Free Web NovelChapter 1330: Chapter 1327: Why Are You Called Constantine Stewart?
"Why are you called Constantine Stewart?"
"Because my world is frozen to the bone, where nothing can grow."
The man’s voice was low and hoarse, cutting powerfully through the ink-thick night, slow but clearly enunciated. Delphine jolted awake, sat up clutching the quilt, gulping for air as her fingertips began to tremble uncontrollably.
She had always liked the name Constantine Stewart. When she was fifteen, he took her out of the orphanage, adopted her, and after she came of age he high‑handedly changed his identity from guardian to spouse. Before she’d even had time to fully accept this guardian who was ten years older than her, she had already become his woman.
Maybe he had been waiting all along for her to become an adult. On their wedding night, the man who had always seemed clear‑cut and gentle stripped away his layers of disguise. When he revealed the bottomless depths of a man’s desire, Delphine gained a much more profound understanding of the male species—and a faint, creeping fear.
She didn’t know if all men were this ravenous, she only knew that Constantine took her the entire night, with no regard for whether her body could bear it.
In the years that followed, when it came to sex, Constantine remained domineering and perverse. Whenever and wherever he wanted it, she had to go along. That kind of frequent, unapologetically blatant coupling went on steadily for years, to the point that even she started to feel there was some semblance of loving entanglement in it.
In the dead of night, when he was working her over until she wished she were dead, she always had to cling to him and ask, why are you called Constantine Stewart?
The man had never been one for idle chatter; his most direct way of communicating with her was through fucking. Delphine couldn’t even remember if he’d ever answered her. Only now, startled awake from a nightmare, did she suddenly realize that back then he actually had given her a reply.
Such a refined, jade‑like face, such a gentlemanly, mild‑mannered public persona—yet underneath it all he was a cold, capricious man who knew nothing of tenderness.
Delphine stepped out of bed barefoot, switched on the bedside lamp, picked up the cold water on the little table and drained it in one go. Her slender, pale fingers pressed against the edge of the table as she panted heavily.
It was still early; dawn light slipped in through the gap in the curtains. Delphine sat on the bed with her knees hugged to her chest, staring at the temporary forty‑square‑meter one‑bedroom rental. Curled up like a young animal, she just sat there, dazed, her face bloodless.
It had been almost half a year since she’d moved out of the private estate on Fulham Road. She’d gradually gotten used to living alone. The first three months, her days and nights were flipped; she drank and smoked, completely at a loss. She often woke up in the middle of the night with her face soaked in tears, feeling cold, still coquettishly calling Constantine Stewart’s name. Later, as she called more and more, the man never responded; only loneliness and the night kept her company, mocking her. Bit by bit, she managed to grind her soft heart into stone.
Two months ago, because her schedule was upside down and she only ate once a day, she suddenly collapsed in the rental and was unconscious for a full day and night. She eventually came to on her own, dialed 120 for emergency services. She didn’t even remember how she was carried onto the ambulance. But having taken that trip to the gates of hell, she suddenly became thoroughly, brutally clear‑headed.
She was an orphan, raised in an orphanage, and had seen all the warmth and coldness of human nature. Later, Constantine appeared, forced her to accept several years of upper‑class life, controlling her day‑to‑day and possessing her body. It was like Stockholm syndrome: the weak will always develop dependence and loyalty toward the powerful. But if you’re too weak, you can be tossed aside without mercy.
She had to quit this feeling she had for Constantine Stewart.
Eat on time every day, quit smoking and drinking, clean the place. After two months of this, Delphine looked at the bank card balance that was nearly bottomed out and had no choice but to pull herself together and prepare to return to work, to support herself.
Let’s just say these six years were one long nightmare.
After spacing out for a while, Delphine suddenly remembered that Sally was coming over today. She got up, took a shower, made herself presentable, then went to the kitchen to cook a bowl of noodles.
Sally was one of Delphine’s very few friends. Sally was her stage name; she was also an orphan, and they’d grown up in the same orphanage.
Kids raised in an orphanage mature too early. Sally was an ambitious woman. From a young age she swore she’d make big money and live a good life, so she set her sights firmly on squeezing into the most lucrative Entertainment Sector. Rumor had it she’d latched onto a rich second‑generation heir and landed a fourth female lead, making her an eighteenth‑tier minor celebrity—doing better than Delphine.
When Sally arrived at Delphine’s rental and saw her, she was stunned. Waving her bright red nails, she exclaimed, "Your face is all gaunt, and this one‑bedroom is way too small. Del, didn’t the director of the orphanage say the family that adopted you was well off? How did you end up in such a pathetic state?"
No one at the orphanage knew that Constantine Stewart had been the one to adopt Delphine; aside from the director, it was kept secret. The outside world had always been tight‑lipped about him. The private estate Delphine used to live in on Fulham Road was said to be worth over a billion, and was the kind of place money couldn’t even buy.
For a child raised in an orphanage, such out‑of‑the‑blue wealth always came with a deep, bone‑deep sense of fear.
Being used to poverty wasn’t scary. What was scary was getting used to wealth, then losing everything overnight.
So in all these years, Delphine had never talked about her guardian’s circumstances. Sally had always thought she’d been adopted by an ordinary family, and had no idea she’d gotten married and divorced.
"Did you run away from home? Or is the person who adopted you some kind of perverted bastard?" Sally pinched her small face—there wasn’t a bit of flesh on it, just skin and bones—and narrowed her eyes as she spoke.
Delphine was beautiful, and had always been known by the nickname "Little Delphine." Delphine Carter was famous in the circle for her looks; the whole marketing package around Delphine had been built on her face. But if you looked closely, their features weren’t actually that similar.
Later on, Delphine starred in Director Carter’s youth film and became wildly popular for a time. Sally had been a little jealous back then, thinking she was going to be the next big thing across the country, scripts pouring in. She never expected Delphine to fall silent right after that, completely disappearing from the scene.
Seeing how badly she was doing now, Sally no longer felt jealous—only a bit of pity.
"Don’t be scared, just tell me. If that family really abused you, we’ll sue them. I’ve got some connections in the circle," Sally said indignantly.
Families looking to adopt usually chose kids under five. At that age, they had no real memories, and their personalities were more malleable. Few people adopted teenagers—they were hard to bond with.
Most people who adopted girls in their teens were perverts—pedophiles and the like. Sally had grown up fast; as a kid she’d been dark and ugly, and no one wanted her. Once she got older she didn’t want to be adopted anymore. Delphine, on the other hand, was so pretty that she might well have run into a creep. Just look at what they’d done to her.
"The adoptive father who took me in is dead. I was kicked out of the house," Delphine said simply. She didn’t want to say more about Constantine. After he married her, her adoptive father had basically ceased to exist. She had indeed been driven, disgraced, out of the Fulham Road estate, so it wasn’t exactly a lie to Sally.
