"Hey, miss. Taking a stroll alone?" A middle-aged man reeking of alcohol approached me, his steps unsteady but deliberate.
"Damn it." It seemed today was just not my day.
"What's a pretty woman like you doing here?" he slurred, inching closer as his bloodshot eyes roamed over my face. He reached out, attempting to touch my cheek. "Hey, stay still. I want to get a good look at you."
"What the hell?!" I shoved him roughly. "Stay away from me, you disgusting creep."
Suddenly, he grabbed my hair violently, yanking it back as he raised a glass bottle threateningly. "What if we play a little game?" His words made my stomach churn with disgust.
There was no way I'd let this old drunk get on my nerves. I kicked him as hard as I could in the groin. He groaned, his grip on my hair loosening just enough for me to break free. I noticed a few strands of my hair still in his grasp as I bolted.
I ran as fast as I could. With Cathleen's light frame, my strides felt swift and agile, but my kick wasn't strong enough to incapacitate him. He quickly recovered and chased after me, occasionally grabbing at my clothes but failing to catch hold.
Fear consumed me as I realized the gravity of the situation. If I'd known this would happen, I would have stayed to watch that singer's performance—what was her name again?
"Aghhh!" I screamed as he yanked my hair sharply again, bringing me to a halt. I spun around, trying to punch him, but my swing missed.
His response was a brutal slap across my face, leaving my lip bleeding and a burning red mark on my cheek. Desperately, I grabbed his hair and pulled with all my might, mirroring the pain he inflicted on me.
"Let go, you pathetic woman!" he snarled.
"You filthy old drunk! You let me go!" I snapped back.
The struggle escalated as we pulled and pushed each other. Of course, his drunken strength outweighed mine, but I fought with every ounce of energy left in me, hoping for some miracle to escape.
Then, out of nowhere, his shin collided with mine in a forceful kick. Pain shot through my leg as I cried out and lost my grip on his hair. The drunk shoved me away, and I crumpled to the ground, clutching my bruised leg in agony.
Tears spilled down my cheeks as I saw the swelling forming on my shin. The pain was excruciating, and I couldn't stop myself from sobbing.
"Hurts, doesn't it? You should've listened to me from the start," he sneered, stepping closer and caressing the cheek he'd slapped earlier.
"Do you have any idea who I am?" I forced myself to speak, my voice trembling as I tried to hold back my sobs. "I'm Duchess Cathleen Orion, wife of Cedric Orion and one of the most respected nobles in this entire kingdom!"
The man burst into laughter, his tone dripping with mockery. "Yeah, right. As if someone like them would be wandering around a dump like this." His lecherous gaze scanned me again. "If you're gonna lie, at least make it believable, pretty lady."
"Stay back," I croaked, utterly drained. My strength had abandoned me, leaving me at the mercy of this monster. All I could do was hope—desperately hope—that this wouldn't end worse than it already had.
"Come on, smile at me, pretty lady. Let's have some fu—"
His words were abruptly cut off as a figure appeared out of nowhere, landing a powerful kick to his side. The drunkard flew a good distance away, hitting the ground with a thud.
"What do you think you're doing to my wife? You lowly scum," said Cedric's cold, commanding voice, his fury radiating in the air around us.
***
"Cedric," I called out to him weakly. But it seemed his emotions had already taken over—he was too focused on pummeling the man. His face was filled with rage, and the aura surrounding him was terrifying. For a moment, I almost pitied the drunkard. The man was a bloody mess, barely able to defend himself.
"CEDRIC!" I shouted this time. Finally, he turned to look at me.
Realizing he was wasting time, Cedric swiftly came to my side. I was still sitting on the ground, unable to stand because of the pain in my leg from that bastard's kick.
He cupped my cheeks gently, though I winced from the lingering pain of the slap earlier. "Don't touch my face or head. It all hurts," I complained.
His worried eyes flickered with anger once more. "I'm sorry." He caressed my hands tenderly. "Stay here while I go finish him off."
Ehh? That's not how this should go! I'm already in pain; shouldn't Cedric be prioritizing his wife instead? "Leave him," I said, tugging at his hand to stop him. "Can you just take me away from here? I'm exhausted."
Cedric paused, seemingly trying to calm himself. After a moment, he nodded and returned to me.
"Are there any other injuries?" he asked, carefully scanning me from head to toe.
I pointed to my bruised right leg. "It looks like I won't be walking properly for the party later." I was genuinely worried, knowing the swelling wouldn't go away in just a day or two—it could take weeks to heal fully.
"I'm sorry," Cedric said, pulling me into a tight but gentle embrace, mindful not to hurt me further. "I thought I was the only one who could protect you. I was wrong."
In Cedric's arms, I felt a mix of emotions—relief that I was safe, but also anger and sadness over what had happened. Unable to hold back, I let myself cry while scolding him.
"Where were you?! I was scared being here alone!" I sobbed.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
"My hair was yanked, my face slapped, and my leg kicked!" I cried louder, recounting the pain. "It hurts so much."
I pounded my fists weakly against his shoulder, venting my frustration. Cedric, on the other hand, gently stroked my back, trying to comfort me.
"Why did it take so long? Did you want me to get hurt?" I accused, my tears still flowing.
"I'm sorry. I promise no one will ever hurt you again," Cedric vowed, releasing me from his embrace. "Let's go home."
Too exhausted to argue, I let him carry me. I didn't have the strength to walk or even protest. I rested in his arms as he carried me to the carriage. After seating me inside, he knelt before me.
"What are you doing?" I asked, puzzled.
Without answering, Cedric began dusting off the dirt from my clothes with meticulous care. His focus was unwavering, ensuring I was as comfortable as possible.
"I don't know how to take away your pain," he said earnestly, looking up at me. "But tell me what you need. Anything you want, and I'll do it. When we get home, I'll call the best doctor to treat you. Just say the word."
I wiped the remaining tears from my face, trying to think of how to use this situation to secure my future. "About that divorce…" I let my sentence trail off, watching his reaction.
"Anything but that," Cedric said immediately, his expression dimming with fear and sadness. He looked like he'd lost all hope at the mere mention of it.
"Relax, I'm not asking for a divorce," I reassured him. Cedric visibly regained his composure, his gaze sharpening as he focused on me again. "But that means you can't divorce me either. No matter what happens, you must trust me."
"Trust you? That's easy," he replied with conviction.
Of course, I knew that. Even in the original story, Cedric trusted Cathleen enough to die for her. I didn't doubt his trust, but I needed this assurance in case something unexpected happened—something that might put me in danger. I only needed one person to believe in me, and that person was Cedric.
I smiled sweetly at him. "Thank you, my husband."
"Anything for you, my wife," he said, his voice full of devotion.