Chapter 2:

Ricard's POV:

In the lavish confines of my office, I sat flipping through the pile of documents spread out across the table. Each page contained crucial information, yet no matter how many times I skimmed them, not a single word stuck in my mind. Not even one. Something else was occupying every corner of my thoughts.

"Hey, Rachel, has Joolie eaten anything yet? Has the kitchen reported back?"

I finally gave in and asked my assistant. I could feign indifference with her all I wanted, but deep down, I was worried sick. Every time she so much as sneezed, it twisted my insides into knots.

Rachel knew me well enough by now. She had worked for me for years and could easily read between the lines. She understood that despite my cold words, my concern for Joolie was very real. I was tough on the outside, soft on the inside. The harsh words I'd said earlier to Joolie? It was all for her own good.

"Lord Ricard, Miss Joolie still hasn't eaten anything. But don't worry, I believe she'll eat a little later," Rachel tried to reassure me gently.

I said nothing, pretending to casually flip through a few more pages. But less than two minutes later, I glanced back up at Rachel, my jaw tightening.

"Rachel, has Joolie eaten yet? What did the kitchen say?"

"No, not yet, sir," Rachel answered hesitantly.

"Fine, then let her starve!" I downed the glass of water on my desk, still trying to maintain my composure, acting like I didn't care as I turned back to the documents. But both Rachel and I knew it was all a façade—I couldn't focus on a single word.

It felt like thousands of ants were crawling through my veins, each tick of the clock making me flinch involuntarily. Time dragged by excruciatingly slow. Every part of me wanted to storm out of this office, to go see her. But the pride of a man, the arrogance of a lord, kept me rooted here. I couldn't allow myself to grovel before her again and again.

And even if I did go see her, what could I do? She made her stance clear—whatever I did, in her eyes, I was vile and disgusting.

"Rachel, has Joolie eaten anything yet? She didn't eat anything yesterday either. Is it dangerous for her to go this long without food?"

"Lord Ricard, Miss Joolie… still hasn't eaten," Rachel stammered slightly, her voice tinged with apprehension. It hadn't even been two minutes, and I was already repeating the same question. On my face, which I always kept cold and impassive, there was now an unmistakable look of frustration.

"Still not eating… How can she endure this? She's already so thin," I mumbled, tearing at the corner of the file in my hands, shredding the edge into ragged bits. Compared to battles on the field, this problem with Joolie felt far more unsolvable.

"Rachel, tell me, what happens if someone skips three meals in a row? With Joolie's health, will she faint from exhaustion?"

"Um… I'm not entirely sure, but rest assured, Lord Ricard. I'm confident Miss Joolie will eat soon. There's no need for you to worry too much about her," Rachel tried to calm me, but her words only made my hackles rise.

"Don't talk nonsense. I'm not worried about her!" I snapped defensively. "She still has her uses! If we launch an attack on the Blue Moon pack, Joolie will be a critical piece on the board."

I quickly buried myself back into the documents, determined not to let Rachel see the guilt in my eyes. The words I'd just spoken… they couldn't be further from the truth.

I spent the entire day glued to my desk, continuously asking about Joolie's status. Over and over, the same question: "Has Joolie eaten yet?" I must have repeated it a hundred times, asking Rachel every few minutes. By the time I even opened my mouth, Rachel knew exactly what I was going to ask.

Joolie was all I could think about.

This was the first time Rachel had ever seen me this shaken, this tense, over any issue. To be this frantic and to lose my composure entirely… all because of her.

...

Joolie's POV:

In the room next door, I sat stubbornly on the bed, glaring at the freshly prepared meal in front of me with utter disgust. I wanted to die—yes, I wanted to die. Living here, under the same roof as *him*, was a fate a thousand times worse than death. If it weren't for the fact that my death would bring harm to those I loved because of Ricard's wrath, I would have ended my life long ago.

"Living like this… is this even called living?" I stared blankly at the door, a bitter smile tugging at my lips.

My stomach growled loudly, and I clenched my teeth. I didn't want to eat, but my body had its own agenda. It was pathetically weak, so pitifully ordinary that it couldn't even resist a basic biological urge.

"Well, this is fine too. If I die from starvation, it's not considered suicide, right? As long as I die, all of this will finally end."

My veins had started turning a bluish-purple color, and my frail body was beginning to give up. My stubbornness, my hatred, and my sheer defiance were taking their toll. 

For two days, I continued to resist. I didn't touch a single bite at breakfast, lunch, or dinner. Ricard, bound by his pride and arrogance, restrained his concern for me, refusing to force me to eat or even visit me again. But, as expected, what was bound to happen eventually did.

On the second morning, as usual, one of Ricard's servants came in to clean my room. Unlike every other day, she didn't see me sitting lifelessly on the bed, nor did she hear a single sound from me.

"Joolie? Miss Joolie?" 

"Miss Joolie, where are you?" she called out frantically. She knew better than anyone how much Ricard valued me. After living more than sixty years in this world, it wasn't hard to read people's intentions. If something were to happen to me, it wouldn't just be her—they'd bury everyone involved along with me.

"Joolie, don't scare me like this! Where are you?" 

The old maid dashed around the room, her face tight with fear, her limbs trembling.

"Joolie! Miss Joolie!" Her voice grew louder until she finally found me. I had collapsed at some point, curled up in a corner of the room, cold and unconscious.

Her mind went blank. She quickly laid me down and ran to the door, shouting at the top of her lungs:

"Someone, help! There's something wrong with Miss Joolie! Someone help!"

Her words hit everyone in the grand mansion like a bolt of lightning. There wasn't a soul in the household who didn't know how much their master cared about this woman. Whether for political reasons or something more personal, the lord of this estate would never allow anything to happen to her.

Meanwhile, Ricard was in the middle of a crucial meeting with the high-ranking officials of the pack.

Not a single one of the old men in the room dared to speak under his fierce gaze. When Ricard said one, it was one; when he said two, it was two.

"So, does anyone else have anything to say?" he asked, his tone as cold as ice.

Silence fell over the room instantly. Who would dare object? Just moments ago, one of them had shown dissatisfaction, claiming Ricard was too young and reckless. Within a second, Ricard had struck his name off the pack's political council. His exact words were:

"I am the Lord of this pack. Your duty is to trust and contribute constructively, not to question me. If I didn't have the capability, I wouldn't be sitting here, nor would I have led this pack to become one of the strongest. If any of you find your seat uncomfortable, you needn't sit there anymore. I have no problem finding replacements."

That was who Ricard was—authoritarian, yet undeniably brilliant. Compared to these elderly men, whose only advantage was their age, his strategies and calculations were lightyears ahead.

"Yes, yes, our prosperity today is all thanks to our Lord. You are wise and far-sighted; we wouldn't dare doubt you!" one of them chimed in, trying to flatter him.

Ricard smirked. He could see through such blatant flattery easily. Just as he was about to respond, his phone rang. It was Rachel's number. He stared at the screen for a moment before deciding to pick up.

"Lord Ricard, Miss Joolie—something's wrong! This morning, one of the maids found her collapsed and unconscious."

"What?!" I couldn't maintain my composure, slamming my fist on the table. My vision turned red with panic. 

"I'm coming back right now."

I didn't bother explaining anything to the confused faces around me and stormed out of the meeting room without another word.

Driving like a madman, I raced back to the estate. The second I parked, I sprinted straight to Joolie's room.

"What's the situation?" I gasped, my chest heaving, sweat dripping down my face.

"She's stable for now, but you mustn't let her skip another meal. I'm afraid her body won't be able to take it." 

It was Claire, the family doctor. Rachel must have called him immediately when Joolie fainted.

"She's going to be okay, right?" I demanded, my voice betraying the fear I felt.

"For now, yes. She's just severely malnourished."

Only then did I finally allow myself to breathe. My heart, which had been hanging by a thread, slowly settled.

"But don't say I didn't warn you. If this keeps up, she really won't make it."

After Claire left, I ordered every servant out of the room until it was just the two of us—Joolie and me.

Around five in the evening, she finally woke up. The first thing she saw was the face she hated most—mine.

"So, you're finally awake?" I tried to sound nonchalant, but even I could hear the roughness in my voice.

She closed her eyes tightly, refusing to look at me.

"Do you hate me that much?"

"Yes, I hate that I can't tear you into a hundred pieces!" Joolie spat, not even trying to hide the loathing in her voice. To her, I was just a giant ball of hatred. If I died, she'd pay any price to make it happen.

"Do you realize what starving yourself will do? Are you trying to die?"

"Ricard, honestly, I'd rather die than live with you."

"I hate you, Ricard."