Chapter 569 Does It Still Hurt?
Afterward, Jacob rolled onto his side, chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. Sweat clung to his skin, and for a moment, his face softened with unmistakable relief.
After a moment, once his breathing steadied, he turned to Serafina. "Was that uncomfortable for you?"
Serafina lay curled away from him, her back turned. She hugged herself tightly, her slender shoulders trembling slightly. "No," she finally whispered after a long pause.
Having rested and regained his energy, Jacob inevitably desired another round.
He had barely touched her shoulder when Serafina reacted sharply. "I'm a little sore."
She gave him no chance to inquire further, clutching the sheet as she rose from the bed and hurried to the bathroom. Jacob watched her retreating figure, suddenly feeling a sense of emptiness.
Marital relations required mutual willingness.
He wasn't foolish—he could clearly see her reluctance, and he had no intention of forcing her. He put on a bathrobe and went to the adjacent room to shower. When he returned to the bedroom, Serafina was still in the bathroom, evidently avoiding him.
Jacob, refreshed, leaned against the headboard. After waiting half an hour for her to finish bathing, he finally fell asleep.
The couple exchanged no words that night.
The following morning, Jacob was the first to rise. He went downstairs to retrieve some documents from the car. The courtyard was shrouded in a thin mist, with a few servants already busy cleaning, and the driver diligently polishing the vehicle.
"Good morning, Mr. Windsor," the driver greeted, cloth in hand.
Jacob acknowledged him with a slight nod. In the winter morning, dressed in a deep gray coat, he cut an elegant figure as he leaned into the car to retrieve his documents, a cigarette dangling from his lips.
The driver smiled. "I noticed those earlier while cleaning the interior. Was just about to mention it to you."
Jacob held the documents in one hand and his cigarette in the other, finishing it before offering a faint smile. "Forgot them last night."
As he turned to head back upstairs, the driver hesitated, then called after him. "Mr. Windsor, there's something else I think you should know."
"What is it?" Jacob pulled out his half-empty pack of cigarettes and tossed it to the driver.
The driver caught it, weighing it in his hand before recounting how Serafina had been slapped. He concluded with evident indignation: "That Mr. Penrose acts so respectable in public, but who would have thought he'd behave like that in private! Mistreating Mrs. Windsor when you weren't around—it's clear he has no respect for you, sir."
Jacob was surprised. He'd only dealt with Ronan in business matters and knew little about how the man treated his wife and daughter, though he'd heard rumors about Ronan keeping a mistress and having an illegitimate child.
Such arrangements weren't uncommon in their circles, so he hadn't given it much thought. He never imagined the Penrose family was so dysfunctional behind closed doors.
So that explained why Serafina had refused his advances last night. Throughout their lovemaking, she had been on the verge of tears—not from pleasure.
Jacob patted the driver's shoulder. "Keep this between us."
"Of course, Mr. Windsor," the driver assured him.
As Jacob headed upstairs, his emotions were conflicted. Though he hadn't planned to invest much emotional energy in his marriage to Serafina, she was still his wife. Ronan's treatment of her was, by extension, an insult to Jacob himself.
He sat at his desk in the study and smoked two cigarettes before dialing Ronan's number. In light of what happened to Serafina, Jacob dispensed with pleasantries, addressing him formally as "Mr. Penrose."
On the other end, Ronan felt a twinge of unease. Having navigated the business world for years, he possessed an impeccable sense of timing. Jacob was clearly calling to confront him. Ronan wondered if he'd misjudged—perhaps Jacob actually cared deeply for Serafina?
Setting aside his pride, Ronan attempted a jovial tone. "Jacob, why so formal? Just the other day you were calling me 'Father.'"
Jacob wasn't swayed by this familiarity. Holding the phone firmly, he spoke directly, "I heard Serafina was slapped by you at the Penrose Mansion, in front of your staff. Mr. Penrose, I don't care how you flex your authority at home, but Serafina is my wife. What gives you the right to lay hands on a Windsor? Are your business affairs running too smoothly, or do you think I'm a pushover?"
Ronan immediately denied it, but Jacob cut the call before he could finish, ignoring subsequent attempts to reconnect. It was still early, so he reviewed his documents and spoke with the manager in Vesper City.
Just as he finished, a servant came upstairs to announce Ronan's arrival.
Jacob picked up the lighter from his desk and lit another cigarette. Pale blue smoke slowly rose, blurring his handsome features.
After taking a few drags, he instructed the servant: "Tell him Serafina is still asleep, and he should leave."
The servant looked startled.
Jacob clarified, not wanting any misunderstanding, "Serafina doesn't want to see him."
The servant dared not question further and hurried downstairs to relay the message.
On the ground floor, Ronan paced anxiously. He desperately wanted to see his son-in-law, even if it meant groveling for forgiveness. But Jacob denied him the opportunity.
Jacob had told him to leave!
After walking back and forth in the living room several times, Ronan didn't dare disturb Serafina and slunk away.
He deeply regretted his carelessness that day. Serafina had found the strength to stand up to him!
Serafina woke at ten in the morning. Her phone had been ringing; she picked it up to see Isadora calling. Rolling onto her side, she answered with a slightly hoarse voice, "Isadora."
Isadora's voice was animated. "Serafina, did you hear? Ronan rushed over to your place early this morning, and Jacob sent him packing like a beggar. When he came back, his face was like a beaten dog's—livid but too afraid to show it. I heard from the staff that he called his mistress and told her to take their illegitimate son abroad for a while."
Serafina was astonished. She gripped the phone for a long moment before responding, "The driver must have told him about what happened that day."
Isadora nodded. Having both suffered at home, Isadora cared deeply for Serafina and always hoped she would find sanctuary.
"Try to get along with Jacob," she advised softly. "Even at its worst, it's better than life at home."
"I know," Serafina said, slowly ending the call.
A subtle sound—the master bedroom door opening.
Jacob entered. He sat on the edge of the bed, his long fingers gently brushing Serafina's cheek, his voice carrying a barely perceptible tenderness, "Are you still in pain?"
Serafina froze. Being treated with such care by Jacob stirred something within her. To claim she felt nothing would be a lie.
But mostly, she felt uncertain.
Years later, after they had parted ways, she would look back on this period as one of the few genuinely tender moments they shared.
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