Chapter 2

Yvonne had been shrinking into herself even before entering the Count’s study. Now, it felt impossible to breathe. The weight of their stares pressed down on her. She ducked her head lower, avoiding the piercing gazes of her family.

“I… I can’t do it…” 

“Haah…” 

A sigh – dripping with “I expected this” – made her shoulders jerk. Alexander continued, undeterred:  

“Do you even realize whose generosity let you live this comfortably without lifting a finger? And now you claim you can’t stand quietly beside someone during a conversation?”  

“But I… I hardly even go outside the estate…” 

Her voice trembled, eyelids flushing red. If she spoke another word, she’d sob. Yvonne bit her lip hard.  

“Useless. Even a guard dog earns its keep.”  

“Alexander.”  

Only then did Nina quietly intervene, and Alexander fell silent. But Nina, too, sounded exhausted. Her voice was colder than usual:  

“Yvonne, leave.”

“……” 

Yvonne couldn’t reply, too busy swallowing tears. Just walking out without collapsing was all she could manage.  

‘Stand before vassals and tenants? I can’t…’  

Nina had said she only needed to stand there during greetings, but even that terrified her. The loaded stares, the whispers of “monster” – even the servants and knights avoided her.  

“Young Lady.”  

“…!”  

Max. The knight had been in the study too – one of the few who didn’t flinch from her. Yvonne hastily wiped her tears with her wrist, but they kept falling.  

“Use this.”  

The red-haired knight with black eyes offered a handkerchief.  

“N-No, it’s fine…”  

She’d rather he pretended not to see her like this. But Max stepped closer instead.  

“You’ll chafe your skin at this rate…”  

His broad frame blocked the hallway’s light as he dabbed her face himself. The shock made her tears stop, only for her cheeks to burn crimson instead.  

‘D*sgusting.’ 

Even her great-uncle (now her grandfather-by-marriage) called her hideous to her face. How could Nora and Max treat her so kindly?  

And Logan, too…  

“Yvonne.”  

“Logan…?”  

Max noticed Logan approaching from behind and excused himself with a nod. Logan waited until he was gone before smirking.  

“Your lover?”  

“Wha– No! Of course not!” 

“So you like him?”  

She shook her head violently. Logan tilted his head, feigning confusion.  

“You don’t? He’s handsome… and kind.”  

That wasn’t the point.  

Yvonne clenched her jaw. Couldn’t he see? This ghostly skin, these blood-red eyes…  

Her great-uncle had declared that no one with her looks should marry or bear children. Not that it mattered–she knew no one would ever want her. Romantic feelings were a luxury she couldn’t afford. She’d never liked a man that way.  

Probably.  

Logan studied her gloomy expression and smiled, slow and knowing.  

The tears had stopped, but nothing else could hold her attention. She picked up a book, yet the pages remained unturned long after. In the end, Yvonne drank the sleeping draught Logan had given her and fell into a swift, heavy slumber.  

And as always, the dream began again.  

“Here… someone could–ah!…come….Nn… please…” 

“Then you’d better be quick.”  

“Hic…! Ngh…!” 

“If you take too long, they’ll find you.”  

The western edge of Schmidt Manor held a small, untamed garden, more a thicket than a proper courtyard. Knights patrolled it only at scheduled intervals; otherwise, it stood abandoned.  

And there, pressed against a tree, Yvonne touched herself.  

She wore nothing but a nightgown so thin it might as well have been mist. The delicate white fabric clung to her damp skin, the neckline scandalously low – a style she would never dare wear awake. But shame had long since burned away. She’d tugged the gown down entirely, baring her br*asts to the chill air. Her n*pples stiffened at the slightest brush of wind, and she pinched them sharply, just as he had in her dreams.  

“Hahh…!”  

Her chest heaved as she gasped, fingers sliding lower to rub frantic circles between her thighs. The thought of being seen was unbearable – yet the thrill coiled hot in her stomach, her inner walls fluttering around nothing.  

The pl*asure crested, then retreated, taunting her. Like him. Like the man who’d ruined her for anyone else.  

“Need help?”  

“…Nn…” 

Even in dreams, she couldn’t surrender completely. But her traitorous body kept moving, chasing the edge.  

“Someone’s coming, Yvonne.”  

Liar. She squeezed her eyes shut, focusing only on her cl*t. Almost there…  

“Young Lady?” 

Her eyes snapped open.  

A knight stood paces away, his red hair tousled by the wind. Max. Of course it was Max. His gaze locked onto her disheveled state – the gown pooled at her waist, her thighs glistening – and his cheeks flushed dark.  

“Are you… unwell?”  

Don’t look. Please don’t–  

But dream-Max, ever dutiful, stepped closer. Sunlight caught on the sweat-slicked hollow of her throat, the rise of her bare br*asts. His Adam’s apple bobbed.  

“Your… clothes…”  

Humiliation burned her cheeks. The worst dream yet. Yet the haze in her mind was a mercy – she knew this wasn’t real. The shadowy man who’d brought her here had vanished, leaving her stranded.  

“H-help me…”  

“Of course. Let me take you to your–ah, your gown first–” 

Max reached for her, his calloused hands trembling. Sword scars mapped his skin, but now he looked utterly undone.  

“Nn… No, not–not like that!”  

She shook her head violently. A tear splashed onto his wrist.  

“It… itches. Inside. I mean–!”  

Max froze. His jaw tensed as realization dawned.  

“Max, please… I’m suffering…”  

A ragged breath tore from him. His pupils swallowed the black of his eyes as his gaze traced her body – the peaked n*pples, the thighs parted in invitation.  

“May I… assist you?”  

Yvonne’s breath hitched. This isn’t real. A dream. Only a dream.  

Yet when she nodded, Max sank to his knees.  

“Young Lady…?”  

She swallowed hard. Just once. It doesn’t count.  

“Yes, Max. Help me.”  

Slowly, she hitched the nightgown higher. When her s*x glistened bare, Max’s lips parted. Her folds were swollen, dripping – obsc*ne. His hand hovered, then cupped her.  

“Ah–! Too rough…!” 

His sword-calloused fingers dragged against her oversensitive flesh. Yet she ground down anyway, whimpering. Max’s nostrils flared.  

“If… if you’ll allow me…” His voice dropped to a growl. “May I use my mouth?”  

Yvonne’s lungs seized. His mouth–?  

But she was nodding before she could think.  

Max hauled her up, pinning her against the tree. One leg hooked over his shoulder, baring her completely. Then…  

“Wait, you can’t–ahh! Not, there–!”  

His tongue swiped through her folds. The knight’s famed discipline now served only to ruin her. She fisted his hair, hips jerking as he licked into her like a man starved.  

“Nn, ah! Too much–! Max, Max..!”

He ignored her, gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. His tongue circled her cl*t, then bit down.  

Yvonne screamed.  

Pl*asure detonated – but Max didn’t stop. He lapped at her through the aftershocks, then pushed deeper, his tongue spearing into her clenching hole.  

“Hah! No–! Stop, ah…♡!”

Her walls fluttered around the intrusion, gushing. Max groaned against her, the vibration wringing another cry from her throat.  

“D*sgusting,” she sobbed. “I’m d*sgusting–”  

But he only drank her down, relentless, until her knees gave out.  

Yvonne frantically examined her body the moment she woke up. In the dream, she had been wearing a white dress that exposed her upper chest, but thankfully now she was wrapped in a loose ivory nightgown.  

She rushed to her dressing room and rummaged through her clothes – grays, blacks, deep navies… Dresses with necklines that rose almost to her chin and sleeves that completely covered her wrists, all designed to hide her pale skin. There was no sign of the dress from her dream. Her ragged breathing steadied slightly, but…  

She slowly approached the mirror. Even on normal days, it took several attempts to steel herself before facing her reflection. Today, it was even harder. But she had to. There was something she needed to confirm. She swallowed hard.  

An unnaturally white face with hair even paler than that. Crimson eyes so vivid she could hardly stand to look at them herself. She averted her gaze from her face and carefully pulled aside her nightgown. The fabric rustled as it slipped away, revealing her bare skin and at the same time, a soft moan escaped her lips.  

On her snow-white thighs, vivid red marks stood out. As if someone had gripped her hard… A shiver ran down her spine. Desperately holding back tears, she kept her eyes fixed on the mirror and turned to look behind her.  

“…Hng.”  

There were faint bruises on her b*ttocks too. Yvonne buried her face in her hands.  

But the strange marks weren’t the only thing left on her body. As always, between her legs was slick with w*tness. Yvonne had to wipe it away, stifling her sobs. She had hoped against hope, but it must have been an incubus. Or maybe she was going insane. There was no other explanation for these terrifying events. Should she call a priest? Or a doctor first…?  

No, no. Yvonne shook her head in fear. If she wasn’t careful, she could be accused of witchcraft and burned at the stake. She didn’t want to meet such a horrific end. Before anyone noticed, she had to find a way to handle this herself.  

Holding her breath, she carefully slipped out of her room and headed to the library. There had to be a prayer book there to drive out demons. She made every effort not to run into anyone – especially Max. Her dreams seemed to be tied to whichever man she encountered, and if she faced Max right after such a dream, she couldn’t even imagine the expression she’d make.  

But in the library, Yvonne ended up face-to-face with the two people she least wanted to see after Max.  

“Hello, Yvonne. Looking for something?”  

Warm, sunset-like eyes found her, and a friendly smile followed. Yvonne’s heart pounded violently. Of course it would, Logan’s voice was so much like the man’s in her dream…  

“I…”  

“Logan, focus on your paperwork.”  

Alexander dismissed her with barely a glance. Yvonne stood frozen for a moment before hesitantly moving toward the bookshelves. Soon, the sound of Alexander and Logan bickering drifted over.  

“Brother, are you jealous? The cute little sister only follows me around.”  

“Stop wasting time. Sort out the rest of these documents yourself.”  

“Wait, sit down. Mother told you to teach me, remember?”  

Without realizing it, Yvonne found herself listening to the brothers’ exchange. Alexander was cold to Logan too, but it was nothing like how he treated her. And Logan, teasing Alexander like this…  

Somehow, she felt even lonelier than when she was by herself. Clutching the prayer book, Yvonne hurried out of the library.

* * *

Yvonne couldn’t sleep. Through Nora, she had Logan prescribe her sleeping pills again. Though she feared dreaming, staying awake was equally terrifying, fear was sharper when conscious. Without hesitation, she gulped down the sweet l*quid.

“Yvonne.”  

That man’s voice again. The only voice that ever called for her… It sounded strangely desperate. She turned toward the sound and saw a familiar face.  

“So it was you after all…”  

She’d known it. As Yvonne smiled faintly, Logan exaggerated a wounded expression.  

“You looked for me? I didn’t think you would.”  

Unsure how to respond, Yvonne blinked awkwardly. Then Logan spread his arms, an invitation to embrace him, but she’d never initiated physical contact with anyone before. As she hesitated, he finally grabbed her wrist and pulled her in.  

She stumbled into his arms unintentionally. Through the fabric, she felt the heat and firmness of his body. Then came his large hands enveloping her face completely.  

Her heart raced. It felt similar to anxiety or fear. His crimson eyes darkened as he leaned in, their lips pressing together firmly.  

At first, Yvonne didn’t understand what was happening. Then she remembered – this was a kiss, something she’d only read about in novels.  

Even in text, kisses had seemed provocative, but reality surpassed imagination. Just the touch of their lips sent electric currents radiating through her entire body.  

By the time her mind went blank, their lips parted. Yvonne’s eyes fluttered open to find Logan wearing a mischievous expression.  

“Didn’t think you’d let that bastard have you down there.”  

“Who…?”  

“Max.”  

“Oh…”  

Her dream-addled mind was still sluggish, making it hard to recall. As she struggled to piece together fragmented memories, her nightgown slipped down her body.  

Only when Logan climbed over her did Yvonne realize she was lying on the bed. His lips traced her neck without hesitation.  

“Mmm…”  

His warm mouth was gentler than ever, but his ragged breath and low voice kept her uneasy. *What is this? Why am I undressed with Logan?*  

Every rational thought dissolved under her pounding heartbeat. She couldn’t even stop him when he bit her chest sharply.  

“Ah! Logan…!”  

“Did he prep you earlier? You’re way more sensitive than usual.”  

“Ngh…!”  

‘No, stop! This isn’t–!’ 

Even knowing his true nature, she couldn’t refuse him. Her hands fluttered uselessly against the sheets, her mouth spilling only moans. Logan chuckled, tormenting her n*pple with his tongue.  

“You’re filthy, Yvonne. Then again, you’d let any stray dog lick your c*nt.”  

“No, I– Ah!”  

He licked her hardened n*pple, then scraped it with the tip of his tongue.  

“Haah…! Logan…!”  

Her lower body grew wetter – the one thing she didn’t want him to notice. Unfortunately, his hand slid down her chest, stomach, and waist.  

She knew exactly where it was headed. She twisted her hips and crossed her legs, but her weak resistance was futile.  

“How’d that mutt eat you out, huh?”  

A long finger dragged down her slit–  

“Ah!”  

–then Logan spread her legs wide, exposing her glistening folds. Humiliation stole her breath.  

But he didn’t stop there. He buried his face between her thighs. Unable to watch, Yvonne covered her face with her hands.  

“P-please… Ngh…!”  

“Tell me, Yvonne.”  

Max’s earlier teasing spilled from her lips unbidden.  

‘What am I even saying?!’ 

She tried to scream, but only moans escaped – especially when Logan’s mouth found where Max had touched her.  

“Ah! He– He licked my cl*t…!”  

The moment she spoke, his tongue rubbed her cl*t fiercely. Her hips jerked, prompting Logan to pin her thighs under his arms like he’d never let her escape.  

“Harder…! Yes, ah– harder…♡!”  

Overstimulated from multiple orgasms that day, she shattered quickly under his relentless tongue.  

“Ah– AH! Logan!”  

Her vision whited out, back arching involuntarily. Pl*asure gave way to crushing shame – debauched by my childhood knight, now stepbrother… 

Exhausted, she barely managed to open her eyes. Logan loomed over her, grinning like a sated predator.  

“Like me better, don’t you?”  

“…Yes…”  

He sighed, studying her flushed face before eyeing her saliva-slicked chest. His gaze burned. When it dropped between her legs, she felt it – like being prodded physically.  

“Just looking makes you w*t now.”  

“…!”  

‘I didn’t mean to answer!’ His laughter stung her eyes with tears – until she saw him unbuckle his pants.  

“That’s…!”  

“Never seen a c*ck before?”  

His erect*on was as thick as her forearm, veins bulging under flushed skin. Pr*cum beaded at the tip. He stroked himself slowly, and Yvonne scrambled backward on instinct–  

“Eek–!”  

–but he caught her thighs, forcing them apart. His gaze lingered on her glistening s*x, then darkened at the bruises Max had left.  

“Brother won’t like this…”  

“…Brother?”  

Logan only smirked at her confusion before leaning down, chest-to-chest. His heartbeat matched her frantic rhythm.  

Too close.  

A calloused hand gripped her waist–  

“AH!”  

–then something hot and rigid dragged along her sensitive flesh. Unlike fingers or tongue, this was rougher.

Each thrust of his hips ground the head against her cl*t while his balls slapped her perineum. W*t sounds mixed with her whimpers.  

“Ngh! Logan– Ah! Please…!”  

This was wrong. Worse than nudity. She tried pushing him away, but her limbs refused to cooperate. Instead, familiar tremors built deep inside.  

All she could do was surrender.  

“AH! Logan–!”  

Her walls clenched around nothing as another cl*max hit. Logan slowed, admiring her tearful writhing before pressing his c*ck firmly against her entrance.  

Her lips parted in shock.  

That size…?  

“F*ck. Yvonne, don’t clamp down like that.”  

His strained voice sent shivers down her spine.  

“I-I’ve never…! Ah–!”  

The broad tip stretched her open inch by inch. Her body instinctively resisted, toes curling–  

“Relax… C’mon.”  

–but fear of that monstrous thickness going deeper paralyzed her.  

“I can’t…! Ngh…!”  

Even shallow thrusts made her inner muscles spasm. Logan groaned through gritted teeth.  

“…Keep this up, and I’ll take your virginity.”  

He looked more strained than she was – brow furrowed, sweat beading on his forehead.  

With a sharp exhale, he pulled out. After wiping himself roughly, he tucked his c*ck away. Yvonne watched dazedly while drying her tears.  

Is it over? Can I sleep now?  

As she curled up, exhausted, Logan produced a clean cloth and wiped her down thoroughly.  

“Don’t sleep yet. We’re going somewhere.”  

She took his hand numbly. He dressed her in a white dress – nearly identical to her dream – and handed her a glass of sweetened water.  

Dream… Right, this must be one too. 

She drank greedily. Warmth spread from her nape, fogging her mind further. Logan smiled at her unfocused eyes.  

“Let’s go, Yvonne.”  

His voice, even her own, sounded slower now. A detached thought floated by – let whatever happens, happen.

“I want you to meet the one who’ll take your virginity.”  

“…Okay…”  

Logan’s horrifying words barely registered.  

Lying down brought no sleep, hardly surprising, given the day’s events. Behind closed eyelids, the image of alabaster skin flickered like a specter. So flawlessly pale it might have been carved from marble, yet the moment he stepped closer, the scent of honeyed temptation unraveled his resolve. By the time his fingers brushed that softness, surrender was inevitable.  

“Haah…” 

Max gritted his teeth. The memory of trembling fingers hiking up her skirt, tears pooling in wide eyes, how she’d sobbed “Please stop” without even slapping the scoundrel between her thighs.  

He should have listened. Should never have–  

His hand slid past his belt, gripping himself through the fabric. Disgust coiled in his gut, but the need was unbearable. When his c*ck sprang free, a ragged groan escaped. Then… 

Knock. Knock.  

The makeshift quarters for night guards at Schmidt Castle’s west wing shouldn’t have visitors before dawn. He froze, hoping he’d imagined it.

Knock. Knock.  

Max yanked the door open, face flushed.  

A woman in a hooded black cloak stood there. Though her face was shadowed, he knew.  

“Miss Yvonne…?” 

She stepped forward. He pulled her inside before he could think, locking the door with a click.  

When he turned, her cloak pooled at their feet. Moonlit hair cascaded down bare shoulders. Then those ruby eyes met his, and his heart plummeted.  

So Logan meant Max. Yvonne exhaled. Even in dreams, she couldn’t stomach a stranger’s touch. 

Max stood rigid. His revulsion stabbed her chest. D*sgusting, isn’t it? She needed this over with. Hands shaking, she shed her nightgown.  

“Wh-why are you–?” He bent to retrieve it, fingers fumbling. Her legs trembled too – she collapsed to her knees.  

“Max. Hurry.”  

His gaze trailed from the discarded fabric to her thighs, still damp from Logan’s mouth. His Adam’s apple bobbed violently.  

Am I seeing a woman or a dog? Shame curdled as Logan’s voice echoed:  

“You’re a bitch, Yvonne.” 

‘I’m a bitch.’ 

She touched his clenched fist. His whole arm jerked. When she recoiled, he seized her wrist.  

An arm hooked around her waist, lifting her effortlessly. Then a calloused palm engulfed her br*ast.  

“Hng…”

“Teeth marks…” His voice was strained. “Who?” 

She shook her head. His thumb pressed her ar*ola. A whimper escaped before she bit her lip.  

His hand descended: br*asts, stomach, the juncture of her thighs. She tensed.  

“Here too?” A finger slid through slick folds, breaching easily.  

“Ah–!”

Her knees buckled, but his grip held. “Did he stretch you like this?”  

“Nn…!”  

Panting, she realized her face was buried in his shirt. Her nails tore the fabric.  

“Max… I’ll fall–” 

His chest heaved. Then–  

“–!”

She was on the bed, pinned under his shadow. The handsome knight looked torn before resolve hardened his jaw.  

When he leaned in, she turned her face.  

“No lips…” Logan’s warning rang clear.  

Max’s growl sent chills down her spine. Knees forced apart, she squeezed her eyes shut–  

“Ah!”  

–then gasped as her v*gina was exposed. Fl*id gushed, glazing inner thighs. A display, she realized. Proof someone else claimed her first.  

“Who. Was. It.”  

She thrashed. His pupils dilated to black pits, teeth bared.  

“Did he drug you? Was today his doing–?” 

Today? The haze thickened. Between her legs burned – not itch, but need.  

“Max… please…” 

Her own hand drifted downward, rubbing her swollen cl*t. Hips jerked involuntarily.  

“Ah! Max–!”  

With a snarl, Max stripped. His c*ck sprang free – thick, angry, already weeping. Before she could react, he speared her in one thrust.  

“AH! Nngh…!”  

Pain split her in two. Muscles she didn’t know existed locked around him. Sweat slicked her back.  

“Miss… relax…” He withdrew slowly, her walls clinging.  

“N-no! Don’t–!”  

He slammed back in.  

“Ah! Max! Stop…!” 

Fingers dug into his shoulders – hot as forge-fired steel. When she pushed, he manacled her wrists overhead.  

Each snap of his hips carved new space inside her. The head struck depths that blurred agony and ecstasy.  

“You’re–! Ah! M-Max–!”  

Her back arched. His mouth latched onto the bite marks on her chest.  

“Hurts…!” 

“Just… giving you… what you asked for…” 

Tears spilled. Even now, pl*asure coiled tighter–  

“Nn! Ah! AH…!”  

–until his pace turned erratic. With a guttural cry, he buried himself to the hilt and pulsed. Heat flooded her womb.  

Collapsing beside her, Max paled at the aftermath.  

Her ruined s*x gaped, his spend already leaking out. Then he saw it – streaks of red amid white.  

The cloth in his hand trembled.  

“N-no… I don’t want this!”  

Yvonne jolted awake with a sharp gasp. The delicate lace of her bed canopy stretched above her, and beyond it, the familiar tapestries adorning her walls came into focus. My room.  

Her body was drenched in cold sweat. A shudder ran through her as she curled into herself, trembling uncontrollably.  

“No… I don’t want that…” 

Her own voice, thick with unshed tears, echoed in her ears. Her senses – sight, sound, touch – were all too vivid. This is reality. This is real. What just happened… that couldn’t have been a dream. 

But her hips ached from being pinned down. And there, deep inside her, in a place that had never hurt before–  

She squeezed her eyes shut. A slick, sticky sensation clung between her thighs. She didn’t want to check.  

‘I don’t want to think about it. Just let me sleep.’  

Holding her breath, she yanked the covers over her head. But sleep refused to come. After tossing and turning, she finally sat up and reached for the bedside drawer.  

A violet glass bottle glinted in the dim moonlight. Logan’s sleeping draught. Without hesitation, she downed it in one gulp and collapsed back onto the bed.