Chapter 65: The White-Haired Maid’s Shameful Punishment, Dragging the Noble Miss Down Too (1)
Tia’s gaze flickered as she stared at the stockings in the trash, her eyes filled with pain.
Was she heartbroken over the stockings, or the one who had worn them?
Did she truly not notice what had happened earlier?
Or was it that she simply refused to acknowledge it?
As if denying it outright would somehow make the reality less cruel.
But beneath that veneer of denial burned a blazing anger.
A murderous intent surged within her, more intense than she had ever felt before.
Though she often disdained Shia, her fury and bloodlust only flared when she felt truly humiliated.
But this time, it was different—something she cherished deeply had been defiled.
And by that loathsome man.
Tia rose to her feet, her curvaceous and mature figure exuding an icy authority. Her face was cold and unyielding, carrying an overwhelming sense of pressure.
Some matters, as a servant, she had to take into her own hands—to ease her mistress’s burdens.
The moonlight bathed the cobblestone path, softening its edges with a faint glow.
Footsteps approached. Shia strolled leisurely down the road leading to the Arlinger Mountain villa district.
Only a hundred meters remained to the gate.
But then, a wave of murderous intent rushed toward him.
Shia’s eyes locked on the figure that had suddenly appeared before him.
Long, snow-white hair glimmered under the moonlight as though it were alight.
Her cold, stunning face seemed carved from ice.
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Her ample chest, barely hidden beneath her maid’s uniform, rose and fell with suppressed rage. Her tall, full-bodied figure was accentuated by the sleek white stockings covering her shapely legs.
The chill of her presence, combined with her icy beauty, gave her the appearance of a moonlit goddess—majestic and untouchable.
But what drew the most attention were the gleaming daggers in her hands, reflecting the pale light ominously.
Shia’s gaze shifted from the blades to her eyes—eyes filled with coldness, anger, and a deep-seated sorrow.
They were the eyes of a vengeful goddess under the moonlight.
It was clear she had been waiting here for quite some time.
Shia, however, showed no surprise. Instead, he smirked and casually remarked,
“Oh? You brought weapons this time?”
He had long anticipated this confrontation.
Lilith, in her nervousness, had foolishly believed they had fooled Tia.
But Shia wasn’t that naïve.
The supposed "success" of their act earlier wasn’t due to Tia being fooled—it was because she refused to expose the truth.
Not entirely for her mistress’s dignity, but more because she herself couldn’t bear to believe it.
That clumsy imitation of a dog’s bark? There was no way it could fool someone so familiar with Lilith.
Even a stranger might have noticed it was human mimicry, let alone someone who worshipped Lilith to the point of obsession.
Tia must have recognized Lilith’s voice the moment she heard it.
Shia couldn’t help but wonder—what was her expression like at that moment?
Was her blood frozen in her veins?
Amused by the thought, Shia grinned inwardly.
Lilith might have feared being discovered, but not him.
In fact, he felt a twisted sense of satisfaction.
He had thoroughly enjoyed himself.
But imagining Tia’s internal turmoil was even more satisfying.
The woman she adored, her noble mistress, had been reduced to barking like a dog for a man she despised. And Tia had been forced to listen, unable to intervene or walk away.
What kind of torment must that have been for her?
The heartbreak, the helplessness, the silent agony of hearing her beloved Lilith’s pitiful cries, all while trying to convince herself it wasn’t real...
The thought of Tia’s torment filled Shia with a dark satisfaction.
Tia, however, didn’t answer Shia’s question.
She didn’t need to.
Her actions spoke louder than words.
Without warning, she moved.
Fast, precise, and without hesitation, her daggers gleamed as she lunged forward.
Her intent was clear—she wasn’t here to talk.
The sudden movement carried an almost suicidal determination.
Tia’s courage, to act so boldly for her mistress’s honor, was commendable.
But Shia had her figured out.
Her cold demeanor? It was merely a façade she used against those she perceived as weak.
She was the kind of person who crumbled when met with greater force.
Shia’s smirk vanished, replaced by an icy expression.
Facing her third-tier aura, he didn’t retreat.
Instead, he stepped forward, his gaze sharp as lightning, exuding a suffocating dominance.
“Do you dare lay a hand on me?”
Under his piercing gaze, Tia faltered.
Her steps slowed, her resolve wavered.
As a servant, her very upbringing demanded absolute obedience to her master.
No matter how much she hated Shia, he was still her mistress’s fiancé—and, by extension, her master.
In the past, Shia’s mild-mannered personality and Lilith’s disdain for him had allowed Tia to act with impunity.
But now?
The thought of Lilith, who once scorned him, now lowering herself to please him—tonight, no less—shook her deeply.
Unbeknownst to her, Shia had already established an undeniable authority over her.
Her initial anger and murderous intent had dissipated.
By the time she stood before him, daggers still raised, her hands trembled with hesitation.
The deep-rooted instincts of a servant clashed with her fury.
She couldn’t bring herself to strike.
Her lips quivered, her body shivered with inner conflict.
But Shia didn’t hesitate.
He raised his hand and slapped her without mercy.
“Smack!”
The sound echoed sharply in the quiet night.
Tia’s head snapped to the side, her long white hair whipping around her flushed face.
The sting burned her cheek, leaving it numb.
Her elegant, icy features swelled noticeably from the impact.
Her hand instinctively moved to touch her cheek, only for her fingers to flinch at the pain.
“Hiss...!”
The agony overwhelmed her, but anger quickly replaced her hesitation.
She had held back, unwilling to harm him.
And this useless man dared strike her?
Her restraint was born of years of servitude, but now even she couldn’t understand why she had hesitated.
Her emotions boiled—anger at his trea tment of Lilith, and fury at his audacity to strike her.