Return of Black Lotus system:Taming Cheating Male Leads

Chapter 395 --395

"When the news of your... tragic accident spread years ago, the entire capital wept. To think you were trapped in the barbaric outer provinces for so long! The very thought of it makes my skin crawl. It must have been utterly devastating for a woman of your refined breeding."

"Indeed," chimed in Baroness Elara, a woman draped in an excessive amount of rose-colored silk. She leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with morbid curiosity. "We heard rumors that you were taken in by commoners. Gracious heavens. Tell us, my dear, how did you ever manage to survive the stench and the lack of proper etiquette? Did you not forget yourself entirely?"

Heena set her own teacup down. The porcelain *clinked* softly against the jade saucer, the sound perfectly measured.

"You are both too kind to worry for me," Heena replied, her voice a melodious, gentle chime that carried not a single trace of offense. She offered them a serene, perfectly insulated smile. "The provinces are certainly lacking in the... complex sophistication of the capital. But I found that nature has its own brutal honesty. Out there, the wolves bare their fangs before they bite. It was a refreshing change of pace from the capital, where the wolves prefer to wear silk and drink tea before they strike."

Countess Vane’s teacup paused halfway to her saucer. Baroness Elara’s smile tightened, freezing on her face as the veiled, razor-sharp insult landed with flawless precision.

"Oh... how uniquely poetic, Lady Seera," the third woman, Viscountess Lira, laughed nervously, trying to diffuse the sudden, suffocating tension. "You have certainly returned with a very... philosophical outlook."

"Adversity is the greatest of teachers, Viscountess," Heena replied smoothly, picking up a silver fork to slice a tiny piece of sweet plum cake. "I may have lost my memories for a time, but I assure you, I have not forgotten how to recognize exactly what kind of company I am keeping."

The noblewomen exchanged rapid, silent glances. This was not the broken, malleable, traumatized country bumpkin the Marchioness’s carefully planted rumors had led them to expect. This girl was a fortress of ice, armed with a tongue that could cut glass.

While the ladies scrambled to adjust their conversational tactics, a heavy, silent presence stood entirely motionless just outside the perimeter of the pavilion’s shadow.

It was Samuel.

He was standing in his full, structured navy guard uniform, his hands resting on the pommel of his heavy broadsword. But unlike the previous day, his face was no longer partially visible beneath a standard half-mask.

Today, his entire head and neck were completely encased in a strange, heavy iron mask that covered him from the collar of his uniform all the way to his hairline. Only two narrow, darkly tinted slits allowed him to see. It was a terrifying, intimidating piece of armor, usually reserved for the imperial executioners or the silent shadow guards of the royal family. The noblewomen had already thrown several nervous, fearful glances at the towering, faceless monolith standing behind Heena.

They thought it was a statement of power. They thought the Marquisate had assigned a lethal, soulless killing machine to protect their heiress.

None of them knew the actual truth.

Beneath the heavy, stifling iron, Samuel’s face was completely flushed. He had his head lowered slightly, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on the hem of Heena’s midnight-blue gown. If anyone had dared to step close enough, they would have noticed the faint, erratic way his chest rose and fell, or the way his leather-gloved hands gripped the hilt of his sword so tightly his knuckles were white.

Every few minutes, a violent, almost imperceptible tremor would run straight up his muscular thighs, shaking his entire frame for a split second before he brutally forced his body back into rigid stillness.

Heena had not held back during that missing half hour. She had dismantled his arrogant, teasing facade with a terrifying, absolute dominance that left him completely wrecked, breathless, and thoroughly punished. She had specifically forced him to wear this full-coverage mask before they stepped out into the garden, simply because his neck, jawline, and collarbones were currently covered in a chaotic, dark array of bruises and bite marks that would have instantly ruined her reputation if seen by the capital’s gossipmongers.

*You wanted to play the dutiful guard?* she had whispered to him before locking the iron mask around his head. *Then stand there and endure it.*

And so, the brilliant, lethal scholar stood in the sun, trembling silently from the lingering, electric aftershocks of his wife’s wrath, entirely at her mercy while she elegantly sipped her tea.

"Lady Seera," Countess Vane tried again, her tone shifting to something much more cautious. "We noticed that your mother, the Marchioness, did not accompany you to the gardens this morning. Is she perhaps unwell? We had hoped to extend our congratulations to her directly on your safe return."

Heena’s eyes darkened a fraction, though her smile remained perfectly sweet. "My mother is currently... occupied with internal household matters. The grand matriarch has requested her presence for a rather lengthy audit of the estate’s ledgers. I fear she will be quite tied up for the foreseeable future."

The noblewomen’s eyes practically gleamed with suppressed excitement. An audit by the grand matriarch? That meant the Marchioness was actively losing power. The political landscape of the Marquisate was shifting violently, and they were getting a front-row seat.

Before Countess Vane could probe further into the juicy domestic drama, a sudden, heavy silence fell over the surrounding garden paths.

The estate servants who had been bustling nearby suddenly stopped, dropping into deep, perfectly synchronized bows. The sound of heavy, measured footsteps crunched against the white gravel path leading up to the marble pavilion.

Heena turned her head slightly.

Approaching them was a tall, broad-shouldered man in his late forties. He wore a dark, impeccably tailored coat embroidered with the silver crest of the family. His hair was heavily streaked with gray at the temples, and his face was carved with deep, stern lines that bespoke a lifetime of carrying the immense, crushing weight of a high-noble territory. His eyes were dark, intelligent, and currently filled with a deeply suppressed, complicated storm of emotions.

It was Marquis Valerius. Her father.

The moment the noblewomen registered his presence, all the venomous gossip and probing curiosity evaporated from their faces, replaced by absolute, terrified respect. The Marquis was a reserved, notoriously cold man who rarely engaged in the petty social games of the capital. His mere presence was enough to suffocate a room.

The three women instantly stood up, their silk skirts rustling as they dropped into deep, sweeping curtsies.

"We greet His Grace, the Marquis," they chorused, their voices trembling slightly.

The Marquis barely looked at them. He gave a single, dismissive wave of his hand. "Leave us."

"Of course, Your Grace. We were just departing," Countess Vane stuttered, not daring to overstay her welcome by a single second. She shot one last, fearful look at Heena, bowed hastily, and practically fled down the garden path with her two companions trailing frantically behind her.

Within seconds, the pavilion was empty, save for Heena, the Marquis, and the silent, trembling guard standing in the shadows.

Heena did not stand up.