Chapter Seventy-Three

——The memories continue——

Arthur lowered his head and bit through the silver thread with a crisp sound.

“What exactly are you trying to do?” Yingyue broke free from Arthur’s kiss, her voice brimming with anger.

“Trying to do?” Arthur echoed her question with a hint of puzzlement. “What do you think?” He paused, then let out a soft laugh. “I thought I’d help my father teach you a lesson. After all, you’re still just an unripe apple—so very sour and astringent.” As he finished, he bent down again, his rose-hued lips lingering at Yingyue’s neck, but his touch was gentle, so much so that Yingyue remained too stunned by his earlier words to recover her senses.

Arthur squinted, glancing at her sidelong. Seeing her still dazed, he couldn’t help but smile secretly, continuing his daring mischief upon her chest.

Suddenly, Yingyue, who had been frozen with shock, felt a chill at her chest. She stiffly looked down, only to see Arthur’s hand resting upon one of her breasts, kneading it, while his heated lips, through the sheer fabric of her wedding gown, sucked at the other.

“What are you doing?” Yingyue asked, her voice stiff.

“It’s obvious—can’t you see?” Arthur replied, punctuating his words with another forceful kiss.

Yingyue bit down hard on her lips, barely suppressing the moan that threatened to escape. Staring at the golden head before her, she slowly lifted her own, closed her eyes, and said in a measured tone, “I am about to become your mother.”

The words had barely left her lips when a sharp pain shot through her chest.

Arthur slowly raised his head, his gaze cold and fixed upon Yingyue’s pale face, a trace of a sneer curling at his lips.

“Is that so?” As he spoke, his arms, which had been tightly encircling her, abruptly released, shoving Yingyue hard against the window behind her.

Yingyue’s back struck the window frame in pain, but she met Arthur’s gaze without flinching, her expression cold and detached.

“That’s right.”

“Heh, then let’s see when you’ll finally hear me call you ‘Mother.’” Arthur spoke, then left Yingyue’s room without a backward glance.

With a dull thud, Yingyue collapsed to the floor, her eyes red as she stared in the direction Arthur had gone.

“What right do you have to blame me?”

A stabbing pain shot through her chest. She looked down, then let out a hollow laugh.

“The marks on my neck aren’t enough, you have to leave your imprint on my heart before you’re satisfied?” Yingyue raised her left hand to her chest. The once flawless white wedding gown was now stained with a bright spot of red above her left breast. The blood spread, blooming like a crimson plum blossom in the snow.

“Coward,” she laughed, the sound tinged with sorrow.

If you’re so unwilling, then why come to my wedding at all?

Is it to make me give up, or to make yourself let go?

A knock sounded at the door, startling Yingyue. She scrambled to her feet, turning to face the window to hide her disarray.

“Hurry and get ready. The wedding is about to begin.” The maid’s cold voice came from the doorway.

“Where is the young master?”

“He’s in the master’s study. Why, do you expect him to come see you himself? Know your place.” With that, the maid slammed the door shut.

The study? What is he planning?

Arthur and Rivers had always been distant. He wouldn’t go to the study to congratulate his father on his wedding, much less visit Rivers upon returning. He must loathe this wedding to the core.

So, what is he up to now?

Questions swirled in Yingyue’s mind. Her brow furrowed as she thought it over. She threw on a dark cloak, grabbed her skirts, and quietly made her way toward Rivers’s study.

—The memories are not yet over—