About Becoming My Ex-Husband's Mistress - Chapter 63

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 63. More
Count Veloda Genoma’s lips were also pressed tightly shut, just like Melissa Bilsty’s.
“Ahh! Ahhhhh!”
Melissa Bilsty, pinned beneath him, writhed roughly, her nails raking across the sweat-drenched shoulders of Count Veloda Genoma.
Both were absorbed in their passion, yet the atmosphere remained tense and irritable.
Soon, Count Veloda Genoma tensed his entire body. Melissa Bilsty’s lips, which had been clenched, parted in climax.
“Ah, ahhh! Ahhhhh!”
Her toes curled, her entire body trembled, and her vision went white.
Melissa Bilsty closed her eyes.
Count Veloda Genoma was indeed the best at his role as a man. She wanted nothing more than to linger in this pleasure for a moment.
But she could not.
“I’ve been pushed aside. Cursed with a vicious curse and cast out.”
Because of that vulgar singer, Olivia or whatever her name was. And because of that song that kept echoing in her ears.
Priscilla, whom she had killed with her own two hands years ago, and the trophy she never obtained—both haunted her mind simultaneously.
“Damn that woman!”
At the thought of Olivia, pretending to enjoy a dull night in Zerox’s arms, Melissa Bilsty spat out a curse and sat up.
She then seized the still-lingering Count Veloda Genoma below.
“Ugh!”
“More.”
Melissa Bilsty took Count Veloda Genoma’s member into her mouth, slick with moisture.
At the intensity—almost like biting—Count Veloda Genoma gasped and pulled Melissa Bilsty away.
“Ugh! Melissa, you’ll tear it off. I know you’re angry, but calm down.”
“How can I calm down? My reputation was ruined in a single day. And that woman seemed to know about Priscilla. The lyrics were exactly….”
Count Veloda Genoma embraced Melissa Bilsty’s shoulders. He lowered his head and caressed her chest as if to bite it, speaking softly.
“As if she might be alive.”
“That’s the problem. She should be dead. But what if, by some chance, she’s alive and exposes what we did?”
Melissa Bilsty felt no remorse or regret about what happened then. She was merely irritated at the thought that Priscilla might have survived and could interfere with her.
Count Veloda Genoma felt the same way.
“My sweet Melissa, come to your senses. Such a thing will not happen.”
Count Veloda Genoma applied slight pressure and bit at the bumps on the tip of his tongue.
“We anticipated victory but failed. Moreover, His Majesty took a vulgar commoner singer into his bedchamber. That’s why you’ve become more sensitive.”
Melissa Bilsty squeezed her eyes shut at the pleasure mixed with pain and hunched her shoulders.
Finding her appearance endearing, Count Veloda Genoma’s lips curved upward.
“There’s no evidence that she sang about our deeds, is there?”
Melissa Bilsty lifted her head and gazed at Count Veloda Genoma.
Count Veloda Genoma continued speaking, absorbed in his actions.
“In fact, I too recalled that incident. But you see, it could simply be our own paranoia or mere coincidence, could it not?”
“What if it’s not paranoia? And regardless, it’s a fact that we’ve lost His Majesty.”
“True. So….”
Count Veloda Genoma’s hand moved toward Melissa Bilsty’s forest once more. After indulging in playful touches there, he laid Melissa Bilsty down.
“I’m going to investigate methodically. How that singer came to write those lyrics. What she knows and how much. Whether there’s someone behind her.”
He filled Melissa again, his hips beginning to move back and forth.
“Don’t worry about that woman. Soon His Majesty will dismiss her as worthless and won’t even glance her way.”
That was welcome news.
As my anxiety eased, hot breath rose up my throat again.
“Ah… How?”
“You know, the method you recently used on the head Mute Maid of House of Grand Duke Wintem.”
“You’re going to do that again?”
“Troupe Laverre is in the same building.”
“But all the troupe members already know they can’t go up to the Fourth Floor. She’ll know it too.”
“I looked into that singer briefly earlier. Mmm… She’s like a beast sold to the circus because of her father’s debts.”
Melissa’s drowsy consciousness snapped awake.
“Is that really true?”
“Yes. And there’s a perception that troupe members can debase themselves anywhere without suspicion.”
Count Veloda Genoma’s thrusts grew more intense. Melissa felt herself drowning in pleasure.
“Ah! Don’t make me come yet—tell me what comes next. So?”
“I plan to lure her up to my private room on the Fourth Floor and hold a pleasure party soon. What I do best is, mmm, this very thing, isn’t it?”
With a forceful thrust deep inside, Melissa climaxed again.
“Ahhh!”
As Melissa responded, the satisfied Count Veloda Genoma laughed with contentment.
“After I’ve used her thoroughly and worn her down, I’ll spread the word that she was always that kind of woman—ruin her so completely she can’t even stand before His Majesty.”
The Count’s laughter had turned sinister.
* * *
Meanwhile, there was someone listening from behind the Storage Shed to every word exchanged between Count Veloda Genoma and Melissa during their passionate encounter.
It was Jeanne.
｢Teacher! Could you teach me just a little? I’ll give you half of what I earned today!｣
She who had pleaded with Priscilla that way in front of the Salon before had quit the Tavern in the Slums that very day.
And she memorized everything Priscilla taught her, practicing it over and over.
To be honest, managing and grooming her appearance was difficult and unfamiliar, but it was the only way out of this cesspool of a life.
Jeanne, whose appearance was completely different from her mother’s, was the result of rape. She was born in the Slums without knowing who her father was.
Her mother fell ill after giving birth to Jeanne. But she raised her with all the strength she had.
And every day she wept. About her own wretched fate, about how her poor child born this way was equally pitiful.
Because of this, even though life was harsh, Jeanne loved her mother.
After becoming an adult, Jeanne was skilled enough at cleaning to work as a Mute Maid, but she failed at every job interview.
The reason was her appearance.
Her face was so plain that people openly called her ugly.
An inverted triangle face, prominent cheekbones jutting out, hollow cheeks from malnutrition, dull and rough skin with scattered acne, and eyebrows in complete disarray.
She tried combing her faded brown hair, hoping its color might salvage her beauty, but soon gave up even that.
It had no volume, and the texture was a mess.
So the nobility wouldn’t hire her. An ugly Mute Maid walking around a Mansion was beneath their dignity, they said.
There was no chance she would write a letter of recommendation.
I wanted to protest that a person is more than just their appearance, but I could not.
Those born in the Slums could not dare speak before nobility unless they were prepared to be beaten down.
And truthfully, I admitted it myself.
Even by my own assessment, my face was truly ugly. There was no remedy for my natural plainness.
In the end, the place where I found work was a Tavern near the Slums.
It was a position that opened when the previous woman died, and the alcohol sold there was of the cheapest quality, with snacks of equally poor standard.
It was a place frequented by the impoverished, where drunken obscenities and loud voices held sway, where brawls and fights erupted constantly.
Women working in such places often found their bodies used against their will.
Jeanne’s first experience was assault.
The Tavern owner, a man of considerable brutality, committed his crime under the guise of advising Jeanne on how to survive long-term employment.
Then, as I trembled in shock, he threw money and contraceptives at me, saying it would be enough to eat for about four days.
“Even if someone dies here, the Security Force won’t care. Rather than be beaten and die anyway, it would be wiser to quietly take the money and provide for your family.”
The previous woman had died in exactly that way.
Jeanne lay bedridden for four days straight, saying nothing to my mother’s questions.
I wanted to kill the Tavern owner who hired me while hiding the truth, and who committed such an act under the guise of advice, and then die myself.
But I could not, thinking of my mother.
Her health had only worsened. It was not just her age—it was because we had no money and could not eat properly for four days.
In the end, Jeanne used the money the Tavern owner threw at me to buy medicine and food for my mother.
Just as he said, it was truly enough to eat for four days.
Dying while rolling around anywhere would be no worse than this.
With that thought, Jeanne returned to work at the Tavern. My life was pitiful, but I still wanted to live longer with my mother.
Money mattered more to me than my own body.
When the Tavern owner saw Jeanne return, he laughed.
“If there is a sin, it is being born in the Slums. If you cannot escape it, use it instead.”
And not long after, an accident occurred.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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