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chapter 10
“Housekeeper?”
Theodore’s eyes widened before he let out a deflating laugh.
“A man doing housework? Pathetic. Living by washing someone else’s underwear? How disgraceful.”
Wha—what a prehistoric fossil of a man. He’s obviously never washed a single dish in his life. And underwear? You wash your own, for heaven’s sake!
Dante looked him over with contempt, then sighed.
“What a worthless man.”
At the same time, Theodore’s eyes flushed red as Dante grabbed him by the nape.
“Grrk, how strong… You, you’re that woman’s—”
Smack!
A sharp crack echoed as Dante’s slap twisted Theodore’s head to the side.
“Don’t waste your breath on nonsense.”
The tone was like that of a strict drill sergeant. Without hesitation, Dante struck him again and again across both cheeks.
Why do his palms sound like whips cracking instead of slaps?
“Stop hitting me, damn it!”
Theodore, who had been relentlessly slapped, let out a wretched cry. At the same time, Dante kicked away a charging thug, then called out to me.
“Master.”
His gaze softened slightly as he looked my way.
Meanwhile, I was staring blankly through the hole in the wall at the thug who’d been sent flying. Wait—he literally smashed through the wall?
“I’ll begin cleaning.”
With that, the basement door slammed shut under some unknown force. From beyond it, the sounds of gunfire, crashes, and screams erupted.
Through sound alone, I could roughly imagine the scene outside. He wasn’t showing me anything too graphic—perhaps he’s the kind of wholesome man who values keeping things PG-rated.
“Will he be okay?”
I muttered anxiously while pacing in front of the door. I knew he was strong, but still, I couldn’t help but worry.
Had I already grown attached to him? Or was it because he fit my ideal type—“a man good at housework, who’d be perfect if only he weren’t a revolutionary traitor”?
Before long, the door opened, and Dante appeared.
He was spotless, while the thieves behind him lay in total ruin.
“You may come out now.”
He’d fought against many—no, on second thought, he beat down many—all on his own. Yet his breathing wasn’t even the slightest bit ragged.
“Did you kill them?”
Holding a gun in one hand, he brushed his bangs back and answered,
“No. Tomorrow is recycling day. Disposing of them now would be inconvenient.”
Well, I suppose they are non-recyclable trash.
Dante bit off his glove with his teeth and extended his hand to me.
“I’ll escort you to your room.”
Carefully stepping over the threshold, I took his hand.
Looking around at the broken walls, fallen thieves, and bloodstained floor made me feel faint.
“Uh…”
I must have been more tense than I realized. My legs nearly gave out beneath me, but Dante caught me.
“That looks painful.”
“Where?”
“Here.”
He pointed at my left knee.
The moment I noticed the blood streaming from the gash, the pain suddenly rushed in.
“Ow, ow, ow… That stings.”
“You’re slow to notice.”
Lifting me onto a nearby crate, he knelt down and tied a handkerchief around my wound.
“Your ankle seems hurt too.”
“Oh, no, it’s fine.”
Dante grabbed my left foot and tugged it upward. A sharp wave of pain shot through me.
“Agh!”
He looked up at me with certainty.
“I was right. Your wrist is swollen as well. Did they strike you?”
When he reached for my wrist, I suddenly panicked.
Wait—he’s not breaking me on purpose just to prove himself right, is he?
“Yes! You’re right about everything, sir!”
The moment I admitted it, Dante’s blue eyes grew cold.
“…I see.”
His voice dropped, low and chilling.
I was carried in Dante’s arms like a princess. His solid chest and steady breathing so close made me feel embarrassed.
Curled up like a pill bug, I heard him ask,
“You’re not crying. You must have been scared.”
“I know crying won’t help.”
A warm breath fell across my forehead. Without another word, he simply walked on.
On the way back, I remembered the thieves left behind in the underground passage.
“Dante, is it okay to just leave them there?”
“I sealed the entrance. Tomorrow, we’ll stop by the police station on the way to the hospital.”
He walked surprisingly fast. Before I knew it, we were at my room.
He laid me gently on the bed.
“Ugh…”
Completely drained, I let out a pitiful groan.
After washing his hands and fetching medicine, Dante sat down beside me.
“Sit up. I need to apply this.”
I forced myself upright and perched on the bed’s edge.
As he dabbed antiseptic onto my knee, I found myself staring at him, forgetting the sting.
“Doesn’t it hurt? You’re enduring it well.”
“It hurts more now that you asked.”
After finishing with a bandage, he straightened and jerked his chin.
“Lie down, Master.”
“Huh?”
At my confusion, he looked down at me with lowered eyes.
“You need to lie down so I can finish.”
The lazy, husky tone made my back stiffen.
Finish what, exactly?
It wasn’t just my imagination—his natural sensuality and decadent aura were partly to blame.
“Oh, you mean a hot compress? Thank you.”
Banishing the demons of my thoughts, I quickly lay down on the sheets.
The mattress creaked as he sat by my feet. His familiar scent drew closer.
Feeling my ankle, Dante murmured,
“Fortunately, the bone doesn’t seem damaged.”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sturdy. Once, I jumped from the second floor as a kid and only got bruised.”
“You were a troublemaker.”
“More like unwanted baggage. My aunt hated me. Eventually I lived with Grandpa.”
The truth was, there’d been a fire on the second floor, and I’d jumped to survive. My aunt only sneered that I had a “long life.”
As he wrung out a towel, Dante muttered quietly,
“That was the adult’s fault.”
When he placed the hot cloth on my aching ankle, I felt conflicted. By status, this should have been reversed. It was supposed to be me serving him.
Dipping another towel into water, he asked,
“You look weak. Do you need anything? Something to drink, perhaps?”
“Ah, I—”
Right then, my stomach growled loudly. Worse, it was absurdly dramatic. All the stress must have made me hungry. Smiling sheepishly, I said,
“Maybe a menu?”
“I’ll bring what I prepared for breakfast.”
He soon returned with food: toast layered with scrambled eggs, bacon, and cheese.
Delicious. I picked it up—but pain shot through my wrist.
“Huh?”
The toast slipped back onto the plate as I clutched my wrist. Opening and closing my fist only made it worse.
I must’ve hurt it badly when I caught myself after being shoved. I turned to Dante.
“I think I’ve lost this arm.”
“Shall I feed you?”
I lifted my good arm and forced a laugh.
“Thankfully, I’ve still got one left.”
As I ate with one hand, he carefully wrapped my wrist in bandages. I sighed at the sight.
“Ugh, this’ll make life inconvenient. Dressing or bathing will be tough.”
“Are you asking for help? I don’t mind.”
My face instantly burned. I quickly turned away, shaking my head.
“I think I’ll just go to sleep.”
“Then I’ll undress you.”
“No! That’s not what I meant!”
Don’t say things like that with the face of a saintly social worker!
What I’d meant was for him to leave, yet he stayed.
“I’ll remain by your side until you fall asleep.”
Lying down, I sneaked a glance at him. Maybe he did have a gentle side. Being cared for like this didn’t feel so bad.
Early the next morning, our “social worker” came by with breakfast, prepared by his own hands.
“You managed to dress yourself with one hand. Impressive.”
He looked at me as if I’d achieved something great. Uh, hello? My arm is perfectly fine now.
“Well, about that…”
For some strange reason, I’d woken up completely healed. Even the cut on my knee was gone, though I covered it with a bandage again to avoid suspicion.
“I’m… good at handling these things.”
Since my recovery was far from normal, I brushed it off vaguely while finishing my meal.
Wow, he cooks really well. He probably makes killer kimchi too.
“Your hair’s long—it must be hard to wash. I’ll do it for you.”
Twining my brown hair around his finger, he spoke.
He put extra emphasis on “long hair.” Guess my hair still bothered him.
“Uh, sure…”
Suddenly, he scooped me up and carried me out to the garden. Wait, why here? Why?
By the time I realized, I was bent over a white bench with a parasol, staring down at a bucket beneath my face.
“Um, is this an execution platform?”
I asked timidly, like a condemned prisoner.
Dante didn’t answer—he simply poured water from a watering can over my head.
What are you, the royal executioner?!
