Investing In My Lv.999 Devoted Wife Makes Me a Tyrant

6 | The Bath

Allen heated the water one pot at a time.

The shack didn't have a fireplace. It didn't have a stove. It barely had walls that kept the wind out. But it had a rusted iron pot, a pump outside that worked if you cranked it hard enough, and a stack of firewood he'd scavenged from behind the collapsed well. He'd paid a kid 2 Copper to help him carry it back. Best two Copper he'd spent all morning.

He filled the pot, set it over the fire he'd built in the dirt yard behind the shack, and waited. While the water warmed, he dragged the wooden washtub from behind the shack. It was cracked along one edge and stained with years of grime, but he scrubbed it out with handfuls of sand and cold water until the wood was pale and smooth.

The morning sun had climbed halfway up the sky by the time everything was ready. Allen carried the pot inside, poured the steaming water into the tub, and tested the temperature with his wrist. Hot enough to warm her. Not hot enough to burn.

"Alright," he said, turning to the bed. "Let's get you clean."

Seraphina watched him. Her violet eyes tracked his movements the way they'd been doing since last night. He'd learned to read the subtle shifts in her gaze. When he moved toward the tub, her eyes followed. When he turned back toward her, they were already waiting.

He lifted her from the bed. She weighed almost nothing. The blanket fell away, and he carried her across the room in three steps. Her head rested against his shoulder. Her silver hair spilled over his arm like water. The garnet tips caught the light from the window and smoldered.

He set her on the chair first, supporting her with one arm while he worked the thin cotton dress up over her hips, her ribs, her shoulders. The fabric slid free and joined the blanket on the bed. She sat naked in the morning light, her skin pale as fresh cream, smooth and unblemished except for the faint scar at her left temple.

'Focus. She needs to be clean. That's all.'

He lifted her again and lowered her into the tub. The water rose up her calves, her thighs, her waist. He kept one arm behind her back, supporting her weight, keeping her head above the surface. Steam curled around her shoulders. Her silver hair floated on the water like spilled moonlight.

The water rippled. Seraphina's eyes fluttered once, then closed.

'Good. She's relaxing.'

He let her soak for a moment before he reached for the cloth. He started with her shoulders. The muscles there were knotted from years of lying motionless, the skin pale and cool despite the warm water. He pressed the cloth against her collarbone and worked outward in slow circles. The warmth seeped into her skin, and he felt the tension in her shoulders begin to loosen under his hands.

"I used to think being weak was the worst thing that could happen to someone," he said. "My family made sure I knew it. Every day. Every meal. Every time I couldn't lift the training sword or keep up with the other kids." He dipped the cloth and moved to her other shoulder. "But watching you... I think being strong might be worse. At least I never had anything to lose."

Her eyes opened. She was looking at him. Not through him. At him.

"You were the best. S-rank. Silver Death. Everyone feared you. Everyone respected you." He moved the cloth down her arm, tracing the curve of her bicep, the line of her forearm, the delicate bones of her wrist. "And then someone took it all away. Not in a fight. Not in a gate. Someone did this to you on purpose."

He paused. The cloth dripped. "That's not weakness. That's betrayal. And I'm going to find out who did it."

He rinsed the cloth and moved to her chest. He started at the hollow of her throat, then worked downward with slow, careful strokes. The cloth traced the swell of her breasts, heavy and full, the pale skin warming under his touch. He cleaned beneath them, lifting each one gently with his free hand, running the cloth along the curves where skin met skin. Her nipples tightened in the cool air as the water trickled down, pink and soft. He moved with the same deliberate care he'd used on every other part of her body. Thorough. Clinical. Gentle.

She was his wife. She couldn't clean herself. This was what husbands did.

He moved lower, sliding the cloth over her stomach. The skin there was soft, the muscles beneath dormant but still present. He traced the curve of her waist, the flare of her hips where the bone pressed close to the surface. She'd lost weight since the accident. He could feel the shape of her skeleton beneath his hands. Too thin. Too fragile. But that would change. He'd make sure of it.

He shifted his grip, leaning her forward slightly so he could reach her back. The cloth traveled down her spine, vertebra by vertebra. He cleaned the small of her back, then lower, over the rise of her ass. The cheeks were full and round despite her weight loss, the skin smooth and unblemished. He worked the cloth between them with care, cleaning thoroughly, then down the backs of her thighs.

When he was done with her back, he eased her against his supporting arm again and moved to her hips. The cloth traced the sharp lines of her hip bones, the soft dip of her belly below them. He cleaned the crease where her thighs met her pelvis, then worked inward.

Her legs parted slightly in the warm water. A fraction of an inch. But it was enough.

He cleaned her with the same matter-of-fact gentleness he'd used everywhere else. The pale outer lips, the softer pink within. He didn't linger. He didn't rush. He just did what needed to be done, the way a man washed his wife when she couldn't wash herself. Her eyes were on him the whole time. He met them once. Held her gaze. Whatever she was feeling, it wasn't fear.

He finished and moved down her legs. Her thighs. Her knees. Her calves. The delicate arches of her feet. Every inch of her skin was pale and cold when he started and pink and warm when he finished. The water had cooled, but her body hadn't. She was warmer now than she'd been since she arrived in this shack.

[Ding!]

[Violet: Physical and emotional investment detected. Bathing wife with patience and tenderness. Return: 1,200x. Dominion Points accumulated: 500. Skill Shop unlocked. 1,200 Copper.]

The panel flickered. A new notification appeared below the first.

[Violet: Skill Shop is now available. Host may purchase skills using Dominion Points. Current balance: 670 DP.]

Allen paused mid-motion, his hands still resting on her feet. "Skill Shop," he said. "You mentioned that before."

[Violet: Correct. The Skill Shop allows Host to browse and purchase skills. Available skills are determined by Host's level, accumulated Dominion Points, and relationship progression with Wife.]

"Later." He moved back up to her hair. "I'm busy."

He cupped water in his palm and poured it over her scalp. The silver darkened to the color of storm clouds. He worked his fingers through the strands, gentle, patient, untangling the knots one by one. When the silver was clean and shining, he gathered it over one shoulder and twisted it gently to squeeze out the excess water.

He lifted her from the tub. Water cascaded down her body, dripping from her breasts, her hips, her thighs. He wrapped her in the wool blanket he'd bought at the market. The wool was rough, but it was clean and dry and it held the warmth against her skin.

He carried her back to the bed and laid her down. Her hair spread across the bare wood like a spill of moonlight. Her eyes were still open. Still watching him.

But they were different now. Brighter. More present. The emptiness he'd seen in the chapel was still there, lurking at the edges, but it was smaller than before. Much smaller.

"Better?" he asked.

Her finger twitched against the blanket. Once.

'Yes.'

He pulled the chair up to the bed and sat down. His hands were pruned from the water. His back ached despite Iron Will. But he felt something he hadn't felt in years.

Satisfaction.

"The Skill Shop," he said. "What can I buy?"

[Violet: Current available skills are limited by Host's Level 7 status. Available options include: Dash (Common, Active), Kick (Common, Active), Night Vision (Uncommon, Passive). More skills will become available as Host's level increase.]

"Night Vision," Allen said. "How much?"

[Violet: 300 Dominion Points.]

"Buy it."

[Violet: Skill purchased. Night Vision (Passive, Uncommon) acquired. Remaining DP: 370.]

A cold sensation washed through his eyes. It was strange but not unpleasant. Just... cold. He blinked, and the shadows in the corners of the shack sharpened. The cracks in the walls became lines he could trace. The dust motes floating in the window light became individual specks.

'Useful. No more fumbling in the dark.'

He looked at Seraphina. Her eyes were still on him. Still bright. Still present.

"One day," he said, "I'm going to find out what happened to you. Who did this. Why." He reached out and touched her hand.

Her finger twitched. Not once this time. Twice. A double tap against his palm.

'Yes. Yes.'