100.

‘Nicholas Diazi.’

I had seen a similar scene in ‘Ophelia and the Night’.

The male lead, Nicholas Diazi, suffered lingering aftereffects following Norma’s disappearance due to Igor’s curse. For an extended period, Nicholas endured chronic insomnia and occasional unexplained fevers.

No medicine, no matter how potent, nor divine power, no matter how strong, could quell these fevers. They would subside on their own after a day or two, as though they had never occurred.

While the narrative in ‘Ophelia and the Night’ stated that no one could determine the cause of Nicholas’s fevers, it heavily implied they were psychological in nature—rooted in trauma.

Norma, too, was plagued by insomnia as a result of his curse and confinement. It wasn’t hard to imagine that today’s sudden fever was another of those lingering aftereffects.

He had been sealed underwater for so long. It wouldn’t be surprising if being submerged in water brought those old mental scars rushing back.

What Norma was experiencing, and would likely continue to experience, wasn’t something that could simply be forgotten, nor was it something that would heal like a cold.

At least, I thought, it wasn’t life-threatening. For once, I was grateful for my knowledge of that cursed novel. Knowing he wasn’t gravely ill brought a surprising sense of relief.

Having been born with immense divine power, Norma’s body possessed overwhelming healing and recovery abilities. It was practically immune to illness. That’s why, when I touched his burning hand earlier, I’d been so startled.

As I sat processing everything, Norma, who had been silently fidgeting with my hand, suddenly spoke.

“I wasn’t avoiding you. I just… didn’t want to show you this pitiful side of me, unable to handle even a simple fever.”

“….”

“Please don’t call it a delusion or anything like that. It hurts.”

His expression, filled with sorrow and frustration, made me feel like the worst kind of person. All I could do was open my mouth to speak, only to close it again.

If I said, ‘I didn’t call it a delusion,’ it felt like I might genuinely make him cry.

Before I could find the words, Norma spoke again.

“It’s my fault for failing to earn your trust, but still—”

His golden eyes, shimmering with tears, overflowed at last, a single droplet falling to the floor.

“It breaks my heart.”

Oh no.

“You can ignore my feelings if you want,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “But don’t treat them as though they don’t exist. They’re not a delusion.”

As he finished speaking, the heat radiating from his hand seemed to intensify. He was clearly distraught, and his fever had stripped him of the restraint he usually displayed.

What had I done? I felt like the worst kind of trash.

“I was wrong. I’m sorry. Please…”

My words came out jumbled and awkward, as if I had never apologized before. My grip on his hand tightened reflexively.

Norma, however, shook his head silently, as if denying something I hadn’t said.

Even so, I realized I needed to focus on getting him to rest.

“For now, you should lie down.”

He hesitated but eventually allowed me to guide him to the bed. As he lay down, he looked up at me from where I sat on the edge of the mattress. His eyes, still damp, made me feel guilty all over again.

After a brief silence, Norma was the one to break it.

“Aisa. It doesn’t seem to be a cold, but just in case, you should go to your private room.”

“I heard what happened today,” I replied.

“…”

“So don’t try to make me seem like a heartless wife. Stay put and rest.”

Norma didn’t argue further. Instead, he closed his eyes halfway, though not fully. His inability to rest properly was evident and troubling.

I reached out and placed my palm on his forehead, intending to check his fever. At my touch, he finally closed his eyes completely.

I watched him for a moment, frowning at the intense heat still emanating from his skin.

“The voices,” I asked, “are they still there?”

“They’re gone for now.”

He hesitated slightly before adding, “…Did it ask you to die again?”

“Yes. But I ignored it. I swore to stay by your side, and I intend to keep that promise.”

“Good. You did well.”

“Thank you.”

“Will you be able to sleep?”

“…No.”

Norma sighed quietly as he admitted it.

I couldn’t help but think about ‘Ophelia and the Night’. In the novel, Nicholas was able to rest and recover quickly whenever Ophelia stayed by his side.

Clearly, such miracles only existed in romantic fiction. Reality wasn’t so kind.

Norma Diazi, burning with fever, was far from falling asleep. Instead, he lay there with bright, clear eyes, watching me intently. His expression made him look like a child stubbornly refusing to go to bed despite being obviously unwell.

“Maybe you should see the physician after all,” I suggested.

“It won’t help. Besides, I’d much rather have you here with me,” he replied firmly, shaking his head.

As the guilty party tonight, I had no choice but to humor him. If his fever was truly similar to Nicholas’s in *Ophelia and the Night*, there wasn’t much anyone could do anyway.

“…Then I’ll at least have someone bring a cold towel.”

“More than that, I’d like it if you held my hand,” he said softly.

“….”

“Your hands are cool. If you hold mine, it might help the fever go down.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, knowing full well he was bluffing. His sincerity wavered as he quickly added, “It’s true… My body temperature ‘is’ lower than most people’s.”

Despite the transparent excuse, I decided to let it slide. After all, he was sick. I reached out and clasped his hand.

The way his eyes lit up at the simple touch nearly made me laugh. He looked at me with such sparkle, as though just holding my hand had made everything better.

After fiddling with my hand for a while, Norma blinked at me like someone with something to say. Or rather, someone who wanted something.

“Go on. Say it.”

“…Could you hold me?” he asked cautiously.

I couldn’t help it—I burst into laughter.

The same man who had looked at me with such wounded sorrow earlier now had the audacity to make such a modest, almost bashful request. I was dumbfounded.

“Are you really sick?” I teased.

“Yes. I’m terribly dizzy. If you hold me, I might feel a little better,” he said, putting on an exaggeratedly pained expression, complete with fluttering eyelashes. His theatrical delivery had me laughing again.

“…If you’re dizzy, then I suppose I have no choice,” I muttered, eyeing him as he continued to play the part of the tragic figure.

Leaning forward slowly, I got on my knees and moved toward him. Somehow, the motion felt completely natural, like the flow of water, a habit born from sharing a bed since our marriage.

While I had meant to hold him, the reality of his size quickly made it apparent who would be holding whom. I ended up in his arms instead.

To my surprise, the intimacy of his request didn’t faze me at all. In fact, it felt normal—expected, even. Nestling into his chest and holding him close was so second nature that I didn’t even realize I found comfort in it.

Perhaps it was because we always slept like this after our marriage. As his warmth surrounded me, I felt a drowsiness creeping in. Resting my head against his chest, I spoke softly before succumbing to sleep.

“You didn’t want me to see you feverish from falling into the water?”

“That’s right,” he confirmed.

“That was unnecessary…”

“I only want to show you my best side.”

“…Well, you’re fine as you are now.”

“But lying here with you, I regret not coming to see you first. The bath was a mistake,” he admitted.

His words made my heart race, each beat thundering louder than the last. Time seemed to stretch as I lay there, acutely aware of the rhythm of my own heart.

Just as I was about to drift off, Norma mumbled something to himself.

“If I’d known you’d been imagining such things on your own in the meantime…”

The wistful tone jolted me awake. I felt like his chest grew even warmer, and I hurriedly sat up to check his expression.

Despite the melancholy in his voice, Norma’s face was bright, a mischievous smile lighting up his features.

“…Oh, come on. Stop teasing and at least close your eyes,” I chided.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied obediently, shutting his eyes like a well-behaved child. His large hand slid naturally to rest around my waist. With a small sigh, I allowed myself to lie back down against him.

Before I fell asleep, I murmured, “Today… everything was my fault.”

“I was at fault too,” he replied.

“And what, exactly, did you do?”

“Turning my back on you,” he admitted.

“…Yes, that was worse than I expected,” I muttered.

Norma tightened his arms around me. The gesture gave me a surprising sense of security, and I felt my eyelids grow heavy once more.

“In any case, as a McFoy, I can’t go back on my vow. I made you cry once, so I’ll repay this debt twofold,” I murmured, half-asleep, barely coherent.

Even in his feverish state, Norma chuckled softly at my absurd declaration.

That night marked the first time in McFoy history that the lord and her husband spent the night simply holding each other.

* * *

Meanwhile, as the newlyweds, who had made such a fuss over nothing, finally drifted off to sleep while giggling, the estate outside remained in a state of high tension.

When the announcement came that the lord consort had declared separate sleeping arrangements for the first time, the staff were thrown into utter shock. After a flurry of hurried discussions, it was decided that the unlucky maid who lost the draw would have to deliver the news to the lady of the house.

The maid had barely worked up the courage to do so when she saw the lady’s expression contort into something fierce. Before she could even process the gravity of the situation, the lady had stormed out of the shared bedroom and down the hall toward the consort’s private quarters, her face a mask of fury.

When the staff heard the booming sound of the door slamming open, they braced themselves for disaster.

Sure enough, not long after, the heated sound of the lady’s voice pierced through the thick wooden door of the consort’s room. One by one, the staff, who had been crowded around the door with their ears pressed to it, grew pale as the argument carried on.

It wasn’t long before the lady’s commanding roar shook the corridor. The lord’s unmistakable voice, filled with authority, echoed like the roar of a lion.

Startled, the staff jumped back from the door as though burned. When they heard her call out for Jan, the household physician, they collectively concluded that something terrible must have happened inside. The youngest maid sprinted off to fetch Jan as quickly as her legs could carry her.

“Get Aide Seymour! Someone fetch Aide Seymour right now!” shouted the eldest maid, directing her command at the maid standing at the far end of the hall.