Love You, Love You Not (Completed Main Story) - Chapter 008
“Now… it’s okay now. Please let go…”
“It’s not okay.”
Even as the man—whom she had known only as cold-blooded—gently cupped her face with tender hands and wiped away her tears, Scathach could do nothing but sit there, powerless and uneasy.
“Why are you crying?”
“…Because it’s unfair.”
“What’s unfair?”
“…Everything.”
Casar sat perched on the edge of the bed, staring fixedly at the woman whose face remained damp and glistening with tears.
He knew she wasn’t a murderer. But if she felt so wronged that she cried…
“Do you deny every single accusation against you? So even the claim about your affair with my father?”
Attila had argued vehemently that Casar’s father would never have kept a mistress, but Casar himself had refused to jump to conclusions about matters between a man and a woman until he could interrogate them personally.
Attila had called him a cold-hearted bastard, but Casar hadn’t cared.
Thus, even seeing her glare at him with those reproachful eyes—clearly offended by his crude question—he still insisted on hearing her answer.
“Answer me.”
“No.”
“Really? The case report says you visited the villa as casually as if going for a meal.”
“I went there about once a week just to leave medicine. I’d put it in a drawer and leave without ever seeing him in person.”
“I see.”
Casar stared unblinkingly at her as she explained herself clearly and earnestly, though her face was still flushed with anger, then let out a dry, meaningless chuckle.
“So you weren’t having an affair with him, and you didn’t kill him either.”
She nodded but looked at him with uncertainty in her eyes.
“Then… you’d probably want to leave right away.”
“Of course…”
“Shall I tell you how you can be released?”
Casar’s gaze dropped slightly lower than her anxious face, and the corners of his finely shaped lips curled upward.
He looked at the long scar he’d etched onto her body four years ago—a day she couldn’t even remember now.
★ ★ ★
Bring proper sleepwear?
At past midnight, Peron was summoned to the lord’s bedroom, utterly bewildered by the duke’s order to fetch proper women’s nightwear, and was now preparing Miss Iriel’s crimson silk slip.
Even while the lord was away at the military academy, Miss Iriel would occasionally visit Lindkoem to enjoy hunting and relaxation.
From the beautiful Lindkoem forest to the Lineva River cutting through its dense woods—it truly lived up to its reputation as the former capital of the Ebern Kingdom. Thus, despite the mansion lacking a mistress, there was still a fair amount of women’s clothing available…
Still, Peron—who privately assumed Miss Iriel would one day become Lady of Blachnatt—was deeply uncertain whether it was appropriate to deliver the future lady’s undergarments to the duke’s current mistress.
But then again, what choice did he have? It was the duke’s command.
Moreover, ordering “proper sleepwear” at this hour…
Considering how last night the lord had shielded the prisoner’s body from Peron’s sight, it was clearly evident the duke intended to spend a passionate night with his newly acquired mistress.
“Um, Your Grace… I’ve brought it, but… I seem to recall you mentioned these were Miss Iriel’s favorite garments… Is that alright?”
Though Iriel, a noble lady of one of the Ten Houses, would never have told a butler something so trivial as “these are my favorite clothes,” Peron still hoped his words might, even slightly, restore the lord’s usual composure that had vanished in the presence of a beautiful woman.
But… the lord’s indifferent gaze, looking down from a height at least a head taller, only stared coldly at Peron below. Peron swallowed hard and quietly stepped backward.
The lord’s icy stare clearly read, *Does any of that even matter?*—and the door shut with a definitive bang.
★ ★ ★
The duke’s proposal was simple.
She would not attempt to flee, even without handcuffs, and in return, he promised to let her leave the mansion as long as she showed no suspicious behavior. The only problem was that this arrangement apparently applied even inside the bedroom.
Thus, asking for proper women’s sleepwear—instead of his robe that slipped off with the slightest movement—was hardly an unreasonable request… Or so he’d thought, until just a moment ago.
“Um…”
When the woman, who had lingered in the bathroom for a long while, finally called out to him in a tiny, timid voice, Casar set aside the document he’d been reading and walked toward her.
Peeking out just her face from behind the tightly gripped bathroom door, she looked up at him with a flustered, uncertain expression. She seemed to have changed clothes already—so why wouldn’t she come out?
When Casar tilted his head slightly, the hesitant woman finally spoke.
“Is what you prepared really proper sleepwear…? It seems a bit different from what I meant…”
He’d clearly instructed the butler to bring exactly what the woman wanted: “proper sleepwear.” So what was wrong with it?
“I didn’t check the design myself. Don’t you like it?”
“It’s not about the design… Well, actually, it is… but this just doesn’t seem right.”
“How picky.”
Scathach, who had never once complained even while drifting through slums after her kingdom’s fall, snapped at the duke’s remark and did something she’d normally never do.
She took off the man’s robe—the one she’d clung to like a lifeline.
In truth, it was a sort of defiance. After all, the duke himself had claimed his honor was so great he’d never lay a finger on a commoner like her.
“Am I still being picky now?”
Casar’s eyes—normally unshakable—widened momentarily, and without thinking, he jerked his head sharply away.
The crimson silk slip, barely covering her chest with just a palm-sized scrap of fabric, left the lush curves of her body fully exposed, and its short hem—ending just below her hips—revealed the pale, bare skin of her inner thighs.
“What are you doing?”
Though he barely managed to avert his eyes, a wave of heat surged uncontrollably below his navel.
“You called me picky, so I wanted to check if you misunderstood what I meant.”
The woman before him looked genuinely angry—not the slightest hint of seduction in her eyes.
Yet even as she stared at him with what seemed like disdain—as if questioning whether this could possibly be “proper sleepwear”—his arousal refused to subside.
He wanted nothing more than to strip that scrap of fabric off her and pin her beneath him right then and there. No matter how disciplined he was, this primal, bodily reaction lay beyond his control.
“If I have to stay with you in the bedroom, wouldn’t this outfit make things even more awkward?”
She had a point.
Just before he succumbed to the sudden, fierce urge to touch her tender flesh, Casar rubbed his mouth with a large hand and turned away.
“…I’ll have something else prepared.”
Once, during military academy, he’d been called up to the podium to demonstrate an enemy’s seduction tactic—the famed “honey trap”—as part of a tactics lecture.
Back then, even with a scantily clad woman straddling his lap, drenched in heavy perfume, his body hadn’t stirred much. Perhaps because everyone was watching, and he’d mentally prepared himself beforehand…
But now, even the symphony playing from the gramophone offered no help at all.
He hadn’t been entirely indifferent to women before. Last night, she’d genuinely nestled into his arms, leaving him quite flustered.
So while it wasn’t true he’d “pushed her away several times,” it was true she’d clung to him in her sleep—and also true he hadn’t slept well because of it.
Casar closed his eyes, recalling the academy’s endlessly repeated military hymns, striving to suppress the sudden surge of lust. Lakan’s questionnaire, which he’d meant to skim before she emerged, lay discarded on the table.
Only after Peron was summoned again and brought a long slip cardigan in the same color did the woman finally leave the bathroom.
Thinking Casar was enjoying the music, she quietly sat on his bed. For the duration of one full musical piece, both sat in silence, listening.
Casar, reclining in his chair with eyes closed, slowly turned his head toward her. Perhaps because it wasn’t Berlioz playing this time, she showed no sign of dislike or tears.
Though she’d said she cried because things were unfair, her expression had clearly soured while listening to that music.
Still… while she no longer looked half-naked as before, the neckline remained deeply plunging—enough to reveal cleavage.
Damn it. Casar grimaced inwardly, muttering curses under his breath.
He wasn’t particularly imaginative, so why did her naked body keep appearing in his mind? It felt shameful after chanting that military hymn over ten times in his head to calm himself.
To regain composure, Casar snatched up the glass of cold water on the table and downed it in one gulp, then sat upright.
“Lakan brought a questionnaire. Should you come over, or shall I go to you?”
Feeling it was rather awkward to talk while both sat together on the bed, the woman stood and approached him.
“I’ll write the answers. Please hand it to me.”
Scathach sat down with cheeks flushed from belated embarrassment.
Though she didn’t seriously believe this cool, rational man would do anything to her just because she wore a revealing slip, a separate feeling of self-reproach still crept in.
“Just apply this first.”
Casar pushed the ointment jar—prepared before she went into the bathroom—toward her. He’d considered applying it directly to her wounds as he had on the first night, but…
In his current state, he couldn’t even stand up—let alone touch her thighs without reigniting what he’d just managed to cool down.
“I’ll apply it in the bathroom later.”
Scathach, too, didn’t want to lift her cardigan in front of the duke and bare her skin. Even if he wouldn’t care about a commoner woman acting without decorum…
“Do as you like.”
“Is there anything else I need to answer?”
“Didn’t you stay completely silent in prison?”
Well, during her first and only permitted visit, Director Loegal had told her this was a matter she must resolve by meeting the duke herself, so she should say as little as possible.
If she’d known she’d be tortured so severely, she never would’ve promised to keep secrets.
“Did you meet Director Loegal?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because Director Loegal said he wanted to meet you, Your Grace.”
Hearing this, the duke tilted his head slightly—but despite his bored expression, his eyes held a faint, feverish glint, as if he’d swallowed some mild toxin.
Thus, Scathach asked him with a genuinely concerned look, as if tending to a patient.
“Your Grace? Are you alright?”
“…Yes, I met him.”
Casar deliberately avoided Scathach’s scrutinizing gaze. Avoiding someone’s eyes—something unthinkable for a man who’d ruled over others since birth.
Yet once he started noticing it, he was utterly helpless.
“You seem slightly feverish. Perhaps you should call a physician? I can read through everything and write the answers tomorrow…”
Relieved to hear he’d met Director Loegal, Scathach spoke to him in an unusually gentle tone, full of concern.
“…You’re a nurse, aren’t you?”
His male instincts stirred restlessly—warning him what he might do if she stayed close. His mind screamed danger signals, yet he couldn’t bring himself to stop.
“You’ll nurse me yourself, then.”
★ ★ ★
So now she was unexpectedly playing nurse. Had she overstepped?
The duke, propped up against layered cushions at the head of the bed, watched her with persistent intensity. Scathach lightly pressed the back of her hand against his smooth, handsome forehead.
“You do seem slightly feverish. It’s probably not serious enough for medicine, but just in case, you should sleep right away. If your fever spikes later, I could at least place a damp cloth on your forehead…”
Casar grabbed her wrist as she tried to pull her hand away, yanking her toward him. Startled, she nearly toppled forward and instinctively grabbed his thigh to steady herself.
He was just as startled as she was—the spot her hand landed on was far too intimate.
“Remove your hand.”
“Wha—? Ah! Th-this… this…”
Scathach yanked her hand back in shock. Unless she’d imagined it, something unfamiliar had brushed against her fingertips…
“…”
Seeing both of Scathach’s cheeks flush peach-pink, the duke let out a faint smirk.
“So not all nuns are as chaste as they’re made out to be.”
“What are you talking about…? You’re the one who pulled me just now!”
“And weren’t you the one who showed me your bare body first?”
“W-who stripped me…? It’s because you gave me that strange outfit!”
He couldn’t tell if he truly had a fever, but her face burned as red as his own heated body.
“You’re right.”
Facing his straightforward admission, she pouted her lips and shot him a suspicious look—as if asking what trick he was up to.
Her lips were plump and smooth, like ripe fruit. For a fleeting moment, he wondered what they’d taste like.
He straightened his torso and slowly wrapped an arm around her waist. When he pulled her slender frame closer, her soft, full body melted against him. Pressed together chest to chest, it was hard to tell whose heart pounded faster—his or hers.
“This outfit is terribly inconvenient in the bedroom, isn’t it.”
Male lead Asks for a Divorce Every Day
It’s not often you come across a plot like this in the female-dominant genre — make sure to check it out!
This is a novel I’m planning to reread as well.
The male lead is strong, skilled in martial arts, and not the usual fragile type you often see in matriarchal novels.
Meanwhile, the female lead is a scientist—rational and logical. Even when she falls for the male lead, she doesn’t let her emotions cloud her decisions.
If you push through the first few chapters, you’ll gradually find the story really intriguing.
It has a mix of mystery, detective elements, and romance.
The author’s writing style is like crafting a puzzle—except they deliberately leave out a few pieces, making it hard to predict what happens next, yet keeping you hooked.
In the end, everything will come together and be explained.
One-sentence summary: Wife, stop playing with beakers and look at me!
In a laboratory accident, research scientist Zhu Wansheng accidentally travels to a matriarchal world. The original owner of the body is an eighteen-year-old only daughter of a wealthy rouge merchant, already married with a handsome young man.
Zhu Wansheng grins: Nice! She always said she was heaven’s favorite granddaughter. After a life of toil in her previous life, she can enjoy blessings in this one.
However, her joy lasts no more than three seconds as bad news arrives: the original owner’s family is about to go bankrupt, and her husband wants a divorce.
Even worse, she’s stuck with a research system full of restrictions.
Zhu Wansheng: ? Is this the destiny of a research dog?
——
Faced with this mess, Zhu Wansheng pours herself a bowl of wine to drown her sorrows. In her drunken haze, her husband arrives.
His figure is imposing, holding a long sword, with a dignified air that captivates Zhu Wansheng.
Gu Yingqing, however, looks at the alcohol-reeking Zhu Wansheng with undisguised disgust and coldly asks, “Divorce or not?” The intoxicated Zhu Wansheng mumbles vaguely, “I think… it’s not… it’s not… impossible!”
——
The next day, after sobering up, Zhu Wansheng is full of energy, rolling up her sleeves ready to make a big move. As for yesterday? She has no memory of it.
Zhu Wansheng is ambitious; a research dog fears nothing!
Upgrading rouge, extracting fragrances, producing perfumes, researching lipsticks… all shall bow to the power of modern technology!
The original owner’s dying rouge shop is revitalized. Her mother is pleased and with a wave of her hand, passes on the family business to her. As she takes control and her experimental results gain popularity, it’s the pinnacle of her life…
——
But there are always those who can’t stand to see her doing well. Jealousy, scheming, assassination attempts – they want nothing less than her life.
The person who has always kept his distance from her suddenly holds her tightly in his arms, eyes full of concern.
She is unharmed, but he falls into a pool of blood…
Zhu Wansheng feels guilty, “I can grant you one wish.”
Gu Yingqing tentatively circles his arms around her, carefully resting his head in the crook of her neck, pleading softly, “I regret it. Can we not divorce?”
Zhu Wansheng: ? When did I agree to a divorce?
[Small Theater]
The newly developed rouge is beautifully packaged, and Zhu Wansheng is eager to try it.
Gu Yingqing suddenly appears: “My lady, may I apply it for you?”
Cool fingertips lightly brush her lips. His Adam’s apple bobs as he leans in for a light bite.
Zhu Wansheng: ?
Gu Yingqing: It smells so good, I wanted to taste it…
On a warm spring day, Zhu Wansheng tries a new perfume: “Spring Night.” Gu Yingqing corners her against a wall.
Warm breath lingers on her neck.
“My lady, from now on, may I test the fragrances for you?”
[Humorous female scientist vs scheming live-in son-in-law male lead]
[Touch the gear icon in the bottom right corner of the screen to move to the next chapter if you want.]
I see. So that was why he said he didn’t love her 😭
Now they are best friends hahaha so ezra is end now?
Haaah, can understand the reason for this novel is “love you, love you not” it was so hard for that words to be spoken