The moment Elias led Clover out into the rain, Dylan went straight into the bathroom.
He turned on the shower and stood beneath the hot water, letting it pour over his body.
Steam rose around him, thick and heavy.
He closed his eyes, jaw tight.
Her scent was getting stronger.
Every day.
Every moment.
It clung to him like a curse he could no longer outrun.
Dylan dragged a hand down his face, forcing himself to breathe.
Could he keep enduring this?
Could he keep pretending none of this affected him?
But every time he looked at her, all he could remember was the fury in her eyes.
That stubborn fire.
That hatred.
That defiance.
"She really is the end of me," he muttered under his breath.
After a long while, he stepped out of the bath and walked to the mirror.
Steam clouded the glass.
He lifted a hand and wiped it away, staring hard at his own reflection.
His expression was cold.
But his eyes were not.
A few minutes later, Dylan stepped out of the bathroom wearing only black trousers.
His damp hair fell carelessly over his forehead.
He grabbed a cigarette, lit it, and headed into the corridor.
There, he stood in the dim light, one hand in his pocket, the other holding the cigarette between his fingers as smoke curled slowly past his lips.
Footsteps approached.
Elias.
"My lord."
Dylan didn't look at him immediately.
"How is she coping?"
Elias hesitated.
"The weather is worsening," he said carefully. "If she remains out there for another thirty minutes, she may freeze."
Dylan exhaled a slow stream of smoke.
Elias lowered his gaze, though his thoughts remained sharp.
No one understood Lord Dylan more than he did.
He knew enough to see what others could not.
His master's cruelty toward Clover was never simple.
And his indifference?
That was the biggest lie of all.
Dylan flicked ash from the cigarette.
"About what I asked you to investigate," he said. "Any news?"
"Yes, my lord. I heard Lady Isabel fled the village."
Dylan's gaze sharpened.
"Why?"
"I do not know yet."
"Then continue investigating."
"Yes, my lord."
Dylan took another drag.
"Any word from Bruno and Gina?"
"Not yet."
A brief silence passed.
"You may go."
Elias bowed.
"As you command."
Then he left.
Dylan remained where he was, the cigarette burning low between his fingers.
At last, he stepped toward the balcony window and looked down into the garden.
Rain hammered the earth below.
And there she was.
Curled into herself.
Shivering.
Still sitting where he had left her.
His jaw tightened.
Outside, Clover hugged herself tightly, her whole body trembling from the cold.
Rainwater soaked through her clothes, clinging to her skin.
She hated him.
No—
hate was too small for what she felt.
That monster had humiliated her.
Punished her.
Thrown her into the rain like she was nothing.
She buried her face against her knees, trying to hold herself together.
Then she felt it.
A presence.
Slowly, she lifted her head.
Dylan stood a few steps away.
A black umbrella rested above him, shielding him from the rain.
One hand was tucked into the pocket of his trousers. The first two buttons of his shirt were undone, exposing the sharp line of his collarbone.
His gaze met hers.
Cold.
Unreadable.
Clover's eyes stung instantly.
Hot tears threatened to spill.
"Are you coming," Dylan asked flatly, "or do you intend to continue your punishment?"
Clover stared at him.
For one foolish second, she wanted to scream at him.
To tell him to go to hell.
But her body was too numb.
Too tired.
Too cold.
Without saying a word, she pushed herself up and hurried toward him.
Dylan turned.
And together, they walked back inside.
The moment they entered the room, Dylan spoke.
"Go shower."
Clover didn't argue.
She walked straight into the bathroom while Dylan moved toward the bed.
The room was silent except for the sound of running water.
A while later, the bathroom door opened.
Clover stepped out slowly.
A white towel was wrapped around her chest, clinging to her damp skin.
Her hair was wet, red strands falling over her shoulders to her back.
She stopped when she saw him looking at her.
Dylan rose from the bed.
Without a word, he crossed to the dresser, pulled out a dry towel, and walked toward her.
Clover stiffened.
He stopped in front of her.
Then took her wrist lightly.
Her breath caught.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
Dylan's voice was low.
"I wouldn't want you catching a cold."
Clover gave a short, bitter scoff.
He left me in the rain, and now he doesn't want me to catch a cold?
Hypocrite.
The word formed in her mind before she could stop it.
Still, she said nothing.
Dylan guided her to sit on the edge of the bed.
Then, standing behind her, he began drying her hair.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Clover froze.
Every brush of his fingers against the back of her neck sent a strange shiver through her.
Her heartbeat began to betray her.
What is he doing?
And why—
why was her body reacting like this?
Her hands tightened over the towel in her lap.
Come on, Clover. Don't tell me you're getting flustered because of this devil.
She silently cursed herself.
Dylan's fingers slid through her damp hair again.
Then he leaned down slightly.
"Are you alright?"
His voice brushed against her ear.
Clover's breath hitched.
"Yes."
It came out too quickly.
Too thin.
Dylan paused.
Then slowly, he straightened and moved just enough for her to see his face.
A smirk curved his lips.
That dangerous smirk.
"I don't think so," he murmured.
Clover swallowed hard.
He leaned closer.
His voice dropped lower.
"Because I can feel how tense you are."
Her eyes widened.
Heat rushed to her face so fast it almost hurt.
"Oh my God…"
Embarrassed beyond reason, Clover shoved him away and stood up at once.
"The hair is dry," she blurted out.
Then she hurried toward the wardrobe, grabbed a nightgown, and slipped it on as fast as she could.
Her ears were burning.
Her whole body felt wrong.
Behind her, Dylan gave a soft, amused chuckle.
She refused to turn around.
Idiot.
Devil.
Shameless devil.
When she finally climbed onto the bed, Dylan was already sitting against the headboard with a book in hand, looking as if nothing had happened.
As if he hadn't just completely destroyed her composure.
Clover lay down stiffly, facing away from him.
But the warmth of the bed…
the exhaustion…
the storm outside finally fading…
It all pulled her under.
Before long, she drifted into sleep.
Morning came slowly.
The rain had stopped.
Soft birdsong drifted in from outside as pale light slipped through the curtains.
Clover stirred and opened her eyes.
For a moment, she forgot where she was.
Then everything from last night came rushing back.
The humiliation.
The rain.
The punishment.
Him.
Her chest tightened.
She turned her head.
The space beside her was empty.
He wasn't there.
A strange feeling passed through her.
Disappointment?
No.
Absolutely not.
Before she could dwell on it, the door opened.
Dylan stepped inside.
Freshly dressed.
Perfect as always.
Cold as always.
Clover sat up slightly.
"I won't be around for three days," he said.
Dylan's gaze moved to the book near the bed.
"Make sure you study that book."
His eyes returned to hers.
"There is always either a reward or a punishment for every of your action, Clover."
His voice was calm.
Too calm.
"So be a good girl while I'm away."
Clover stared at him.
In her mind, she was already strangling him.
You might as well die wherever you're going.
But outwardly—
she simply nodded.
Dylan held her gaze for one more second.
Then he turned and left.
Just like that.
The door shut behind him.
And Clover sat there in silence, staring at the space he had just vacated.
Her fingers slowly curled into the sheets.
Three days.
Good.
Let him go.
Let him stay gone.
So why…
Why did the room suddenly feel colder without him?