Roselia laughed. She had prided herself on how intelligent and calculating her Papa was. If there was something she didn't know, he always had the answers. Perhaps, he was getting senile and began spouting stupidity as a result.
"We didn't even consummate the marriage," Roselia confessed, dropping her utensils. "He doesn't even kiss me. He doesn't love me, Papa."
"Love, perhaps not," Cecil agreed. "I'd be surprised if he even possessed a heart to feel."
"So there is no way," Roselia said. "That he'd even care enough about me to feel obsessed."
"One does not have to care about their possession, as long as it's obtained," Cecil warned her, glancing at his daughter with irritation. She paused, naively blinking.
"You're talking about Mother," Ronald realized. "Are you—"
"Just heed my warnings, Roselia," Cecil stated, rising to his feet. "You're merely seeking refuge here. You can't stay forever. You have a husband you must return to."
