The Villainess Redeems Herself, The Beast Husbands are in a Daily Love Battle Chapter 84 - 83: A Handful

He waved at her, looking like he hadn’t slept well all night.

He also lifted Alza’s little paw to wave at her, the movent a bit stiff.

Selene felt a warmth spreading in her heart.

Having soone waiting at ho makes life worthwhile.

That kind of warmth isn’t sothing a cold room or an automatic kitchen can provide.

It’s built up by the silent companionship of living people.

Suddenly, she felt that no matter how fierce the wind and snow were outside,

as long as she could push open the door and see him standing in the hallway, any hardship was worth it.

She bounced off the spaceship, her heels clattering on the tal deck.

Ignoring her sowhat disheveled dress, she hurried over.

"I’m back!"

Her voice was clear and joyful.

Hearing her so happy, Holden Sheridan felt a jolt in his heart.

His previously tense shoulders relaxed slightly, and his smile beca more genuine, no longer as forced as before.

"Female Master, welco ho."

His voice was low, with a hint of hoarseness.

He took her coat, his fingertip accidentally brushing against her cool hand, and paused.

"Female Master... were you with Shaw last night?"

He asked softly, almost in a whisper.

Selene frowned, rubbing her sore waist, and sighed, "Isn’t that right, I’m exhausted."

As she spoke, she moved her shoulders, her brows knitted together.

"The mission ended late, and I still had to write a report. Shaw insisted on a debrief, which was really annoying."

The faint red marks on her neck, half hidden, peeked from the edge of her collar...

A more ambiguous mark.

Holden’s gaze swept over it, his pupils shrinking suddenly.

He quickly averted his gaze, as if scalded, and his fingers unconsciously curled, his nails digging into his palm.

"I made so food, would you like to eat sothing?"

He turned and walked towards the kitchen, deliberately slowing his movents.

Selene’s eyes lit up imdiately.

"Eat! Of course, eat!"

Her eyes sparkled, her tone as excited as a child’s.

"I’ve been thinking about your cooking the whole way; the nutrition paste on the spaceship is downright inedible!"

She stood on tiptoe, planting a soft and fleeting kiss on his cheek, "Thank you, darling!"

The way she called him "darling" was natural and affectionate.

Then she grabbed Alza, holding it in her arms, its furry little body twisting in the crook of her arm.

She kissed its face with smacking sounds, her voice filled with affection.

"Did you miss ? Haha! Have you been good? Caused any trouble?"

She pretended to tease the pet, spun around with Alza in her arms, then walked into the living room.

Holden, however, stood still, not moving.

His right hand lifted involuntarily, fingertips gently brushing the spot she had kissed.

He felt a little dazed, his heartbeat uncontrollably accelerating a bit.

Strange, why...

He wasn’t as resistant as before?

Previously, when she approached, he would instinctively retreat, afraid of touching, afraid of that overly intimate warmth.

But now, he didn’t dodge, and even... relished that fleeting touch.

Yet, when he thought of the marks on her neck, a part of his heart felt hollow.

Last night, was she with Shaw again?

Were they very close?

Did they say things he couldn’t hear?

Did they do things he couldn’t partake in?

Since the last ti, she hasn’t touched him again.

Could it be...

She already finds him contemptible?

He dared not ask, or show it, could only silently swallow this unease.

The finger stump under the glove faintly ached.

It wasn’t an ordinary injury, but self-inflicted during a spiritual upheaval.

He rembered clearly the despair of that day.

His true form is a butterfly, not the kind of Aberrant Beast that becos stronger with spiritual power.

In his family, he was always the overlooked one, barely able to protect himself.

When faced with storms, he could only hide in corners, even struggling to spread his wings.

And she, a radiant Female Master, admired by all.

There shouldn’t have been any intersection between them.

Faced with Selene’s spiritual restraint, he didn’t even have the right to resist.

His consciousness was tightly suppressed in the depths of his soul.

Her spiritual power surged like a tide, cold and sharp.

He could only watch as she approached step by step, no pity in her eyes, only indifference and cruelty.

She ruthlessly broke his fingers.

The "crack" of finger bones snapping was particularly stark in the silent room.

His hand, once an extension of his paintbrush, a bridge for him to communicate with the world.

Blood seeping from his fingertips dripped onto the floor, staining a small patch of the wood grain red.

Since then, he could no longer paint.

The paintbrush that had accompanied him for many years was eventually set aside, covered in a thick layer of dust.

The dried paint on the canvas like congealed bloodstains, capturing his last piece of work.

Every ti he passed the easel, his chest tightened.

Painting was not just his profession, but an outlet for his soul.

Now that outlet was sealed, leaving only dead silence.

The studio was the only thing he could still cling to.

It was the last thin thread connecting him to the past.

Despite no new paintings being born within it, he still cleaned and organized the supplies every day, wiping the easel.

He knew it was futile, but he couldn’t completely let go.

That small room beca the sanctuary of his remaining dignity.

That day, Joni was only there to help tidy the art supplies, he really didn’t do anything else.

She moved efficiently, packing up while asking softly, "Do you still plan to keep painting?"

He didn’t answer, just lowered his head, staring at his hands, fingertips trembling slightly.

She said nothing more, quietly put the scattered charcoal pencils back into the box, and cleaned the paint-stained palette knife.

The entire process was quiet and natural, not crossing boundaries nor unnecessarily ingratiating.

Yet, this very ordinariness was misinterpreted as having ulterior motives.

Holden was always quiet, used to patience.

He had been that way since childhood, speaking softly and gently.

The most outrageous thing he’d ever done in his life was acquiescing to their cold violence against him.

Yet deep down, he was still that traditional and sowhat stubborn male, yearning to take care of his wife, to protect his family.

Now, he found he no longer disliked her that much.

On the contrary, there was an inexplicable sense of familiarity and peace.

What she didn’t know was that for the past few days, he dread of her every night.

The dream always repeated yet never beca tireso.

In the dream, he was a butterfly again, lightly landing on her shoulder, speaking to her, very close, very close.

Her hair brushed against his wings, carrying a faint fragrance.

He quietly told her secrets he had never voiced.

She listened quietly, without interrupting, without mocking.

At that mont, he was no longer a trampled weakling but a soul that could look her in the eye.

Selene held Alza.

This little guy always kept this furry appearance, probably because he knew it was the most lovable.

Its fluffy tail wrapped around her arm, its warm little head nuzzling her chin.

It was obedient beyond asure, as if it instinctively knew how to act cute, how to exchange softness for affection.

Snowy white and soft, who wouldn’t want to give it a squeeze when they see it?