Chapter 118: The Unspoken Plea

There was an unspoken plea in Wade’s voice, one he himself hadn’t even noticed.

He could only attribute it to the lingering effects of the nightmare, which continued to cloud his emotions.

Yet, he knew full well that such a simple explanation wouldn’t suffice. At this moment, he was merely seeking excuses for himself.

Undeniably, his feelings for Lamia had already—

Lamia’s mouth was lightly covered by Wade’s hand, which didn’t prevent her from speaking. Still, she merely blinked, watching Wade in silence.

“Lamia, I…”

‘I—I what?’

‘What should I say?’

‘What words were appropriate for this moment?’

If he were to play the part of an affectionate husband, he could shamelessly utter sweet nothings to Lamia. He could kiss her, embrace her, or even throw caution to the wind and bypass the wedding entirely, heading straight for the bridal chamber.

But now, he found he couldn’t do it.

The ‘whatever’ courage he once possessed was gone.

He couldn’t even speak, just as he was now.

He knew his current state of mind was different. What he yearned to express was no longer a lie or an excuse, but the genuine voice within his heart, longing to be heard by Lamia.

Alas, Wade couldn’t bring himself to speak. He could only furrow his brow, his eyes downcast, filled with worry and entreaty. How he wished Lamia possessed the power of telepathy, able to hear the unspoken words trapped within him.

Lamia watched Wade for a long moment, saying nothing. Finally, she blew a soft puff of air onto the palm of Wade’s hand, which still covered her mouth.

“Haha.”

‘Haha.’

Watching Wade abruptly withdraw his hand, Lamia laughed.

She no longer lay on the bed, gazing at Wade as before. Instead, she sat up, moving to sit beside him. Reaching out, she gently stroked Wade’s golden sideburns.

“Worried about me?”

Lamia’s fingers rested at his sideburns, brushing unconsciously near Wade’s ear.

“…Mm.”

Wade didn’t deny it, nodding his head.

“To be honest, yes, I’m worried. That dream wasn’t good. But to some extent, I’m still using the ‘dream’ as a shield. So—did I die in your dream?”

“You’re asking that again.”

“It seems I did.”

From Wade’s reaction alone, Lamia knew the answer. She smiled brightly, a carefree expression that, to Wade, seemed almost heartless.

“You… were you crying for me?”

“…”

Wade didn’t respond immediately. He merely turned his body slightly, shifting his gaze to look at Lamia from the side. He offered no verbal reply, but that fleeting glance spoke volumes.

“Do you want to eat something?”

“What?”

“It’s rare for me to wake up with you in the morning, and I’m not planning on working today. So—how about I make you something delicious?”

Lamia’s change of topic was rather abrupt. One moment they were discussing death, the next she was asking Wade what he wanted to eat, leaving him momentarily stunned.

Lamia had simply ended the previous conversation unilaterally. She felt there was no need to continue—she already knew the answer to her question. She had died in his dream, and he was deeply saddened, even to the point of tears. Whether from profound grief or fear evoked by the dream’s emotions, it didn’t matter.

“…”

“You…”

He wasn’t crying because of the tragic state she was in within his dream, but all in all—wasn’t this precisely the effect she desired?

To have him accept her death, then fall into despair, becoming an incompetent widower.

That was how it should have been.

Yet, looking at Wade’s eyes, at his furrowed brows, and his lips, which seemed poised to speak but held back, Lamia felt a strange, inexplicable emotion. It was peculiar, hard to define, much like the complex feelings she’d experienced earlier when contemplating the fleeting nature of human life at the orphanage.

Lamia now felt conflicted—how long should she truly stay by Wade’s side?

Should she watch him slowly grow old, or simply perish midway?

Unable to comprehend it, she decided not to think about it at all.

She chose to give up, and wait for another opportunity.

An opportunity where she might genuinely die.

And now—’Oh, whatever.’

Things that were unclear now wouldn’t become clear even if she racked her brain. If there was an opportunity with the association, she would die. If not, she would wait. Wait until such a day arrived.

After all, human lifespans were only so long.

“You look like you’re in a bad mood. How about something sweet? I’ll make you—what about that dish? It cooks quickly, is simple to prepare, and doesn’t require many ingredients. That way, you won’t starve.”

Lamia shifted her internal thoughts to what they would eat today—’Yes, what to eat?’

Eating was crucial for humans, so it was best to focus on such matters first.

“…I…”

Wade opened his mouth, as if to say more.

“Anything is fine with me.”

But in the end, he also shifted to discussing food.

The topic had been forcefully cut off, and there was no point in continuing it further.

“Alright, then I’ll go prepare it.”

Lamia tilted her head, seemingly pondering something.

“This is very simple to make; I can do it too.”

“What do you want to eat?”

“Mm…”

Wade responded softly.

Lamia stood up, brushing her long hair. She picked up the hair tie from the bedside table, gathered her long hair to one side, and simply tied it up.

This action had become part of her daily routine. Who would have thought that the Black Demon Lord, once clad in dark armor, would now make tying her hair the first task upon waking? The Demon Lord herself probably never imagined it. What she likely found even more unimaginable was being able to sleep soundly every single day.

“I’ll come with you.”

“Just lie there and rest.”

“I’m tired of lying down; I want to get up and walk around.”

“There’s no such thing as being ‘tired of lying down’—”

“There is now.”

After Lamia stood, Wade also rose. He took his shawl-like jacket from the hanger and draped it over Lamia’s shoulders.

Wade typically wore understated colors—black, white, gray, or a blue slightly darker than his eyes. The gray shawl-jacket he picked up was his usual casual wear at home. A young, beautiful woman like Lamia should wear more vibrant colors, but with the gray draped over her, she inexplicably exuded a ‘wife-like’ aura.

Wade wasn’t sure why he felt this way, but… that was the feeling. A sense of ‘she is my wife.’

At this sight, the Demon Lord had truly become a wife…

He had once resisted this formidable rival from approaching him, yet now he accepted it so naturally.

And—well, he needed to revise his current goals.

His previous objective was to ensure Lamia lived a better life, so she would abandon her attacks on humanity.

Now, he also wanted Lamia to live a better life, so that she… wouldn’t be so willing to die, so willing to leave him.

To stay safely and happily by his side… just like a normal married couple.

‘Lamia, you also need to learn to cherish yourself.’

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