The Duke's Unwanted Second Wife

”Damian, you haven’t put any pictures of your son in your bedroom. May I know why?” Eilika asked, her gaze fixed on the ceiling, which glowed faintly from the light filtering in from outside.

”I keep those in the other room. I prefer to keep the bedchamber free from such things,” Damian replied, sliding his arm beneath his head as he settled in.

”But your own portrait is hanging on the wall,” Eilika pointed out.

”Ah, that...” He paused. He hadn’t intended to mention that it was a gift from Liliana.

Eilika tilted her head, trying to catch a glimpse of his face in the dim light. ”What about it?”

”Liliana commissioned it for my birthday,” Damian finally answered.

”Oh.” Eilika’s voice dropped. She looked away, and a moment later, she turned her back to him, pulling the covers closer.

Damian noticed her sudden detached reaction. ”It was difficult for me to remove this portrait from this room,” he admitted.

”Yet you managed to remove Roman from your life for a long time,” Eilika said. She didn’t intend to guilt-trip him, but she wanted him to understand that his son’s presence belonged in his private space more than a relic of the past. ”You loved your late wife, but you didn’t seem to care for the son she gave you.”

”You’re right. I completely neglected him,” Damian replied. He shifted, turning on his side to face her silhouette. ”I will call an artist to commission portraits of him. New ones.” He paused, then added firmly, ”We should also have one commissioned together. You and me.”

Eilika lay still for a moment, contemplating his words before she spoke. ”I don’t want to be in a portrait with you unless it is something you want from your heart. The day you find even a spark of genuine feeling for me, you can tell me.”

”But we have to maintain the appearance of a stable couple for the sake of this house. Such artwork is expected—”

Eilika interrupted him, her voice calm but unwavering. ”If you are willing to do it from the bottom of your heart, only then will I agree. Do not forget how this marriage began, Damian. You weren’t even present at our wedding. No matter what we do now, the people already know the truth of us.”

Damian was unable to grasp the source of her sudden anger.

”In Netham, you acted so well toward me. What has changed so abruptly?” he asked, his voice laced with confusion.

”Nothing,” Eilika whispered, her back still turned to him. ”Let me sleep. I’m tired.”

Damian, however, was in no mood to let the matter rest until he understood the reason behind her cold reaction. He propped himself up on one elbow, his gaze fixed on her before he shifted across the expansive mattress toward her side.

Eilika felt the bed move under his weight and instinctively opened her eyes. As she turned her head, her breath hitched. He was hovering over her, his face so close that she could feel the warmth of his presence.

”What is wrong?” he inquired, his eyes searching hers for an honest answer. ”Say it,” he pressed.

”What is wrong?” he inquired, his eyes searching hers for an honest answer. ”Say it,” he pressed, his voice dropping to a demanding low.

Eilika recalled the stinging words of the servants she had overheard while heading to his chamber, whispers in the corners about a Duchess trying to glue herself to a husband who didn’t desire her.

But as she looked at him now, she realized it wasn’t Damian’s fault; he was entirely unaware of the gossip circulating through the mansion’s halls.

”Don’t mind me. Go to sleep,” Eilika told him, trying to turn her gaze away.

”I won’t. Not until you tell me,” he countered. ”Did someone say something to you? Tell me who, and I will punish them. Brutally.”

The cold edge in his words made it clear he wouldn’t tolerate anyone causing her distress.

”No one said anything to me. You can simply say I am tired from the journey,” Eilika insisted.

Damian didn’t pull away. His icy blue gaze remained fixed on her, and she watched as a hard expression formed in his eyes, signaling that he wasn’t convinced by her excuse.

”I heard the servants gossiping, that I am trying to glue myself to a husband who doesn’t desire me,” Eilika finally admitted, her voice barely a whisper. She licked her dry lips nervously before adding, ”I... I shouldn’t have spoken with such harshness. I apologize.”

”You shouldn’t be the one to apologize when it is because of me that you have to endure such talk,” Damian asserted, his tone cutting through the quiet of the room. ”I will make sure you never have to hear such things again.”

Without another word, he slowly shifted back to his side of the bed and lay down, turning his back entirely toward her.

Though he closed his eyes, his mind was far from rest.

He was already mentally cataloging the staff, planning to identify and punish those responsible before dismissing them from the palace. He had no intention of sparing anyone who dared to wound Eilika with their words.

”Know this, Eilika, you are much more important to me now. You are the mother of Roman, the boy who lost his spark after losing his birth mother. I will always protect your dignity,” Damian said, his voice remaining steady in the quiet room. ”We will have a portrait commissioned together. You are my second wife, but you are my present. Keep that in mind.”

His words brought a sudden, profound peace to Eilika. Her heart and mind, which had been so uncertain about the fragile nature of their relationship, finally found clarity. For the first time, a genuine hope took root that she and Damian could truly grow together.

Eilika turned her head to look at him, her heart racing with a feeling which suddenly began to grow unknowingly in her heart.