Transmigration: The Tyrant General Can Hear My Thoughts

Chapter 284: Chapter Two Hundred And Eighty Three

An Hour Ago...

The master bedroom was dark, the lamp was out. The storm outside was raging violently, throwing sheets of freezing rain against the large glass windows.

Inside the room, Camilla lay flat on the soft mattress, her breathing even .

Very slowly, her hazel eyes opened.

She stared blindly up at the dark ceiling. She took a slow, deep breath. Her lungs filled with cool air.

The intense, burning heat that had consumed her entire body for hours was finally gone. Her skin no longer felt like it was on fire.

But as the fever left her body, a different, far more terrifying torment rushed in to take its place.

Camilla squeezed her eyes tightly shut. She raised her hands and pressed the palms hard against the sides of her head.

"Ah," Camilla whimpered softly. The sound was a tiny, pathetic noise of distress in the quiet room.

Her mind was flooded with vivid, overwhelming memories of her drugged state.

She remembered everything.

She remembered sitting in the dark carriage. She remembered reaching out her arms. She remembered pulling Damon’s body down toward her. She remembered the firm, desperate way she had wrapped her arms around his neck. She remembered pressing her hot lips against his jaw, and kissing the sensitive skin of his neck.

But worst of all, she remembered the exact words she had whispered to him.

Stay with me. Don’t go. I don’t want to.

Camilla shook her head side to side on the pillow.

"No," Camilla whimpered again, her voice trembling violently in the dark. "Not again. Not again."

She opened her eyes. She looked wildly around the dark bedroom.

Everywhere she looked, she saw Damon’s face.

She looked at the chair near the fireplace. She remembered him sitting there, watching her with deep, protective dark eyes. She looked at the small table near the bookshelf. She remembered him sitting there working on his ledgers. She remembered the way he looked handsome when he smiled, a smile reserved only for her. She remembered his rough, calloused touch of his large hand holding hers, anchoring her safely in the carriage.

The sundew powder had forced her to see her deepest, most hidden desire. And her desire was no longer gold. It was no longer a successful business or even running away to the Maldives.

Her deepest desire had changed course long ago and it was Damon.

Camilla suddenly brought her hands down from her head. She clutched her hands tightly over the center of her chest.

She grabbed the thin cotton of her chemise. She squeezed the fabric hard, right over her heart.

Her chest was in intense, physical pain. It felt exactly like an iron blade was twisting slowly between her ribs. Her heart was beating with a frantic, painful rhythm.

She knew exactly what this pain was. She had felt it once before, in a past life, a long time ago.

She knew, without a single shadow of a doubt, that she had completely, undeniably fallen in love with the Tyrant General.

"No," Camilla whispered to herself, tears of terror forming in her eyes. "This cannot be happening. I cannot feel this way."

In her past life, in her modern world, she had allowed herself to fall in love once. She had trusted someone completely. She had given him her heart. And that person had betrayed her in the most brutal, bloody way possible. That betrayal had turned her into a cold hearted person and she killed him.

She had built an impenetrable wall of ice around her heart to survive. She had sworn to never, ever let anyone inside again.

But Damon had destroyed that wall. He had destroyed it with his quiet protection, his awkward apologies, his smile, his resources, his bad cooking, and his sheltering presence.

Her heart was punishing her violently for suppressing her true feelings. The love she had tried to ignore was now flooding her entire system, making her feel weak and exposed.

Camilla looked around the room again. She saw one of Damon’s boots resting near the wardrobe. She saw one of his traveling coats draped over a wooden stand. She smelled the faint, clean scent of his soap lingering in the air.

His belongings were everywhere. His presence was everywhere.

She felt suffocated. The air in the large bedroom suddenly felt too thick to breathe. The walls felt like they were closing in on her. She needed to escape. She needed to run away from him, away from his things, and away from these terrifying emotions.

Camilla threw the thick wool blankets off her legs.

She scrambled off the bed. Her bare feet hit the cold floor.

She did not stop to put on a dress. She did not even notice that she was only wearing her chemise. She did not notice she was barefoot.

She bolted.

Camilla ran across the bedroom as fast as her legs could carry her. She grabbed the brass handle, yanked the door open, and fled out into the dark stone hallway.

She ran down the corridor. The mansion was silent and dark. All the servants were asleep.

She ran down the grand curving staircase. Her bare feet slapped quickly and silently against the cold stone steps. Her mind was a chaotic storm of panic and desperate flight.

She wanted to get as far away as possible. She wanted to escape the images of Damon following her. She wanted to escape the memory of being around him. She wanted to forget the image of holding him, hugging him, kissing him, and his large hands caressing her face.

She reached the grand foyer. She ran directly to the front doors of the mansion.

She grabbed the iron handles with both hands. She pulled with all her strength.

The doors swung wide open.

A violent gust of freezing cold wind immediately blasted into the foyer.

Camilla stepped out onto the wide stone stairs. She walked down into the center of the large, paved courtyard.

The storm outside was absolutely furious. The night sky was pitch black. Thick sheets of freezing rain were pouring relentlessly down from the dark clouds. The wind howled loudly, whipping through the trees.

Camilla stood right in the very middle of the chaotic storm.

Within some seconds, she was drenched. The freezing rain hit her body violently. Her chemise was instantly soaked through. The wet cotton clung tightly to her skin, offering no protection from the biting cold. Her red curly hair became a heavy, wet mess plastered against her pale cheeks and her neck.

She stood still in the dark. She tilted her head up slightly. She closed her eyes and let the freezing, brutal rain pour directly onto her face.

She was shivering violently. Her bare toes were numb on the freezing stone pavement.

"Wash it away," Camilla prayed silently in her mind. Her internal voice was desperate and shaking. "Let the cold freeze my heart again. Make me cold. Make me numb. Bring me back to my senses."

She stood there, allowing the freezing storm to hit her body violently. She hoped the physical pain of the freezing weather would overpower the emotional pain in her chest. She wanted to become the unfeeling Black Widow once again.

But the rain did not work.

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