To My Gentle Dictator – Chapter 040

But Ulrich’s eyes, quietly staring out the window, were desolate and emotionless.

Desire, ideals, obsession, and despair—those were all things that arose from the depths of a person’s inner world.

And his inner world had been an empty abyss for as long as he could remember.

The only emotion he felt now was a faint irritation.

‘I wasted time for nothing.’

What state was the princess—now his wife—in by now?

Adjusting his robe, Ulrich strode forward.

There were five bathrooms and four bedrooms in this apartment.

He wondered if Sasha had actually gone into the bridal chamber.

If that innocent—or pretending to be innocent—bride was waiting for him there, that would be a sight worth seeing.

As the bedroom door opened with a soft click, he heard the faint sound of someone holding back a trembling breath.

Ulrich stood at the doorway, hand on the knob, and stared at the bed.

Sasha was there.

Like a bride on her wedding night, she had bathed and changed into fresh nightclothes, waiting for him.

The only difference from other brides was that she wasn’t on the bed—but sitting on the floor beside it.

And kneeling very properly at that.

“U-Ulrich…”

As the door opened, Sasha looked up with a flinch and called him in a shaky voice.

Judging by her posture, she had clearly been waiting like that for hours.

Yet somehow, she hadn’t started tearing at her hands.

Ulrich shut the door behind him, then casually crossed his arms and leaned his shoulder against the threshold.

He was barely holding back laughter.

‘If this is a twist, it’s a good one.’

There was no need to ask why Sasha was acting this way.

The incident that had occurred in front of the cathedral right before the wedding—

The commotion where Vasily had stormed into the bride’s carriage had reached Ulrich’s ears around the time Lyudmila intervened.

It had been Fedir, who had gone out to check when the bride was late, who returned with a message from Lyudmila.

‘—Lady Lyudmila said she’s very sorry about her brother and told me not to worry, she’ll handle it herself.’

‘Worry, huh.’

Contrary to Lyudmila and Fedir’s concern, Ulrich hadn’t worried.

Vasily’s idiocy was one of the many potential disruptions he had anticipated for this wedding.

Given how thoroughly Vasily had been disgraced before, and with Kryuchkov present, there was no way he’d lay a hand on the bride so recklessly.

Still, if Vasily did do something that stupid, Ulrich had been curious to see how Sasha would respond.

What kind of reaction would she show this time?

But Lyudmila had barged in and ruined the moment, spoiling the fun.

Perhaps that was when the irritation had begun.

Though really, it hadn’t been enough to get this irritated over.

“What are you doing?”

He asked the question with a deliberately neutral tone, concealing his thoughts.

Sasha glanced up with tearful, anxious eyes.

“I thought… you might be upset because of me…”

Ulrich stepped across the plush carpet toward the table where a wine bottle had been placed.

As he picked up the opener and removed the cork, Sasha sat there frozen, anxiously watching his expression.

As he poured wine into a glass, he spoke in a deliberately indifferent tone.

“Why? Did you do something wrong?”

Sasha closed her eyes tightly for a moment before opening them again, feeling like her blood was draining away.

Ah… judging by his tone, he’s really angry.

“Yes. I’m really sorry. It was my fault.”

Clasping her trembling hands tightly, she continued in a quivering voice.

“Because I didn’t handle things properly, General Vasily ended up climbing into the carriage I was in.”

“…”

“I told him to leave, but he wouldn’t listen—no, that’s not what I mean. I mean I was so stupid and scared that I couldn’t act wisely like Lady Lyudmila. I’m really sorry, Ulrich. I’ll be more careful from now on. I promise nothing like that will ever happen again. Please forgive me…”

Ulrich wet his lips with the bittersweet wine.

Thanks to what Sasha had just said, he suddenly realized—clearly—why he had been irritated all day.

When the bride finally entered the ceremony hall, albeit a little late, she had been completely out of it.

Which, of course, was understandable, given what had happened.

She was getting married in front of the very people who had killed her family.

On top of that, there was the incident with Vasily. It was no wonder she seemed out of it.

That part was fine.

Watching her maintain composure even while half in a daze had actually been rather enjoyable.

What started to irritate Ulrich was when Lyudmila approached after the ceremony to offer her congratulations.

That smug, benevolent attitude as she chattered on about apologizing on her brother’s behalf.

The triumphant look on her face, unaware of who had ruined everything.

Wearing the dress Ulrich had personally gifted her—the one that made her eye color stand out—and strutting around like royalty.

‘Is being unhinged part of the Proverka family genes?’

The Sasha he had carefully dressed and presented had clearly been affected by Lyudmila.

Even though she looked incomparably better, even though she had mesmerized the entire audience, she had shrunk back like a handmaid before a queen.

Even now, Sasha’s words carried subtle traces of Lyudmila’s influence.

And that bothered him.

The only person allowed to influence Sasha should be Ulrich himself.

Just like he should be the only one who could determine whether Sasha was a virgin or not.

While Ulrich’s reasons for purging Dr. Anton were complex, the deciding factor was that Sasha’s reputation might have been at risk.

She was a valuable piece of propaganda—allegations of prostitution were unacceptable.

Things would have gone more smoothly if that idiot doctor hadn’t made the mistake of babbling about Sasha’s so-called purity.

Ulrich had no actual interest in whether or not Sasha was a virgin.

Even if she really had sold her body, it wouldn’t have changed anything—as long as no one dared to speak presumptuously about it.

And as long as Sasha never lied to him.

“Ulrich, please…”

Perhaps misinterpreting the look on his face, Sasha pleaded with a pitiful expression, as if she might burst into tears any second.

“I didn’t mean to. I didn’t do it on purpose. Please…”

How could Sasha have possibly stopped Vasily, when even the NSS agents couldn’t?

Lyudmila had been able to interfere because she was family—someone on Vasily’s level.

Ulrich didn’t blame his bride for cowering in front of Vasily.

But as he looked at Sasha behaving like someone used to this kind of situation, a stray thought crossed his mind.

‘So Vasily must’ve seen this look from her countless times.’

If Vasily had made her beg like this, had he really only hit her?

Ulrich’s rose-tinted eyes darkened.

Not long ago, he would have found her tearful pleading dull and tedious—but thanks to Lyudmila ruining his mood today, he suddenly felt the urge to find out just how far Vasily had broken her.

And if Vasily had touched that territory, then Ulrich would need to start over from the beginning and break her himself.

“Shura.”

“Yes?”

When he called her softly, Sasha lifted her tear-streaked face.

Ulrich set his wineglass down and gave her a languid smile.

“Who taught you to act like this?”

For a few seconds, the only sound in the room was the ticking of the wall clock’s second hand.

He stared down silently at the stunned, pale-faced Sasha before giving a subtle nod toward the bed.

“Get on.”

His voice was as lazy as his expression. Like a gentle hand holding out a noose.

The moment felt oddly unreal, and Sasha blinked in confusion.

Seeing her look so innocent—like a girl who knew nothing about men—Ulrich let out a small, derisive laugh.

She was the one who’d begged to live with him, and now she acted like this?