The Devil's Good Girl-Chapter 250: You are mine

[Trigger warning: the Chapter contains details that can cause discomfort. Not advisable for ages 17 and below.]

In Fil’s dream were a woman and a man, wearing fancy yet royalty-style clothing. She couldn’t see their faces clearly, but the way they were speaking and their build was enough for her to assume they were royalties.

"Answer me, Crown Princess." The man’s voice was low and harsh, one that could raise a sense of trepidation.

However, Latrice’s calmness remained. "Which question does require an answer, Your Highness?"

Quentin clasped his hands as bitterness shone in his eyes. He came to confront Latrice after spending a day denying what he had noticed for the entire visit of the Duke of the South. What she was giving him in return, however, was the same neutral treatment she was giving everyone else except Jackson.

"This is why I’ve been having these strange ideas." Quentin took a step closer to her, barely keeping his rising anger. "You give everyone this same look so when it changes, it’s palpable."

He caressed her cheek with the back of his hand and asked, "Do you think there comes a day that you will return my feelings, Latrice?"

Latrice pressed her lips while gazing up at him. He had been throwing questions or rather, accusations toward her since coming to her quarters. But when asked, which question carried the utmost importance, it was this question.

The answer was obvious, but Latrice knew he was hostile. He would take anything but no.

"I am trying, Quentin." A short smile turned up on her face, cupping his face gently. "Though the answer is uncertain, I will try harder."

Quentin wasn’t hard to love. However, she had already given her heart, soul, and body to another man. Even so, unless she wanted Jackson to face the crown prince’s wrath, Latrice wanted to keep Quentin’s good graces.

A look of defeat shone in Quentin’s eyes, holding the hand that was cupping his face. "Let’s consummate our marriage, Latrice."

It had been months since the two of them took their vows. Although Quentin mostly slept beside her, he was patient until she was ready for his advances. Or rather, he was waiting for the day she would respond to his hints.

"Alright." Latrice nodded, watching him lower his head.

When their faces were inches from each other, Quentin paused for a while. Latrice averted her eyes, a habit he had noticed whenever he tried to kiss her. His jaw tightened, reminded of the look of admiration she bore during his target practice with Jackson.

Now, he realized she wasn’t looking at him back then.

"Quentin." Suddenly, Latrice held both his cheeks and looked into his eyes. "You’re distracted again."

"What did you see in him?" Bitterness swelled in his chest, unable to stop himself from asking another question.

Compared to the crown prince, Jackson’s achievements barely amount to anything because of his ’horrendous’ face. Aside from fear from him, there was only disgust and repulse that people knew him for. The crown prince was loved and admired all across the empire. But because of Latrice, Quentin was being filled with a sense of inferiority and jealousy.

The two feelings he never thought he would bear towards Jackson.

"He is..." Latrice trailed off, knowing talking about another man wouldn’t end well. "Let’s not talk about other people, Your Highness."

"Why? Are you afraid of hurting my feelings, my Latrice?"

"I do."

His jaw tightened again. "You already tore my heart into pieces when you looked in his direction and not mine."

"Quentin, I —" The rest of her words were shoved back into her throat when his lips claimed hers.

"You are mine, Latrice," he whispered into her mouth, barely containing the overwhelming jealousy in his heart. "There’s nothing Jackson owned that I hadn’t given him. It will stay like that for the rest of his life."

Having said that, Quentin aggressively claimed her lips and carried her to bed. Talking to her reminded him of his anger. Hence, he didn’t indulge in any talks and aggressively ripped her clothes apart.

He had waited, but it seemed waiting only gave her more time to think about another man.

Although Latrice didn’t complain or struggle, she disliked how he forced himself on her. Unlike Jackson, Quentin was aggressive and rough. He didn’t care if he was hurting her; he was like an animal who came to devour her mercilessly. The difference was too striking she couldn’t help but compare.

With Jackson, she felt secure and relaxed. She would even sleep in his arms like a child, knowing once she woke up, he would still be there. But with Quentin, all she could feel was he was trying to own her, to make his claim, and leave his mark to remind her of his ownership.

Latrice could feel this brewing feeling she never felt before while staring into the ceiling with Quentin still on top of her. She closed her eyes tightly, an obvious act of refusal to this situation.

At the same time, Quentin reached his climax.

Panting, he shifted his eyes to her face, only to see her shut eyes. He clenched his teeth, pushing himself away from her, and then sitting on the edge of the bed.

"I’m sorry." He didn’t mean to hurt her on their first night. "I didn’t... I was angry and ended up venting it on you."

When he glanced back, Latrice was still lying down without moving an inch. She still had her eyes closed, not bothering to cover herself. Hence, he could see the bruises on her body so clearly.

"Latrice," he called, but she didn’t answer.

His guilt slowly overpowered his jealousy and in the end, he left her all alone to give her some time. Even though he believed it was her fault for loving another man aside from her husband, Quentin meant it when he said he would protect her.

Quentin’s heart was true.

If only she had seen that and would open her heart to him, Quentin wouldn’t do what he would end up doing.

*

*

Meanwhile, when Quentin left, tears flowed across Latrice’s temple. She soon started hiccuping as she opened her eyes. Her body was in pain; not just from the abuse she experienced just now but also from something else. Seeing her body lying there bare, she clasped the sheet and covered herself.

"Jack..." she whimpered, looking around the strange room with fear. "...what is this room?"

Fil knew this could be a dream — a vivid nightmare she was experiencing. However, the pain within her and the outside injuries felt too real to be a dream.

Just now, she was watching two figures argue, only to find herself in the woman’s body.