CHAPTER 190: FROZE LIKE A MANNEQUINE

Beauty was a blessing they said. They would kill to have a pretty face they said.

However, something they didn’t know—or perhaps chose to ignore—was that beauty could also be a curse. It could lure someone straight into their own demise.

Primrose had been admired by men for as long as she could remember. But most of them only saw her through the fog of their own lust. They didn’t see her as a person, just as something they wanted to possess.

And the women? Some of them weren’t kind either. Jealousy turned to bitterness, and bitterness turned into cruel rumors meant to tear her down.

Unfortunately, society had always forbidden a beautiful woman from complaining. The moment she did, they would say she was being dramatic. That she was ungrateful. That someone so "blessed" like her had no right to feel pain.

Primrose had lived through all of that. She was used to being seen as an object of desire, something pretty to look at, but not someone worth listening to.

But after learning that the Marquess had openly painted erotic portraits of her, she had been struggling not to care.

Even though she never saw the paintings, she had imagined them and that alone had damaged her deeply.

She felt like the Marquess had stripped her bare without even touching her.

"Why do you look so scared?" the man in front of her said, playing with a strand of her hair, twirling it like it was some kind of toy.

[No wonder the king adores her and even asked my brother to kill himself.]

[She must’ve pleased him so well. Just look at her lips, so plump and pretty, it makes me want to shove something in them.]

Stop it. Please, just stop.

Primrose didn’t want to hear his thoughts. She didn’t want to listen to his disgusting comments about her looks, about her body.

Yes, Edmund also had lewd thoughts about her sometimes, but his mind was filled with adoration.

He adored her, cherished her, like she was something sacred.

He wanted to worship her, not treat her like a lifeless toy.

But this man ...

The only thing in his head was how to humiliate her.

And no matter how badly she wanted to shut it out, she had to hear all of it.

"Your Majesty," he whispered, touching her lips with his fingers.

"Why don’t you leave your husband and come with me? I’ll make sure ..." he tilted his head, smiling. "to use your body the right way."

"So tell me," he said, his green eyes glowing in the dark, "do you want to come with me?"

Primrose wanted to scream, to fight back, to say no. But her body refused to move.

"There’s an old saying," he continued, slipping his thumb between her lips. "Silence means yes. So if you don’t say anything ... I’ll take it as consent."

Primrose was supposed to run. To shout. To push him away. But she couldn’t.

Her body wouldn’t listen.

Her limbs were frozen, her lips wouldn’t part, and her eyes couldn’t even blink. It was like something had shut her down completely.

If she just stayed silent, wouldn’t people think she liked it? Maybe they’d even say the reason she didn’t push him away was because Primrose didn’t mind being touched like that.

But she didn’t like it.

She didn’t want him to touch her.

Then how could people understand if she stayed still like a mannequin?

She had to push him away. She had to move. She had to run away from him. She had to scream.

"I didn’t expect you to be ... this obedient," he laughed, mocking her. "Or maybe you’re just thirsty for my touch? So, your husband can’t satisfy you?"

"Don’t ..." Primrose finally managed to move her lips. "Don’t touch me."

"Don’t touch you?" he repeated with a laugh. "But you look like you’re dying to be touched."

His hands moved toward her coat, trying to strip it off. "You know, once your husband finds out another man touched you, he might not want you anymore."

"No." Primrose swallowed hard, her voice barely a whisper. "My husband ... my husband will never do that. My husband loves me."

"Is that so?" he smirked. "Well, good for you." His grip on her arm tightened as he leaned in. "But love and lust ... they’re almost the same thing."

"He might say he loves you, but who knows what he’ll think once he finds out you were touched by another man and all you did was stay silent."

Primrose gritted her teeth. "You know nothing about my husband."

"Maybe not," he said with a shrug, "but I know how men think." Then, without warning, he pulled her hair back so he could stare at her long, delicate neck. "Dear Lord, you look good enough to eat, sweetheart."

"Are you hungry?" he asked. "I can let you taste my cock. I bet it tastes better than your husband’s."

"Shut up," Primrose hissed, forcing the words past the fear choking her throat. "Don’t you dare compare yourself to him."

For some reason, the moment she thought about Edmund, Primrose found the strength to move her body again.

"My husband is better than you." She spat in his face and added, "A man like him would never do something as vile as what you’re doing right now."

[Oh? Now she’s got her tongue back,] he thought to himself. [Well, I like a fierce woman too. It would feel so good to bend her down and fill her mouth with my—]

Before he could finish that disgusting thought, Primrose grabbed a fistful of dirt and threw it right into his eyes.

"Fuck!"

He hissed in pain, and when his grip on her hair loosened, she took that chance to slip away and run. Her legs still felt a little numb, but she forced herself to move.

"Where do you think you’re going?!" he shouted, catching up in seconds. He grabbed the back of her dress and pulled her hard, dragging her back toward him.