Chapter 274 274: Chapter Two Hundred And Seventy Four

The grand hallway of the Eric's residence was silent. Outside the closed doors of the master bedroom, Delia sat on the cold marble floor, her back pressed against the wall. She had been there for what felt like an eternity, her entire world narrowed to the single, unmoving slab of wall that separated her from her husband.

"Your Grace," the head maid, a kind, older woman named Hilda, pleaded softly. She had been trying for the last hour. "Please, let's go to your room and clean you up. You need to rest."

Delia didn't seem to hear her. Her eyes were fixed on the door, hollow and vacant. She was a statue carved from grief. Every so often, the door would crack open, and a junior maid would hurry out with a bowl of blood-red water and a stack of stained towels, rushing past Delia before another maid entered with a fresh bowl and clean linens. Each exchange was a fresh torment, a new, visible sign of the life-and-death struggle happening just a few feet away. But Delia just stared, her face lifeless, her spirit somewhere far away, locked in that room with Eric.

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