How the Ice King Became my Doting Billionaire Husband

Four days had passed.

Stuart, battered and having inhaled too much of the oppressive miasma in the forest, was deteriorating rapidly. Edmund had steadfastly refused to accompany him. Without the pest and beast repellent powders Edmund had spread around his cabin, Stuart doubted he could safely wait even another two days in that perilous environment.

Edmund, exasperated by Stuart's obstinacy and disruption of his solitude, was increasingly irritated. He had retreated to this remote forest to escape human contact, yet here he was, being disturbed.

In a burst of frustration, Edmund snapped, "Are you leaving or not? You're really getting on my nerves! It's so annoying when someone imposes like this! I've said no, and I mean no!"

Stuart's complexion was ashen, a sign of severe blood loss. The miasma-laden air made it increasingly difficult for him to remain without proper medical intervention, and his condition worsened the longer he stayed.

Seeing Stuart remain unmoved, Edmund said angrily, "What, do you want to die here and then blame me for it? I'll have you know, people around here used to call me the Grim Reaper because everyone close to me died. If you stay here and end up dead, don't say I didn't warn you."

Stuart replied calmly, "So, you're a Grim Reaper too?"

"Too?"

"Yeah, that's what they used to call me."

This piqued Edmund's interest somewhat. "Oh, let's hear it then. How did you manage to kill people? I don't believe you've had worse luck than me," Edmund said, his tone light but tinged with sorrow.

A fifty-two-year-old man, living in

isolation, had clearly given up on life. His parents had died in a car crash, his wife from complications during childbirth, and his son from a terminal illness. Despite his skills in medicine, he couldn't save his own family. They called him the Grim Reaper, ascribing his misfortune to his presence, but he would have rather it been him who died.

Now, confronted with another self-proclaimed Grim Reaper, Edmund was curious.

Stuart looked up, "If I tell you, will you help me save someone?"

"Pfft! Wishful thinking. I was just asking. If you don't want to share, fine. But let me remind you, in your current state, you might not make it through the night. If you're going to die, do it further away, don't disturb my peace."

With that, Edmund moved his handmade wooden chair to a spot where a few rays of sunlight could reach, lying down to bask in the warmth.

Stuart's gaze followed the sunlight.

It was warm, reminding him inexplicably of Morwenna. His usually cold eyes softened a bit. When Princess returns from her holiday and discovers the situation, she'll definitely be furious. He had been here for four days. Was the old man still alive? Stuart didn't know. Albhe knew was that he needed to bring someone back. Bringing Edmund back offered a glimmer of hope. Without him, the old man would surely die. But facing

Edmund, a man who desired

nothing, Stuart, usually so adept at negotiations, was at a loss.

Suddenly, Stuart spoke, "The day I was born, my birth mother nearly strangled me. She blamed me for being abandoned by her man. I spent eight years surrounded by her hatred until she met someone new and sent me to live with my

biological father. That's when my days became filled with

imprisonment... ab elé

Now,

they're all dead, my mother is in prison, and those related by blood call me a demon. The only person

who ever cared for me is dying. Tell me, does that make me a Grim Reaper?"

Stuart wasn't one to use his tragic past to gain sympathy. For years, he hardly ever spoke of it, out of loathing. Yet now, he shared these hated memories with a stranger, hoping for a slim chance.