The Duke’s Imposter Sister

Adrian, who listened quietly, narrowed the gap between her forefinger and Gris forehead to apply the ointment on her wound.

Did you think a life of a normal human being awaits you outside once you left this place?

The room had begun to become a little noisy again, but at this comment, a hushed silence fell over them. Gris bowed her head weakly.

The women here were fallen nobles, or widows who had been sold in debt. There were even some serfs that found this place a refuge after committing a felony. Indeed, it would be a miracle if they were treated even with the least amount of respect by society if they left.

Adrian, who had committed a murder, knew this fact well. It was perhaps the reason why she was always burning with a desire to extinguish the lives of all the men here, rather than to escape with their help.

If only I had the white flowers in my front yard, I could have succeeded in my plan.

Marie asked a question upon hearing her. White flower?

Adrian applied ointment to the wound on Gris calf and nodded.

Yes. The white flowers with roots that look like cotton. Their roots can become poison if you boil them in rum for a long time. Its a deadly toxin that can melt your gut and make you vomit blood until you die.

There was a cold smile on Adrians lips.

Thats how I killed my husband, who kicked me on a normal basis. And thats why I came all the way here.

It was a hush secret on how to make poison. It was my mother, who was an alchemist, that told me. One day Im going to kill all the guys in here with that poison and run away.

Gris felt hopeful with such a preposition, but her hope diminished midway. Even if luck were ever to grace upon them and they could escape, luck is cruel and will be a choice of another. It had been no ones choice out of misfortune that they would dare to come here. Gris, who had been helpless from the very beginning, exhaled a weary breath, her gray eyelashes wet with tears.

Adrian applied camellia oil to her thighs and suddenly looked at Gris face. Soon, her bitter voice reached her ears.

Youre too beautiful to be decorated like this. You poor thing.

Gris knew what the poor meant in Adrians words. All the beautiful woman here were like a popular toy in a marketplace. They suffered from men queuing in unending lines who come to relieve their desires. If fate smiled on them, theyll die within a year or theyll die in the brothel until old age haunts them.

Gris couldnt bear to meet death in a brutal way. She wanted to meet someone. She wanted to know of such a person who would give her hope, to realize the reason why she should live in the world.

Before she knew it, her hair, which was messy as a birds nest, was pampered till it recovered its fine texture. Gris felt awkward at the new sensation of her weightless hair, she had gotten used to the oil that weighed her locks. The dust around her body, which had wrapped around her like a shield, had also disappeared. Such things bearing her vulnerability made her finicky.

But she could not dwell on her musings any longer as the wooden doors opened wide, forcing all the women to close their mouths in a hurry. Billton came inside. He wiped his nape with a handkerchief and pointed out the door with his index finger.

Everybody out. Mary stays.

Billton referred to Gris as Mary. The day she was sold to the brothel was the feast day of Mary.

The women, although discontented, left the place quietly. Billton scrutinized Gris who was sitting in a chair like a doll and grabbed her fair neck with a ruffian hand.

Listen. I dont know who the guy you are going to spend the night with, but he paid a lot of money. If you make it unpleasant, Ill have your tongue cut off.

Gris closed her eyes tightly. His hot, damp palms pressed against her made her breath in extreme pain and fear.

Ah! On Billtons bloodthirsty face, light dawned. His gruff voice tickled unpleasantly in her ears.

In fact, Im thinking of softening my cr*tch before I cut your tongue. Do you know what I mean? If you make the man who is coming into the room soon disappointed, youll end up in aterriblemess.

Gris struggled desperately. Let me go, let me go!

Billton, who finally had his fill, smacked his lips in derision. He loosened his strangling hand, as if to give her mercy.

You should be thanking me. No matter how much the man rubs it in you, you wont get pregnant no matter what.

Gris was shocked upon being reminded that she had been drinking contraceptive tea for nearly a year. Billton managed a sexual slavery without the risk of pregnancy because he wanted to sell the women at a high price.

For half a year, her menstruation had stopped. She would be unable to conceive.You should be thanking me, he said. A shaky breath came out of her mouth.

Gris tried to shoot Billton a glare, but he merely patted her on the cheek and left the room. She touched her stiff neck and took a deep breath when the wooden door creaked open again.

It was a man in his early twenties who came into her confused view. He was lean, tall, and had a small face which was hidden underneath a mask. But the sight of his naked hand free of blemishes clearly showed that he was a nobleman.

He must have been the man she ran into when she was crying at the front yard of the brothel. If so, is he a man with a bizarre taste for women who look like beggars?

Or perhaps, even worse, he reacted to a womans cry. Unless he is an aristocrat who secretly enjoys violent fornication, then there was no reason for him to visit.

When she thought so, her hands and feet cooled with dread.What could be his purpose?Gris opened her lips, panic swirling in her stomach.

Its nice to see you sir

T/N: New novel! This is going to have quite a mature theme.

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