Please Kill My Husband (Completed Main Story) - Chapter 9
An antique carriage adorned with a golden seal came to a halt on the main road.
The closed door opened, and Benjamin, dressed neatly, stepped out of the carriage first.
Behind him, a dark-haired man with gleaming amber eyes descended the steps.
Aden frowned under the surprisingly hot sun, though winter was just around the corner.
The weather here—hot even in winter—was far harder to adjust to than that of the Sand Plateau, homeland of the Kan tribe.
His hand roughly undid the top button of his tightly fastened shirt, his expression stiflingly frustrated.
Just how much longer would he be stuck in the capital?
If it weren’t for that damned budget bill needing approval, he would have already returned to the Sand Plateau long ago.
Sighing, Aden watched as Benjamin sent the carriage away—when suddenly, a flash of red caught his eye.
Glancing downward, Aden found himself staring blankly at the roses displayed at the flower shop before him.
At that moment, Benjamin, having just dismissed the carriage, followed Aden’s gaze and let out a brief exclamation.
Yesterday it was alcohol; today it’s flowers.
He couldn’t help but admire his friend’s willfully unchanging way of life—but he wished, just once, Aden would do as he asked.
“Arthur.”
Aden’s eyes shifted toward Benjamin, who murmured softly while removing his glasses. Benjamin gave a slight nod and pulled out a dry cloth to polish the lenses.
“I’d bet my entire fortune that more women would be horrified than pleased to receive those flowers from you.”
“I have no interest in the paltry fortune of a son-in-law whose only possession is those glasses.”
“You brat—even when you speak, I’m just giving you advice, Aden.”
Benjamin put his glasses back on and surveyed the surroundings with an indifferent expression. It was early winter.
Yet, the flower shop’s display was brimming with beautiful blooms as if oblivious to the season.
So it’s true—these days many florists cultivate and sell flowers year-round. Such a romance-less act, utterly indifferent to the seasons.
“So who is it, then?”
Following Aden’s renewed gaze toward the flowers, Benjamin too looked at the red rose.
“The unfortunate woman who’ll receive those blossoms from you. I’ll go ahead and warn her: ‘A beast from the Kan tribe intends to gift you flowers—steel your heart accordingly.’ How’s that sound?”
It was teasing, nearly mocking—Benjamin’s petty revenge for the incident at the training grounds yesterday.
Aden let out a quiet chuckle, the dryness at the corner of his mouth softening into a faint smile.
“No need. I won’t be giving flowers anyway.”
“Then why are you staring at them?”
Even if asked, he had no real answer.
His eyes had simply turned toward the flash of red that caught his attention along the road—and it just so happened that the red was these flowers.
It was the same back then too. He should have kept walking straight ahead, yet his gaze drifted through the open doorway.
“Benjamin.”
“What?”
“If I were to gift these flowers to your wife, how would you feel?”
“…What the hell are you babbling about now?”
Benjamin blinked, his response delayed by half a beat.
Hearing his friend’s raw, immediate reaction, Aden decided there was nothing more worth hearing.
Right—this was the normal response. Benjamin grew uneasy at the sight of Aden’s smile.
“You don’t… actually like Melena, do you?”
“No. Impossible.”
“Then what was that just now? Don’t tell me… the woman you’re thinking of gifting those flowers to is already married?”
Faced with Aden’s plain denial, Benjamin swiftly reached a clear conclusion.
Aden merely lifted the corners of his lips into a faint, enigmatic smile. Benjamin inhaled sharply, his expression incredulous.
“You’re completely insane. You were like this back then too, but now you’re going even further off the rails?”
Recalling their pre-noble days, Benjamin spat out a crude word. In response, Aden simply shrugged his shoulders once.
As Aden resumed walking, Benjamin hurried after him, earnestly repeating his warnings.
Of course, Aden—happily letting his friend’s advice fall on deaf ears—continued forward with a faint smile.
“What? It’s the Marquis Erdi’s wife?”
Benjamin’s startled voice blurted out. Through the glass storefront, the interior of the upscale café was fully visible.
There sat Ludmila, engaged in conversation with someone.
Benjamin moved closer to Aden’s side, adjusted his glasses upward, stared wordlessly at Ludmila for a moment, then turned his head.
“I was just cautioning you out of concern—please don’t go gifting flowers to a married woman like the Marchioness Erdi—hey!”
Before Benjamin could finish his warning, he realized Aden was no longer beside him and cried out.
Aden, having already caught Ludmila’s attention, was walking ahead at a distance.
Frowning, Benjamin hurried after him and scolded loudly—but Aden’s dry, steady steps never slowed as he walked away from Ludmila.
[This is the timeline separator]Celia had always disliked Ludmila.
A vulgar woman whose only asset was the half-blood imperial lineage coursing through her veins.
She had wed Celia’s younger brother without even a dowry, yet always pretended to be a noble swan, utterly oblivious to her true standing.
Though society praised Ludmila as the epitome of a refined noblewoman, Celia—who had witnessed everything firsthand—found it utterly absurd.
That crass woman, capable only of a rehearsed, assembly-line smile, dared to call herself the paragon of nobility? Every time that bastard child held her head high, claiming imperial blood, and insisted on being addressed as “Marchioness,” Celia’s stomach twisted in rage.
“I’d thought Ludmila at least had some sense. I assumed her lack of children showed she knew her place. But I suppose three years is the limit, then. Are you growing fearful now? Worried that without a child, Kedilen will abandon you and send you back to that dreadful past?”
“Your words are excessive.”
“I speak excessively because I want you to hear them that way. It’s ridiculous! You stayed silent for three years about the infertility rumors, and now you’re visiting hospitals openly, parading around in broad daylight with your carriage like it’s meant for everyone to see.”
Whatever reputation Ludmila held in society meant nothing to Celia.
To her, Ludmila was nothing more than filth tarnishing the proud name of House Erdi—nothing more, nothing less.
Yet despite such overt hostility, Ludmila’s expression remained unchanged.
Anyone else would have flushed with anger or shame upon hearing such words—but her gaze stayed gentle.
To Celia, that calmness felt like outright contempt.
She couldn’t comprehend at all how someone with merely half-blood lineage could possess such self-assurance and dignity.
“Are you anxious?”
Her voice and tone grew sharper, like a honed blade, the more Ludmila remained composed.
“Is your husband’s attention starting to wane, so you’re trying to secure it again by bearing a child? Otherwise, I can’t possibly understand why you’d do this now, after three whole years.”
Bloodlines truly were strange. Though different in gender and age, their words came out identical.
To House Erdi, Ludmila would always be a figure of inadequacy and disappointment.
Knowing this, Ludmila chose not to dwell deeply on those words.
To react indignantly and lose her decorum would only make her no different from them.
“Kedilen himself ordered me to seek medical consultation.”
“What?”
Tired of Celia’s habitual habit of reacting with “What?” to everything she said, Ludmila calmly lifted the corners of her lips, adding a touch of life to her otherwise dry expression.
“He suggested we have a child.”
“You mean Kedilen himself proposed that you bear his child first?”
“If you doubt me, go home and send someone to confirm it. You’ll see my words are true.”
Celia loosened her tightly pressed lips, her face filled with disbelief.
At the same moment, she raised her hand to lift her teacup—but the tea, cooled by the prolonged conversation, carried only chill.
Noticing this with a quick glance, Ludmila signaled a server to bring another cup of the same tea.
Celia frowned at such effortlessly natural consideration.
“I suppose you were expecting a more convincing reply. I’m sorry I disappointed you—I couldn’t give you the answer you wanted.”
“Are you mocking me now? If Kedilen had intentions, you should’ve led with that from the start.”
Celia’s ears reddened—not from embarrassment or shame,
but from fury at Ludmila’s audacity to lift her chin proudly and talk back.
Having witnessed Kedilen react this way to her countless times before, Ludmila found nothing exceptional in Celia’s anger.
“I’m sorry.”
Thus, her way of disengaging from the uncomfortable situation was utterly ordinary.
Yes—this level of response was perfectly adequate.
“However, Countess von Wyrn.”
Normally, Ludmila would have ended things there—but today, her demeanor was different.
Her head tilted slightly, and her usually calm eyes now held clear displeasure; though she didn’t smile, the corners of her mouth curved oddly.
“Why must I endure such words from you?”
Clearly, Ludmila was revealing her displeasure. For a moment, Celia’s thoughts froze.
She saw Ludmila before her—still dignified even in anger.
Forced pretensions of nobility could never rival true grace.
Celia deliberately crossed her legs, lifted her chin, and sharply raised her eyes.
Yet even so, she couldn’t match the quiet nobility of Ludmila’s neatly folded hands.
“D-Do you think you’re speaking to me?”
“The Chechen banquet, Lombart ambassador’s birthday, Ragjuna’s invitation—our conversations are always the same, every single time we meet. You voice your displeasure, and I apologize. And every time, I’ve wondered: why must I keep hearing this from you, Countess?”
“That’s precisely why you’re hearing it now! A vulgar mind like yours could never understand!”
“Then I suppose that’s unfortunate. Blood cannot be changed. It seems I’ll never understand you, Countess, for as long as I live.”
With those words, Ludmila rose from her seat—prompting Celia to widen her eyes and cry out, “You!?”
With a simple gesture, Ludmila picked up her frilly parasol and belongings, then painted on a deliberately crafted smile over her dry expression.
“Next time, I hope you’ll choose a conversation worthy of a countess’s dignity. Your grace is so high that someone inadequate like me struggles to keep up—both in dialogue and vocabulary.”
“Y-You just now…”
“Then, I wish you a pleasant afternoon.”
With a farewell bow so elegant it seemed lifted straight from an etiquette manual, Ludmila turned away. Further conversation would be meaningless.
Before Kedilen returned, she needed to resolve the pregnancy issue and devise ways to escape him.
As she stood before the closed door, untying the ribbon of her frilly parasol to shield herself from the afternoon sun—
“C-Customer!?”
A flustered voice rang out from behind her. Simultaneously, the door opened as someone entered.
Startled, Ludmila twisted her waist to look back—but failing to see what lay ahead, she collided with the entering person and was pushed aside.
Sloooosh!
The cool tea Celia had just spilled soaked the exact spot where Ludmila had stood moments before.
Thankfully, Ludmila had been shoved aside just in time to avoid the dousing—but as a result, the innocent newcomer who had just opened the door suffered the full brunt of the cold tea.
“Well, this is…”
A flustered, quiet voice. Ludmila looked up wordlessly at the black-haired man who had taken the tea in her stead.
Why was he here again…? Memories of his retirement ceremony and their final conversation before death overlapped in her mind.
“…Quite a sharp form of hospitality.”
Aden, chieftain of the Kan tribe, offered a dry remark, a faint smile playing on his lips.
Turns Out He’s Been Secretly in Love with Me
One-line summary: He acts like he doesn’t like her but is actually playing hard to get.
Synopsis:
Xu Muzhou like her. He has liked her for a very long time, and through repeated schemes, he finally closed the distance with her.
But this is still far from enough.
He wants to be the one who stands out among her many suitors, to fight for her attention, and to make her take the initiative to pursue him.
_____
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