CHAPTER 181: THE CURSE OF BEING A WOMAN

Primrose tilted her head slightly, not fully convinced. After all, Edmund always defended her, no matter what.

Maybe he was just saying that again to make her feel better.

"What if ... the dress was too tight?" she asked, almost whispering.

The line between Edmund’s brows deepened, he looked almost angry, not at her, but at the idea that she could think like this.

"Primrose," he said her name again, more firmly this time. "My wife, you were wearing a thick coat yesterday. How could that possibly look tight?"

[She even looked like she was buried inside that fur coat,] Edmund thought to himself, frustrated.

[No ... is she blaming herself for what happened?]

"Primrose, my wife, look at me." He gently held her shoulders and gave them a soft squeeze, enough to guide her gaze back to his.

"Your dress was fine. You didn’t say anything wrong. You didn’t do anything wrong. And you never deserved the way he treated you."

Primrose’s eyebrows lowered slightly, and her eyes grew misty with unshed tears. She whispered, barely heard, "Really? I didn’t do anything wrong?"

The truth was, she still wasn’t entirely sure.

Because all her life, people had always found something to criticize.

The way she walked. The way she spoke to men. Even when she wasn’t trying to draw attention, the comments would come anyway.

They called her flirtatious. Said she acted like she was trying to tempt every man at banquets or wherever she went.

Some claimed she deliberately charmed men, whether they were single or married.

None of it was true.

The truth was, she always tried to avoid men during those events.

She would ask her girl friends to stay close to her all the time, just so she wouldn’t be left alone and forced to talk to a man.

Still, society always found a way to blame women.

It was easier to point fingers at them than to hold men accountable for their behavior.

There was one line that had been drilled into her head since she was young: "Men are hunters by nature. It’s in their blood to chase what they desire. That’s why, as a woman, you must not tempt them."

She had heard it so many times, from so many mouths, that part of her started to believe it was true.

Maybe this was just how the world worked.

That was why, in her first life, she had felt so confused when the Lycan King showed no desire to touch her.

When other men touched her without permission, she felt ashamed and dirty.

But when her husband didn’t touch her at all, people whispered that something must be wrong with her.

At some point, she simply stopped trying to understand men altogether.

It was easier to do nothing than to constantly walk on a tightrope.

"No. You truly didn’t do anything wrong," Edmund said again, repeating the words like a vow. "You didn’t do anything wrong, my wife."

Primrose didn’t say anything in return.

She bit the inside of her lip, trying hard not to cry because she felt like she had cried too much in front of him lately.

But then, Edmund suddenly pulled her into his arms.

His hand moved gently across her back, stroking her with so much care that it made her chest tighten.

The comfort in his embrace was too much, too kind.

The tears spilled from her eyes before she could stop them.

"It’s alright," Edmund whispered, trying to calm her, but his soothing voice only made the tears fall harder.

"I promise this kind of thing will never happen again." he continued. "And if any man ever makes you feel even a little uncomfortable ... just tell me. I’ll take care of him."

[Any man who harbors filthy intentions toward my wife doesn’t deserve to live,] Edmund thought, his expression darkening.

[And if this incident makes her afraid to wear her beautiful dresses again ... I’ll personally cut off that painter’s hands.]

Maybe that was for the best.

If that painter had the nerve to accept a commission to paint the Queen of Noctvaris in such a shameful pose, what would stop him from doing the same to other women?

Primrose had a feeling this wasn’t the first time the painter had accepted something like that.

Maybe he had taken commissions from other sick men who fantasized about women they could never have.

"Edmund ... I’ve changed my mind."

She leaned closer, resting her head against his chest as he wrapped her even more tightly in his embrace.

Her voice came out soft, but calm. "I don’t want to forgive the painter."

Edmund’s hand stopped moving the moment he heard her words.

For a brief second, Primrose wondered, was he disappointed in her?

Did he expect her to be more forgiving?

But he didn’t ask her why.

He didn’t even question her decision in his thoughts.

The only thing he did was respond with a quiet, simple word, "Alright."

[I’ll make sure he will never be able to paint anymore.]

Primrose didn’t ask what kind of punishment he had in mind.

She didn’t want to know.

Whatever it was, she trusted Edmund to handle it.

After everything that had happened, after all the terrible truths she had learned about the Marquess, she couldn’t take in anything more tonight.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to know. She just ... couldn’t handle any more terrible truths.

So many things had already weighed her down that day.

The things Raven had told her about Edmund from the first timeline.

The vile things the Marquess had done to the children.

And worst of all, the fact that the Marquess had planned to have her body painted in such a degrading way.

It was all too much.

Her head started to throb, and her body felt heavier by the second. She didn’t even have the energy to speak anymore.

She simply leaned her body into Edmund’s.

"Can we talk about the rest tomorrow?" she asked softly. "I’m so tired ... and sleepy."

Edmund gently rubbed her back and nodded. "Mhm. We’ll talk again tomorrow."

He lifted her legs across his lap, adjusting her softly so he could carry her to bed without disturbing her too much.

"Try to forget the bad things for now," he murmured. "I don’t want you having nightmares tonight."

Primrose almost laughed at that. As if she had any control over what she dreamed.

But surprisingly, when she finally drifted off into sleep, there were no nightmares waiting for her.

Instead, she dreamed she was inside a cocoon.

Its surface was warm and silky, wrapping her up in peace.

It made her feel so safe, so comfortable, like she was in a world where no one could touch or stare at her without permission.

If she could, she would’ve stayed in that cocoon forever.