The Devil's Betrothed novel Chapter 539

Chapter 539: I Do Not Wish To Lose You

Arlan entered the room, carrying a wooden tray, and made his way to the lounge area where a wooden table stood sentinel before the couch.

"Have your meal," he said, gently setting the tray upon the table.

Oriana didn’t dare move as she was not comfortable in that jacket where her legs were exposed. She felt hesitant to walk in front of him this way.

Sensing no movement from the bedside, Arlan turned his attention towards her, "Eat before it gets cold."

Despite her reservations, Oriana decided compliance was her best course of action. She gingerly maneuvered herself on the mattress, minimizing her movements, before tentatively stepping onto the floor. As she moved, Arlan couldn’t help but steal a glance, his gaze lingering on the sight of her legs, uncovered by his jacket. His throat tightened, and a primal urge stirred within him, threatening to overwhelm his senses. He swore his Dragon stirred, ready to jump out.

Clutching his fists tightly, Arlan struggled to regain his composure, forcibly tearing his gaze away from Oriana.

Oriana walked to the wooden table and sat on the carpeted floor, with her legs folded to one side, doing her best to hide them from his view beneath that table top.

Once succeeded, she looked at Arlan who didn’t seem to be sparing her glance. "Aren’t you eating?" she asked.

"I am not hungry," he responded tersely, signaling his intent to leave the room.

Observing the generous spread of food on the tray, Oriana couldn’t help but deduce that it was intended for both her and Arlan. Roman must have arranged it. She was sure Arlan had not eaten anything either.

"I do not wish to eat alone," she spoke up before he could depart, her tone carrying a soft plea. "Please, accompany me to finish it, even if you are not hungry."

Her words halted him mid-stride, prompting him to pause and search for his discarded shirt. Arlan retrieved it from the floor and began to don it, while Oriana surreptitiously observed him.

"Every movement he makes is so graceful, even wearing a simple shirt," she mused inwardly, finding herself captivated by his effortless elegance. His usual calmness, added to that regal charm of his.

As Arlan finished buttoning his shirt and turned back to face her, he caught Oriana’s gaze fixed upon him.

Quickly averting her eyes like a thief, Oriana redirected her attention to the food, clearing her throat awkwardly. "Hurry up. The food is getting cold," she urged, attempting to break the tension.

Arlan made his way to the table and seated himself opposite Oriana, settling onto the carpeted floor. His eyes followed her movements as she began to serve the food onto dishes.

"Wait!" he interjected suddenly, causing Oriana to pause and look at him quizzically. "Show me your hands."

Perplexed, Oriana set down what she held, examining her hands for any sign of trouble. Arlan reached for her hands, deftly rolling up the sleeves of her jacket properly, unlike her previous haphazard attempt.

She glanced up at his serious expression, curiosity piqued by his unexpected attention to detail. Once he finished, he released her hands and spoke softly, "I will do it."

With gentle determination, Arlan began to fill the dishes with food, leaving Oriana pleasantly surprised by his gentlemanly gesture.

The man she once served as her master, now was serving her. It was a contradictory thing to accept.

He placed the dish in front of her with a simple directive, "Eat," and proceeded to serve himself from another dish. Oriana eyed the delectable food, its enticing aroma already tantalizing her senses, urging her to indulge without hesitation.

As she took a few bites and felt her stomach contented, she stole glances at Arlan, who ate with quiet grace. Sensing an opportune moment to broach the subject on her mind, Oriana mustered the courage to speak up, her gaze lingering on him.

"Do you want to say something?" Arlan’s voice interrupted her thoughts, his eyes meeting hers in silent inquiry.

She nodded, seeking permission. "Can I?"

"I didn’t really mean to go to the Demon realm," Oriana confessed hesitantly, "trust me, I am more scared and worried about going there than anything," she added while silently saying the rest in her mind, ’Or why would I hide from you that my body has started to be affected.’

"What are you thinking?" Arlan asked, trying to see through her. He could guess she was contemplating whether to tell him or not. From her expressions, her conclusion seems to be on positive way. As long as she comes to him and tells him instead of hiding, everything was fine.

She got back to her senses, "I have yet to inform my grandfather about our marriage. Tomorrow, I plan to disclose everything to him."

Arlan simply nodded in acknowledgment and resumed eating his meal.

"Arlan," she called out, prompting him to meet her gaze.

There was a look of surprise in his eyes that she called him by his name finally and it felt natural coming out of her mouth and not forced at all.

"Hmm?" he responded, his attention fully on her.

"My grandpa is awake. You’ve been waiting to confront him, to..." she trailed off, unable to voice the unspoken implications.

"He is already dying, and there’s no use in punishing a man on his deathbed," Arlan interjected, his tone firm. "You can spend time with him and do as you wish."

Oriana felt a surge of gratitude towards him. Despite his arrogance and pride, he was willing to set aside his principles for her sake.

"Thank you," she murmured, her eyes welling up with emotion.

"That doesn’t mean I accept him as family or will show him any respect, or even meet him. For me he doesn’t exist," Arlan declared calmly, making his stance clear. There was a limit to forgiveness, especially when it came to the murderer of his mother.

"I understand," Oriana replied softly, already overwhelmed with gratitude and unwilling to ask for more.