Elena's face remained frozen in cold impassivity, like a wind-up chanical doll animated by clockwork rather than genuine emotion. She turned her head with glacial slowness, gaze settling quietly on his inflad, swollen arm. No readable emotion flickered across her features—nothing to indicate what thoughts moved behind those dark eyes.
Observing her continued lack of reaction, Marcus felt sothing harden in his chest—a reckless determination. He stood abruptly, drew a deep breath as though gathering courage for so montous decision, and spoke with challenge edging his tone: "You still don't believe ?"
Before she could formulate any response, he pivoted sharply to present his back. Both hands seized the hem of his shirt and yanked upward in one decisive motion, directly exposing his entire back to her scrutiny!
The extensive area of freshly treated skin remained visibly red and swollen. The residual ghost outline of the scorpion design appeared even more glaring under the bedroom's lighting—as though the flesh had been scorched by open fla, radiating an almost grotesque quality of fragility mixed with violence.
This sudden, unexpected display struck Elena like a red-hot branding iron pressed against her consciousness.
Her breath caught sharply in genuine surprise. Color flooded her cheeks in rapid waves—deep crimson spreading across porcelain skin, even her earlobes flushing with visible heat.
In her entire life, this represented the first ti a male had so unreservedly exposed his body in her imdiate presence. Especially that shocking expanse of vivid red scarring—the visual impact carried overwhelming force, impossible to process calmly.
"You... what are you doing?!" The words erged sharp with defensive alarm. She instinctively seized the quilt, yanking it forcefully up against her chest as though constructing a protective barrier against this assault on her composure.
"Showing you evidence!" Marcus twisted his head back, angling his torso to ensure optimal light fell across the mottled damage marking his back. His tone carried notes of stubborn determination—soone who'd committed fully to a course of action regardless of consequences. "I genuinely listened to what you said. I followed through. Can you see clearly now?"
Elena found herself completely overwheld by this "direct assault" tactical maneuver. Her eyes squeezed shut involuntarily—long lashes trembling with violent micro-movents, as though unable to tolerate continued observation.
Marcus furrowed his brow with theatrical timing and released a sharp, pained inhalation, transitioning smoothly into victim mode: "Hiss... god, it hurts so much. Honestly, getting this removed hurt exponentially worse than having it applied originally. Why was I so reluctant before? Because I was terrified of the pain, obviously. But now I've reconsidered everything..."
He rotated back to face her directly, expression shifting to project exceptional "sincerity." "You're my wife. Whatever you say, whatever you ask of —I'll agree to it. No matter how much pain it causes, I'll endure it for you."
Shalessly constructing lies from whole cloth, Marcus's vocal delivery grew progressively steadier, even incorporating subtle notes of self-pitying devotion that sounded almost convincing.
He felt genuine satisfaction with his improving skills at "conquering the yandere protagonist"—though he genuinely wondered how many points this particular performance would score in the assessnt of that ticulously calculating young woman.
Wife? Obedient?
Elena sneered internally, ice-cold mockery flooding her thoughts. If she hadn't already penetrated completely through Marcus Chen's conspiratorial approach to their relationship, this feigned affection might have actually deceived soone less observant. The performance was decent, she'd grant him that much.
She lifted her eyes fractionally, forcing disciplined calm across her features. Her gaze finally settled with genuine focus on his exposed back.
She had to grudgingly acknowledge: this physical vessel was indeed objectively impressive. His back musculature appeared lean but far from weak—spine creating subtle relief like a smoothly flowing mountain range, descending in elegant curves. Combined with those broad shoulders and narrow waist, the overall effect ford a textbook-perfect inverted triangle.
This was precisely the sort of physique calculated to attract naive, romantically inexperienced young won. She suppressed an unwelco flutter of... sothing... in her chest. Her voice erged cold, carrying unmistakable command: "Put your clothing back on. Now."
Subtle awkwardness perated the air like gas slowly filling a sealed room. Marcus registered the shift with keen awareness. He lowered his pulled-up shirt and turned to settle back onto his makeshift floor bed.
The movent pulled at damaged tissue across his back, triggering an involuntary pained "hiss" that escaped his control.
He seed not to have fully processed how profoundly offensive—and simultaneously how strangely intimate—that sudden act of "displaying his scars" was within the context of their current fragile, hypersensitive relationship dynamic.
He adjusted his sleeping position, rotating onto his right side so his face naturally oriented toward the actual bed's direction.
The instant he glanced upward, his gaze collided with Elena's cold stare. Those eyes radiated pure disdain, silently communicating: What are you staring at for with those wide-open eyes?
Marcus stretched his lips into a smile that managed to convey both pain and roguish nonchalance: "Just had the tattoo removed—it hurts." He raised his equally inflad left arm for emphasis. "This side hurts too. So... I can only lie on my side facing you like this. No other comfortable position available." He attempted defusing awkwardness through casual humor.
Elena frowned, glaring at him for extended monts. But ultimately she said nothing—simply turned over with deliberate gentleness, presenting him with her thin, aloof back wrapped in lightweight bedding.
The lights extinguished. Silence and darkness descended rapidly across the room like water flooding a sealed chamber. Only moonlight—pale, liquid, almost tangible—stread through sheer curtains. Half the illumination spilled across the bed's empty side while the remainder flowed across Elena's exposed, slender shoulder, highlighting the precise right angles where bone t delicate flesh.
With nothing else occupying his attention, Marcus quietly observed that turned back. The person occupying that bed appeared impossibly, heartbreakingly frail. Compared to his own trained, conditioned physique, she resembled so artwork ticulously carved by divine hands—snow-white, beautiful, pristine, yet incredibly, dangerously fragile.
He genuinely believed he could probably carry her bodily and complete an entire marathon without becoming significantly winded.
Even as that thought crossed his mind, he noticed that section of snow-white shoulder retracting fractionally. The thin coverlet draped across her form slipped at one corner, exposing clearly defined, subtly protruding scapulae—those delicate butterfly bones gleaming with porcelain-white luster under moonlight's caress.
Sothing stirred inexplicably in Marcus's chest. Is she... feeling overheated?
Late sumr nights retained residual warmth despite darkness. The air carried subtle stuffiness. He hesitated briefly, then slowly sat upright. As though compelled by forces beyond conscious control, his hand extended forward. Fingertips pinched that slipped corner of bedding and lifted with extre gentleness, re-covering that jade-like exposed skin.
Just as he prepared to withdraw his hand and return to his own sleeping position, Elena—who'd been facing away—suddenly turned over without warning! Her ice-smooth, porcelain shoulder landed with precise accuracy directly onto his palm, which he hadn't managed to fully retract!
Instantaneous sensation flooded through his nervous system—cool, impossibly silky texture carrying faint human warmth, like weak electrical current unexpectedly shooting through his palm's sensitive nerve endings.
So light. So soft. Like a single feather drifting down to land against his heart.
Marcus reacted as though scalded by open fla. His palm tingled with phantom electricity, and he yanked his hand back with alarming speed, staring at her sleeping face positioned re inches away with sothing approaching genuine fear.
Under moonlight's flattering illumination, her features possessed the delicate precision of masterwork painting—every elent positioned with mathematical perfection. Only her lips held natural coloration—subtle red like a solitary plum blossom erging through snow, adding barely perceptible traces of lingering vitality to that otherwise bloodless face.
Marcus's heart perford violent, uncontrolled percussion against his ribs.
As expected of the female protagonist... who could possibly resist this?!
The thought scread through his consciousness. Anyone—literally anyone—observing such delicate, fragile beauty resembling easily shattered crystal would instinctively develop protective urges. Right?
Cute. Want to protect.
He suddenly understood with uncomfortable clarity why the Original Owner had initially felt attraction toward her. (Though of course, the Original Owner's motivation had been substantially more rcenary—primarily targeting her beauty and astronomical wealth.)
As for Marcus himself... his thoughts remained absolutely pure! Completely wholeso! He simply wanted to complete his assigned mission efficiently and professionally.
...And incidentally protect her a bit. Just a little. Purely as mission-related side activity. Yes. That's exactly right.
Just as he prepared to convince himself to settle down for peaceful sleep, the blue interface screen materialized in his consciousness with sudden brightness. A line of cheerful text populated across its surface:
[Ding! Congratulations, Host! Through unintentional skin contact (covering shoulder area), target demonstrated absence of strong repulsion response. This interaction has been classified as minor positive contact. "Positive Value" 1 point! Current cumulative score: 2 points!]
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