze shifting toward Leroy.
She wanted him beside her when it happened. She hadn’t yet revealed her true identity to her father. Would he have figured it out himself? Even if he didn’t, tonight, she would.
He couldn’t die before knowing who she truly was.
She would let her father know that when he thought he had ruined her life, it had, in truth, gifted her the most precious, most blessed existence she could have ever dreamed of.
For she had a husband who loved her fiercely and without hesitation.
"It’s been a long day. Rest first," Leroy said, his voice low, measured, brooking no argument.
Before Lorraine could form a refutation, he swept her into his arms and carried her toward his chambers. His grip was firm, determined, not just to shield her from the night’s disturbances, but to shield her from further doubt. She needed to sleep.
Along the way, Leroy’s eyes narrowed into a glare directed at Aldric. He wasn’t sure if she caught it, but Aldric’s expression shifted immediately. He didn’t answer her and had changed the subject deftly.
Leroy’s mind was already calculating. Aldric knew something; that much was certain. Yet, probing further now would yield nothing. Aralyn... perhaps she held the key.
Once in the soft glow of the candlelit room, Leroy undressed her slowly, deliberately. His gaze was intense, unwavering, as he watched her shed each layer, as if memorizing the woman beneath, her curves, her scars, her vulnerability.
She knew what that stare meant, what it implied. Yet, strangely, the fire that once stirred between them had cooled.
"What happened to the one you wore the other night?" he asked, his tone low, almost teasing, pointing toward her nightgown.
Lorraine’s cheeks flushed faintly, but she masked it well, holding her composure.
"That night you rejected me?" she raised an eyebrow, the smallest smirk playing at the corner of her lips.
Leroy’s expression darkened, and for a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath.