Trampled and Broken (Completed Main Story) - Chapter 40
Dean, who instinctively realized it, unconsciously pressed his lips together.
The study fell quiet once more.
But Aslan, uncharacteristically failing to hide his displeasure, gave a second warning.
“It means don’t cross the line. Not now, not ever.”
Dean looked at his lord with trembling eyes, wanting to confirm with his own sight whether those last words had been spoken in earnest.
He desperately hoped he’d heard wrong.
He couldn’t even begin to count how fervently he’d wished for it in that brief moment.
Yet the instant he saw the quiet flames of anger burning in those golden eyes fixed upon him, Dean had no choice but to accept that Aslan meant every word.
Only then did Dean bring himself to speak an apology.
“…I’m sorry.”
Of course, mountains of objections still remained unspoken, and the dissatisfaction etched on his face refused to fade.
Martin, who had silently observed the scene, thought inwardly,
‘What is truly making His Grace so angry?’
Did he consider Dean’s repeated raised voice toward him an act of insubordination?
‘If not that…’
Martin unconsciously held his breath.
An idea he didn’t even want to entertain rose unbidden in his mind.
‘Could it be because Dean mentioned Princess Hestia?’
As soon as Martin’s thoughts reached the conclusion that this latter possibility was the truth, his mouth went completely dry.
Like Dean, Martin had served Aslan as a close aide for quite some time.
Thus, he secretly prided himself on knowing Aslan better than anyone else.
But right now, Aslan felt like a complete stranger.
Because of this, Martin couldn’t help but be greatly shocked by Aslan’s reaction. The difference between him and Dean, however, was that Martin concealed his emotions and expressions far more skillfully.
He, too, was deeply unsettled by Aslan’s words.
“Your Grace.”
Nevertheless, Martin quickly composed himself and, maintaining an outwardly calm demeanor, spoke with respectful formality.
“I apologize for asking such a question, but as your aide, I must inquire—your every action and decision bears directly upon the survival of House Kalati. I hope you’ll understand why I cannot remain silent.”
Only then did Aslan withdraw the icy glare he’d been directing at Dean.
He closed his eyes tightly once more, as if weary.
He gave a slight nod, signaling his permission for the question.
Seeing his lord pinch the bridge of his nose while keeping his eyes firmly shut, Martin sensed that His Grace was suffering no small amount of inner turmoil himself.
Thus, Martin swallowed hard and asked calmly,
“Do you intend to take Princess Hestia with you to the North?”
Tap. Tap.
Aslan began slowly tapping the armrest with his fingernail.
A silence worth its weight in gold stretched on.
Neither Dean nor Martin pressed Aslan for an answer.
But Aslan, unable to ignore Martin’s question, paused briefly before giving a heavy nod.
“Yes. That’s exactly what I intend to do.”
“Your Grace!”
Dean raised his voice again.
“That’s impossible! I cannot accept it!”
Aslan let out a deep sigh.
His chest, visible through his loosely parted robe, rose and fell heavily.
“I know, Dean. I understand what you’re worried about.”
He leaned back lazily and crossed his legs.
A faint hint of impatience seeped through his languid posture.
“And if necessary, I’ll give you my word right here and now: nothing will happen that warrants your concern.”
“But then why…!”
Dean, about to raise his voice carelessly again, caught himself mid-sentence, biting down hard on his lip.
Aslan repeated the motion of slowly clenching and unclenching his fist, then continued in the most composed tone he could manage.
“Listen carefully—this won’t be explained twice. Whatever my actions may seem like from now on, don’t jump to conclusions or misunderstand me. I simply wish to repay her. And when something is offered, one must accept it—that’s the Kalati way.”
Regardless of what his subordinates might say, Aslan had already reached his decision.
He ended the conversation as if refusing any further objections.
“Keep that in mind and make your preparations.”
“Yes, Your Grace. We shall do so.”
Before Dean could voice another pointless complaint, Martin swiftly answered first—and immediately followed up with another question.
“But will the King and the Temple accept it?”
“Well, that’s something I’ll just have to manage.”
Aslan spoke dismissively, as though it weren’t even worth mentioning.
Inwardly, he believed persuading them would be easy.
‘No—perhaps “threaten” is the better word.’
Aslan gave a faint, wry smile.
After all, his own resolve had been the greatest obstacle. Now that he’d decided to keep Hestia by his side, everything else would naturally fall into place.
‘She gave herself to me.’
Therefore, she belongs to me.
He needed no one’s permission to keep what was his.
‘If it comes to it, I’ll simply take her with me.’
Just thinking of Hestia made heat surge within him again.
He crossed his arms and took a deep breath, as if trying to cool his burning insides.
He would hurt Hestia.
“Until now, everything I’ve done has been utterly useless.”
Only now did he finally realize it.
Ignoring her had, in the end, still been a form of attention—and of indulgence.
And Aslan no longer wished to indulge Hestia.
How deeply had she gnawed at him during all that time they’d been apart?
Thus, he felt it was his turn now.
He would keep Hestia by his side.
And he wanted to drive her mad with longing.
Just as her absence had eaten away at him.
That, he thought, would be fair.
He wanted her to hurt as he had hurt, to struggle as he had struggled, to suffer as he had suffered—until she wept.
〈I’ll die for you anytime.〉
Exactly.
If you have nothing left to lose, then I’ll simply ruin you.
Something inside Aslan twisted and shattered.
[This is the timeline separator]His body felt unusually heavy today.
“Princess, please wake up.”
Yet he couldn’t very well ignore the careful hand gently shaking his shoulder.
Hestia, who had merely kept her eyes tightly shut for a few more seconds, slowly lifted her heavy eyelids.
Sunlight flooded the room, stinging her eyes so sharply that her smooth brow furrowed slightly.
“Are you alright?”
“Hmm… Angela?”
Hestia reflexively called out her maid’s name.
It was always like this.
Angela was the one who always woke her, especially on mornings when she felt particularly weak.
Thinking vaguely, ‘So it’s morning already,’ Hestia sat up, still half-lost in drowsiness.
“Oh.”
A hoarse voice cracked from her dry lips, accompanied by a dull ache.
Immediately, she felt the supporting hands at her back.
‘Huh?’
Even in her half-awake state, she sensed something was slightly different from usual.
“Can you sit up on your own?”
Hestia nodded with half-closed eyes and finished raising herself upright.
A beat later, the blanket that had covered her up to her neck slid slowly downward, leaving her bare skin exposed to the cool air.
Startled by the unfamiliar sensation, Hestia looked down—and gasped sharply.
“Huh!”
All traces of sleep vanished instantly, as if evaporated in a single breath.
Hestia hastily pulled the blanket back up. At the same time, memories of last night’s events in this very bed flooded her mind.
Her face flushed crimson, as if someone had boiled her alive.
“A-Angela! I mean, this is…!”
Her mouth went completely dry.
But Angela, surprisingly, uttered not a single word of surprise or reproach.
Hestia stole a glance at her maid’s expression.
‘She couldn’t possibly have missed it…’
Angela must have clearly seen Hestia’s mottled skin up close, yet she remained utterly silent.
Only then did Hestia realize Angela was deliberately sparing her embarrassment.
Her maid was acting as if nothing unusual had happened, precisely to keep Hestia from feeling ashamed.
Deeply touched by this quiet consideration, Hestia felt a surge of heartfelt gratitude.
“I’ll prepare your bath. The water’s already been heated since this morning, so I just need to move it—please wait a moment.”
Hestia nodded, her face still flushed, and added softly,
“Just… prepare the water. I can bathe myself.”
But Angela turned to her with a look that plainly said such nonsense wouldn’t be tolerated.
“You’ll barely be able to walk.”
“I’m fine, really…”
“No, you’re not.”
Angela spoke firmly.
A short while later, Hestia moved to the bathing chamber leaning on Angela’s support.
Once she removed her robe and stepped into the tub, the pleasantly warm water instantly relaxed her tense muscles.
Meanwhile, having gotten a proper look at Hestia’s skin again, Angela frowned slightly from behind before silently pouring warm water over her shoulders.
Not a single word passed between them.
Then, at some point, Hestia quietly turned around upon hearing a soft sniffle from behind.
“Angela? Are you crying?”
“…Crying? Me?”
Angela quickly wiped away her tears, but couldn’t hide the redness around her eyes.
Hestia didn’t need to ask why she was crying. With an embarrassed expression, she lowered her eyes slightly, then cleared her throat awkwardly to change the subject.
“By the way, how did I end up here?”
“How did you end up here?”
Angela sniffled and replied in a slightly petulant tone.
“I stayed up all night waiting for you, and then suddenly someone from the Duke’s household arrived. They didn’t explain anything—just said you’d spent the night at the Kalati residence… So of course I rushed right over in a panic.”
“I see.”
Apparently, while she’d been unconscious, Aslan had sent someone to bring her here.
‘He’s more thoughtful than I expected.’
Given that he’d only ever shown her coldness until now, she honestly hadn’t expected much.
A moment later, Angela spoke again, this time with extreme caution.
“Um… Princess, please don’t be upset—just hear me out.”
Male lead is a Divorced Husband
She said to him: “Tell me, what makes you like me? I’ll change it!”
Liu Changning transmigrated into a female cannon fodder character in a female-dominant novel.
After reading the first half of the novel’s plot, the first thing she did upon transmigration was to divorce the Pan Jinlian-style male protagonist she had just married.
She indulged herself, pretending to be ugly and poor.
But as time passed, the way that man looked at her became more and more unusual…
Liu Changning was dumbfounded: Tell me, what makes you like me? I’ll change!
――
This lifetime, Pei Yuanshao was rejected by the same woman twice!
The first time, she drove him away. Forced by the situation, he endured the waves of anger in his heart, yielding and humbling himself.
That person lay slanted on a rocking chair, her sallow face emotionless: “If you don’t want a divorce, go cook!”
Pei Yuanshao’s face was dark and gloomy: “You!”
The second time, after the crisis in Jinling City was resolved, the new emperor sent someone to pick him up. He turned around, stammering: “I… I have to go. If you keep me…”
That person lay on the kang bed, her back to him, as if she had long anticipated this day, crisp and clear: “Goodbye!”
Pei Yuanshao was so angry his fingers trembled: “You… you!”
The mission of family and country made him restrain himself, averting his eyes and turning to leave this broken household.
Two years later, they met again. Seeing her ethereal face, his body shook like a sieve.
“She was originally a ‘she’!”
At the Qionglin Banquet, the top scholar of the imperial examination, a talented person with exceptional speech and conduct, all the unmarried young gentlemen from aristocratic families looked at her with shy and timid eyes.
The peerless imperial official Pei Yuanshao felt the anger in his heart erupt. He pointed at the woman surrounded by the crowd at the Qionglin Banquet, his thin lips slightly curled: “Little sister, I wants that person to be the wife-master of my Mingde Prince Manor.”
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