Chapter 220: This Dog is About to Be Tamed

Sistine clutched her stomach, her cheeks tinged with embarrassment.

But her body’s hunger refused to relent, growling persistently.

Shia neither teased her nor showed any unusual reaction.

He had anticipated this situation, knowing her energy reserves would need replenishment after such exertion.

He had already prepared a midnight snack.

Getting up from the bed, Shia brought the food over.

Sistine instinctively tried to rise, but Shia gently pushed her back down.

“You’re still weak. Lie down and rest.”

His tone was firm, leaving no room for argument.

Sistine felt an odd mix of emotions—embarrassment and a strange tension.

Getting up now seemed impossible.

The mere thought of what lay beneath the blanket made her ears flush red.

In the end, she obediently lay back, lacking her usual aloof demeanor. She was surprisingly docile.

Shia held a bowl in one hand, a spoon in the other.

He had prepared a simple porridge—light and warm, just right for the moment.

Bringing the spoon to Sistine’s lips, she obediently opened her mouth, letting him feed her.

Sistine's cheeks flushed lightly, a faint pink that hinted at a sweetness she couldn’t quite explain.

The warm porridge settled in her stomach, quelling its growls and restoring some of her strength.

'Did he put too much sugar in this porridge?' she wondered, her thoughts scattered and nonsensical.

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Still, she obediently allowed herself to be fed.

A small streak of porridge lingered at the corner of her lips. Shia, ever attentive, reached for a tissue and gently wiped it away.

Lost in her muddled thoughts, Sistine didn’t even realize that she neither resisted his feeding nor his touch.

Everything felt so natural, as if it were meant to be.

One obediently fed, the other tenderly feeding—the quiet warmth between them was undeniable.

---

After a while, the faint sound of a door opening echoed.

Click.

Shia stepped out of Sistine’s home, closing the door softly behind him.

He turned, only to see Lilith crouched by the door, hugging her knees.

Her black stockings stretched taut, revealing glimpses of soft skin. Her golden curls cascaded down her back as she huddled in the corner, her small face tilted up to look at him.

She appeared utterly pitiful, like a stray kitten abandoned in the cold.

And wasn’t she pitiful?

The ultimate third wheel, left out in the cold—literally and figuratively.

Shia crouched down, gently draping a coat over her shoulders and helping her up, his voice soft.

“Let’s go home, my dear.”

Having sat for too long, Lilith’s legs had gone numb, leaving her half-leaning on Shia for support.

The coat shielded her from the biting wind, her body gradually warming, though her legs remained weak and unsteady.

She glanced toward Sistine’s door.

“Maybe I should check on Senior Sistine?”

She hadn’t expected the “recovery process” to take so long.

At first, she had been vigilant, checking in frequently. But as time dragged on, her enthusiasm waned, and eventually, she stopped asking altogether.

When the house finally fell silent, she had wanted to inquire, but Shia explained that he was suppressing Sistine’s chaotic sword aura, aligning and stabilizing it.

It hadn’t seemed appropriate to interrupt, so she had continued waiting outside.

Later, the lights in the house had turned on.

But by then, she had grown too weary to ask further.

The cold night wind kept her awake, and when the lights turned off again, the door finally opened.

With the process concluded, Lilith figured it was only right to go in and check on Sistine.

But Shia stopped her, his grip firm yet gentle.

“Senior Sistine just recovered from an unstable state. She’s exhausted and needs rest. Let’s not disturb her.”

“But I’m worried about her,” Lilith said hesitantly.

After all, how would Sistine know how much she had sacrificed if she didn’t show up to remind her? She’d guarded the door for half the night!

“Senior Sistine is already asleep,” Shia reassured her. “I know you care for her, but visiting tomorrow will be just as meaningful.”

'Asleep?'

If Sistine was asleep, showing concern now would go unnoticed.

Waking her up might result in annoyance rather than gratitude.

Lilith hesitated, torn.

Sensing her reluctance, Shia draped an arm around her shoulders, his voice tender.

“You’ve worked hard, keeping watch over us all this time. Let me make you some tea to warm you up.”

He smiled. “And tell me, what dessert would you like? I’ll make it for you.”

His voice was like a soothing melody, warm and inviting.

Lilith’s heart swelled with satisfaction, her earlier grievances melting away.

'He still cares so much for me!'

She couldn’t help but feel a little smug. 'Finally, I’m winning him back.'

He was still her loyal “puppy,” easily moved by the smallest displays of affection.

“I want roseberry soft cakes,” she said, her voice carrying a hint of excitement.

Though things hadn’t gone entirely as planned, she felt she had rega ined her fiancé’s affection with minimal effort. 'Happy days ahead!'

Shia agreed with a smile, the two walking off together in harmony.

But inwardly, Shia couldn’t help marveling at Lilith’s unwavering confidence.

Her smile radiated a self-assurance so profound it was almost admirable—if not entirely delusional.

Recalling the stark contrast between her gentle concern outside and the… intense assistance he had been giving Sistine inside, Shia felt a wave of satisfaction wash over him.

Body and mind, utterly gratified.

The only concern lingering in his mind was how to face Sistine once she fully processed everything.

Though she hadn’t pieced it all together earlier, Shia remembered vividly how, in the game, Sistine had relentlessly hunted Lilith for over a month before forgiving her.

Even as these thoughts surfaced, Shia remained composed.

'What’s done is done. Regret serves no purpose.'

He resolved to handle the fallout when it came.

After settling Lilith and brewing her tea, Shia sat on the living room sofa, turning a small object over in his hands.