The carriage rattled to a halt before the tall gates of Meical's estate.
Min-jae stepped down first, his expression unreadable, but his fingers were clenched so tightly around the diary that his knuckles had turned white. He did not wait for Saar to follow him, nor did he spare a glance at the trunks filled with clothing.
"Take Saar to a room.." he told one of the maids, his voice steady though his throat burned. "Send the trunks to my husband's chambers.."
As for him? He needed a bath.
The staff hurried to obey, but Min-jae was already gone, striding toward the stairs.
He needed water, heat, steam...anything to scour away the stench of that house.
The bath was always ready, fed by the underground springs, but the relief he craved refused to come.
No matter how hard he scrubbed, the filth remained. The memory of Dorian's weight, Veynar's leering eyes, their poisonous words,it clung to his skin like grease, sinking deeper with every frantic stroke of the cloth.
