Wrong Marriage and Sweet Love

The driver steadily drove the car to Clint’s house, an ancient villa with a history of several hundred years. Towering trees surrounded the villa, and in the flowerbed in front of the door stood two five-needle black pines, each worth millions. The car stopped at the spacious entrance, which could accommodate five or six vehicles. The place was heavily guarded, with armed guards stationed every five meters.

Joyce glanced around; the tight security didn’t concern her. Even without guards, she couldn’t escape. She was tied to Clint, sharing life and death with him. After parking, someone came to open the door. Clint got out first and then personally opened the door for Joyce on her side. His gentlemanly behavior starkly contrasted with his previous perverse actions.

Joyce straightened her slightly wrinkled clothes. She had no choice but to comply now. She got out of the car and followed Clint into the villa. It was an old building with diamond-patterned glass windows, exuding a sense of history. Inside, it was more spacious than she had imagined, divided into many areas. The living room was large, with a ceiling height equivalent to four floors. A massive crystal chandelier hung from the top, with each crystal shining brilliantly in the sunlight.

All the furniture was made of imported solid wood, featuring genuine leather sofas that were high-end and elegant. The decor was entirely modernized, completely different from East Palace, without a trace of Rohomes’ atmosphere.

Joyce glanced at Clint, realizing he lived in such an environment and hadn’t disconnected from society. No wonder she hadn’t noticed at first; he had deceived her well.

“You live here?” Joyce asked for confirmation.

Clint nodded. “You’ll live here too.”

Joyce chuckled. “Where is my room?”

“You’ll naturally sleep in the same room as me; the main house is on the third floor,” Clint replied without hesitation. He leaned closer to her, his tone suggestive. “Don’t forget, if we are intimate once every seven days, we won’t need the antidote.”

“Clint, don’t push it,” Joyce snapped angrily. “I’m a married woman! I’m from a family of warlords; don’t take advantage of me too much. Even if you have my life in your hands, at least treat me with the courtesy due to a guest.”

“Haha, just kidding. Did you take it seriously?” Clint waved his hand, signaling the butler to come forward. He instructed, “Is the room I asked you to prepare ready?”

The butler respectfully replied, “Your Highness, the bedroom on the third floor has been prepared for Madam. Should I take her there now?”

“No need, later,” Clint dismissed him.

“Do you want me to show you around?” he asked Joyce.

“No need,” Joyce replied irritably. She couldn’t leave anyway and would have plenty of time to explore later. He had arranged her room on the same floor as his; who could sleep peacefully with him around?

She pondered over her situation. Although there were many things beyond her understanding in this world, if someone could use dark magic, someone else should be able to break it too.

When Luther was poisoned before, it was by microbial toxins-at least scientifically plausible. But what she was experiencing now went beyond her comprehension, including the man before her.

“Suit yourself,” Clint said indifferently. To him, his prey was already in hand; there was no rush.

At that moment, someone walked in from outside.

“Your Highness, I have something to report,” he said respectfully upon seeing Clint.

Clint introduced him to Joyce casually. “This is my trusted aide, Watanabe.”

Watanabe saluted Joyce; as someone involved throughout this affair, he knew her well.

Joyce recognized his military rank-he was a colonel. His calm gaze indicated he knew everything about her situation.

She said nothing but looked at him coldly.

Watanabe addressed Clint again. “Your Highness, I have urgent matters; could she step aside?”

Joyce turned around immediately. “I’ll go for a walk in the yard.”

She had no interest in their conversation and left the living room straight away until she reached where they had parked earlier.

Standing under one of the black pines, she gazed up at its beautiful shape-each tree like a piece of art.

She pondered over her next steps: Clint likely wouldn’t restrict her contact with the outside world; she could get hold of a phone or computer or even go out.

But then what? What would happen after she got out? A wave of sadness washed over her as she wondered how she could explain everything to Luther.

She held her forehead in frustration when a sharp female voice called out behind her.

“Who are you? Why are you standing there?”

Joyce turned around to see a young woman in her twenties wearing a pink dress and a sunhat-fashionable and stylish.

Her skin was fair as snow and her features delicate but carried an air of arrogance typical of someone born into wealth and privilege.

“And who are you?” Joyce asked with amusement.Content rights belong to NôvelDrama.Org.

“You don’t even know who I am? I’m Chiyuki Yoshikawa, eldest daughter of the Yoshikawa family! Who do you think you are to speak to me like that?”

Chiyuki regretted her words immediately-she had initiated the conversation after all.

“Who are you? Are you that vixen Prince brought back?” She pointed at Joyce angrily-more out of jealousy than anything else-seeing how beautiful and uniquely charming Joyce was.

Joyce assessed Chiyuki briefly-a vixen? That term hadn’t been used on her for ages; it felt almost refreshing.

So this was Yoshikawa family’s daughter-in Rohomes’ hierarchy just below royalty were families like hers.

Chiyuki’s aggressive stance and hostility made it clear she admired Clint deeply.

Crossing her arms over her chest, Joyce introduced herself calmly: “Oh yes-I’m Joyce from Pascaylia-the vixen you’re talking about.”

She looked down mockingly at herself: “So? Are you satisfied with what you see now that your rival has appeared?”

“You!” Chiyuki was stunned by Joyce’s shamelessness.