Celia hadn’t had a day as bewildering as this in years.

“Get on my back.”

She could not begin to guess what her new husband was thinking. All she could do was quietly stare down at the broad expanse of his back. The more she looked at the finely woven muscles beneath his thin shirt, the more her curiosity swelled.

‘Why on earth would he tell me to climb on his back…?’

Before long, onlookers had gathered around them. Whispering behind covered mouths as though trading secrets, they gossiped.

“Oh my, isn’t that the woman who was displayed in the square all day?”

“Hmm… It seems she was bought by that nobleman over there.”

“She didn’t look fit to be anyone’s wife… Perhaps he intends to resell her as a slave?”

“Don’t be absurd. What noble in this world would carry a slave on his back?”

Dozens of curious eyes flickered over Celia and the man, light as candle flames wavering in a breeze. Celia, flustered by the crowd, dropped her gaze when she accidentally met a few of their eyes.

‘What should I do?’

She was used to being treated this way, but at this rate, she was certain to become nothing more than a public laughingstock.

‘I need to get out of here quickly.’

She had never once ridden on anyone’s back—not as a child, nor as an adult. She didn’t even know whether to wrap her arms around his neck first or lift her legs.

After some inner struggle, Celia chose the option that felt safest.

“You don’t have to carry me. I can walk on my own.”

The man’s head snapped back sharply at her timid words. His brow furrowed, a clear reflection of his displeasure.

“You mean to walk there yourself?”

Celia nodded once.

“Yes.”

He turned fully toward her, his eyes dropping to her battered bare feet. A mocking sneer twisted his lips.

“With those filthy rags you call feet? I’d like to see you try.”

And indeed, his words had a point. Dirt was wedged deep between her toenails, and her purple-tinged toes spoke for themselves.

Turning away again, he presented his back.

“Get on. Now.”

Celia pressed her lips together, then silently stepped forward. As her hesitant hands brushed his straightened neck, she felt an almost unbelievable heat radiating from him.

‘So warm…’

Nervous from the unfamiliar closeness, she was just about to climb onto his back when—

“At this rate, dawn will have come first by the time you’re done.”

With one strong tug, he pulled her leg up and hoisted her onto his back in one effortless motion.

“Ah!”

Her sudden height made her slim limbs tremble uneasily. Naturally, her tense body was felt immediately by him. 

He let out a deep sigh, as though venting his irritation, and began walking.

“I’ll go slowly. Relax.”

Inside the carriage, Celia sat alone, her eyes wandering sluggishly over the interior.

‘He must be someone of high standing…’

Having been carried in, she didn’t get a chance to inspect the outside of the carriage.

But she could feel it in the carriage’s every detail—the sturdiness that never creaked, the space wide enough for six people, the plush seats that swallowed half her weight, and the silk-trimmed curtains. Only a high-ranking noble could afford such things.

‘Why would a man like this buy someone like me…?’

The door burst open. Her husband entered, set a wooden box by his side, and sat down. With a light tap against the wall, the carriage began to roll forward. 

Arms folded across his chest, he called her name.

“Celia.”

Her eyes widened in shock before slowly turning toward him.

‘He… called me by my name.’

Did he read it from the marriage contract? It was undoubtedly her name, yet hearing it aloud felt strangely unfamiliar.

‘When was the last time anyone called me that…?’

In the past ten years, only her third husband had ever called her name. The rest had called her “hey,” “you,” or “thing.”

‘This isn’t a dream, is it?’

Glancing at the man across from her, Celia pinched the back of her hand hard.

“Ah.”

She didn’t mask her pain. Hearing it would confirm that this was real. But she hadn’t considered that such an act might displease him.

“What are you doing?”

Avoiding his crooked stare, Celia answered meekly.

“I pinched myself.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“Then… why ask…”

She stopped. With every word, she saw his expression harden. Quietly, she closed her mouth.

‘I mustn’t make noise.’

When she was younger, she often spoke carelessly and ended up provoking her husbands’ anger. But time had taught her the virtue of silence. Close your mouth, but always keep your ears open. That had been her first and most important rule as a wife.

And yet—

“Celia.”

“Yes?”

Again. She opened her mouth when a nod would have sufficed.

‘Fool.’

Lowering her gaze to her knees, she clenched her fist and scolded herself.

‘Don’t make mistakes. Just listen, and answer only when needed.’

Her husband watched her bowed head for a moment before speaking curtly.

“Show me your feet.”

Celia’s silence was misread.

“Even if you don’t want to, show me.”

Still no answer. His patience quickly wore thin.

“Strange. Have you gone deaf already?”

His low voice cut like a blade, jolting Celia upright.

‘He thinks I have difficulty hearing?’

She touched her ear timidly and replied,

“…No.”

“Then you heard me and chose to ignore it?”

Her eyes widened more than when he’d called her name. But fear drained the strength from her gaze, and she asked softly,

“I’m sorry… what did you say?”

“Do you think denying it changes anything?”

His eyes narrowed. Celia shook her head quickly, desperate to prove her innocence.

“It’s true. I really didn’t—”

“Enough.”

He cut her off, and she did not argue further. With a sigh, he held out his hand.

“Your foot.”

“…Pardon?”

“Your foot. Put it here.”

He patted his knee.

Celia glanced between her filthy feet and his pristine clothes. After much hesitation, her words slipped out.

“I can give you my foot… but your trousers will get dirty.”

“That’s not your concern.”

“Put it here.”

She didn’t want to test his temper further. Carefully, she lowered her chemise to cover her bare leg and placed her foot on his knee.

“Disgraceful.”

Clicking his tongue, he opened the wooden box at his side. Inside lay a silver flask and two clean towels.

Celia watched blankly as he poured steaming water onto a towel and wrapped it gently around her foot. When he finished, he set it down and held out his hand again.

“The other one.”

She obeyed, and soon, both her feet were wrapped in white. They looked almost like new shoes—until an unbearable itch crawled over her skin.

“Ah—!”

She tried to endure it, but the urge to rip off the towel and scratch her feet was too strong, but before she could act, he intervened.

“Don’t.”

His hand pressed firmly on her shoulders, pinning her back as she writhed.

“It… it itches…”

“I know. Bear it.”

As the pain continued, a thin furrow appeared between Celia’s brows.

“I… I really can’t.”

Without a word, he took her trembling hands and held them steady. Each time their eyes met as he dipped the towel in warm water, the warmth in his gaze seemed to ease her suffering.

‘I’m so tired.’

As warmth seeped back into her frozen flesh and sensation crept back, her eyelids grew heavy.

‘…Is it all right if I sleep?’

As if reading her mind, he murmured,

“There’s no need to endure. Close your eyes.”

Darkness gently swept over her vision, blotting out his blurred face.

Watching her lashes gently lower, Kaizen exhaled a heavy sigh. A bitter murmur slipped from his lips.

“She doesn’t remember at all.”

Even so, he did not regret seeking her out. On the day he had owed her his life, he had sworn he would find her again someday.

‘But I never imagined she’d be in such a state.’

The woman he had finally reunited with was in such a poor state he could barely recognize her.

Her limbs were as thin as winter branches, her skin dull and mottled. Her once-bright hair had been dyed dark, as if to hide its brilliance. 

And worst of all, the memory of her being dragged around by that beast of a man made his insides twist violently.

[You shameless thing! How dare you stare at another man?]

Recalling her faded blue-gray eyes, resigned to her pitiful fate, filled him with the urge to kill. But he, bound by oath, could not kill so freely.

“Damn this covenant.”

Murderous rage flared in his molten-gold eyes. If not for the eternal shackle of that oath, he would have already taken that filthy man’s head.

No, simply ending his life would not suffice.

He should cut out his foul tongue, sever his limbs piece by piece, and toss them to the dogs he kept.

To dare treat her so brutally—such a death would still be too merciful.