Lucian felt like he was talking to a wall, a soft, warm, yet detached, wall.
She would usually seek warmth and comfort in her sleep, not turn her back on the source.
Or maybe her habits had changed, and he was the one who couldn't keep up with her pace.
Every time he rejected her, he would leave a crack, just enough for her to slip through, something to remind her she still mattered. And whenever she took the bait, he'd feel a twisted relief, fearing that without it, she'd forget him, or worse─move on.
Lucian pressed his forehead against the back of her head. It wasn't that he didn't want to marry her in the past. He did. But he knew her too well to go along with every single whim of hers.
Celine didn't want a partner. She wanted a possession. A man who would follow where she led, speak when she allowed, and never step beyond the place she had carved out for him.
If he ever resisted, she'd remind him─sweetly, cruelly─of all she had done for him, how she had lifted him from nothing. He would end up with a debt he could never repay, and a life he could never live.
He wanted her to look at him with respect. To see him as an equal, not a charity case.
She used to have the power to shove him aside like he was nothing. But now? He built his wealth, secured his influence, just so he could strip that power right out of her hands.
"When I said that I've seen better, I was lying," he whispered, trying to get a reaction out of her, "You are the best sight there is, and the most beautiful."
Silence.
"...My Lady?"
More silence.
He continued to mumble, refusing to fall asleep, refusing to stay quiet, "What about you? Am I still your best, My Lady?"
"From licking like a dog to howling like a dog," she finally muttered. "Aren't you versatile, My Lord?"
Lucian's brows twitched.
"If I didn't know any better," she continued, voice flat, "I'd say you were begging for a treat."
"..."
"..."
Lucian didn't know whether to laugh or cry. She was always good at making others feel small, insignificant. But when it came to him, she would always back it up with a gesture so loving, so affectionate; it would be enough to ignore such comments forever…
There were no such gestures now, just coldness bordering cruelty. The feeling of being lost, of not knowing what was happening, was too familiar. It felt as if Celine had left and a stranger had taken her place.
"Who are you?" he asked, trying to melt whatever was going around inside herself, "What happened to my strawberry? Where did she go? Why is there a cactus in her place?"
She probably realized that no sleep would come tonight, so she decided to respond in kind, "She went out in search of a new dog. The old one has gone rabid."
"..." His immunity against her words wavered, prompting him to pump his forehead against the back of her head again and again. That's what she'd get for comparing him to a dog, his mind said. She was not getting any rest, nope. She would have to stay awake and suffer together with him, his actions promised.
"Is this some new foreplay?" she asked.
"You have a very active imagination, My Lady. This is the act of an abandoned dog."
"So, foreplay."
He chuckled in a hopelessly giddy way, "Does it help you feel better, imagining me as an abandoned, unloved, and unwanted dog?"
"No, but it does make me feel like I should put you down, out of mercy."
"..."
"That's what you do with dogs that are beyond saving," she added. Her threat was light, teasing in a way, "You put them down."
He teased right back, not really taking anything she said to heart, "What do you do with a cactus that's gone rotten, then? My dog instincts tell me it needs a good plucking, and then some tender, loving care to get it blooming beautifully again."
"..."
"..."
She slipped out of bed, silent as a ghost.
Lucian grabbed her wrist.
She tugged.
He tugged.
She looked down at him.
He looked up at her.
Her face was blank, but there was something worse than anger pooling in her gaze. "You rejected a woman who wanted to make amends, over and over again," she said, "and now you're whining for her attention? You are a walking joke, My Lord. And it's not even a funny one."
Lucian exhaled sharply before shooting back, "If I'm a joke, then you are a walking tragedy." He had always been the talker, the one who talked his way out of problems and out of trouble. Anyone who thought they could catch him off guard with their words would be in for a surprise, "Can't even take a compliment from a man without assuming the worst. Who hurt you, so I can hurt them more, hm?"
"..."
"..."
Her lip curled into something that might have been amusement, if there had been any heat behind it. "Who hurt me? Hmm, let's see," she pondered for a second, "I've been laughed at for having smelly breath, smelly teeth, smelly hair...an overall smelly personality," she said. "Strange, isn't it? Someone started the rumor, and suddenly, Lord Arclight swoops in with the perfect fix. And the slogan..."
She mimicked the mockery behind the popular catchphrase: "Lord Arclight's products can cure bad breath, fix foul odors, but unfortunately, even he can't wash away a rotten soul," she recited. "Tell me, was it fun watching me reek while your sales soared?"
Lucian's grip tightened, forcing her to stay, or react, in any other way besides leaving him, "I don't know who came up with that slogan, but I must agree with them. You smell like the pits of hell, and your mouth is just as foul. No wonder nobody wants to marry you."