Transmigration: The Tyrant General Can Hear My Thoughts

Chapter 285: Chapter Two Hundred And Eighty Four

Even as her teeth began to chatter, her heart continued to beat with a desperate, painful longing for the man she had left inside the warm house.

Minutes passed slowly. Camilla stood alone in the dark, freezing courtyard, fighting a losing battle against her own awakened emotions.

Suddenly, the sound of boots running quickly across the stone pavement broke through the loud howling of the wind.

Camilla slowly opened her eyes. She turned her head.

Through the pouring rain, a huge dark figure was rushing toward her.

It was Damon.

He had seen her from the study window. He had sprinted out of the mansion, ignoring the storm to reach her.

Damon closed the distance between them in a few huge strides. He stopped right in front of her.

He was holding his military coat tightly in his large hands. His dark brown eyes were wide with panic and terrifying worry.

He looked at her shaking, freezing body. He looked at her bare feet and her soaked hair.

"Camilla, are you alright?" Damon shouted loudly, his deep voice carrying clearly over the roaring thunder.

His voice was exactly what she had been trying to escape. The deep, rumbling sound of it sent a fresh wave of painful longing straight into her chest.

Damon stepped closer. He raised his hands, shaking the coat open.

"Why are you outside, wearing so little?" Damon demanded, his voice thick with desperate concern.

He moved forward, fully intending to wrap his coat securely around her freezing, shaking shoulders. He wanted to pull her against his chest, pick her up, and carry her back inside the warm mansion immediately.

But as the fabric of the coat touched her wet arm, something inside Camilla snapped.

The fear of loving him, the terror of giving him the power to break her, completely took over her logical mind. She could not accept his warmth. If she accepted his care, she would be lost forever.

Camilla reacted with sudden, explosive violence.

She raised both of her hands and pushed hard against his chest. She shoved the coat roughly away from her body.

"Don’t touch me!" Camilla yelled loudly.

She took a fast, shaky step backward, putting distance between them in the pouring rain.

Damon was stunned. His hands dropped slightly, holding the rejected coat. He stared at her in confusion.

Camilla glared at him. Her eyes were wild, filled with panic, fear, and anger.

She decided on a harsh, cruel plan.

"I have to make him hate me," Camilla whispered frantically to herself, her heart racing. "I have to push him away. If I make him hate me, he will leave me alone. He will stop caring for me. And if he leaves me, I will be free from this terrible curse called Love. I will not get betrayed again."

She wrapped her arms tightly around her own freezing chest, hugging herself.

She looked into his worried eyes and unleashed her defensive anger.

"Can you just leave me alone," Camilla yelled at him. Her voice shook, not just from the cold, but from the effort of fighting her own feelings.

She pointed a shaking, wet finger at his chest.

"All this is your fault!" Camilla shouted loudly over the storm.

She blamed him. She reasoned that he was the cause of her weakness. He had bought her a chest of gold. He had cooked her breakfast. He had protected her from his family. His constant acts of service, his thoughtful gifts, and the undeniable appeal of his body had broken her defenses.

"I don’t want you here, my lord," Camilla declared harshly, forcing her voice to sound as cold and rejecting as possible. She took another step backward in the muddy puddles. "Please leave."

Damon stood still in the freezing rain.

The water poured down his face and soaked his white shirt, but he did not feel it. He stared at her.

He was still utterly confused.

Just a few hours ago, she was drugged with sundew powder. She had clung to him desperately. She had kissed his neck and begged him not to go. He had stayed by her side, wiping her hot forehead with a cold towel, terrified that she might die from the high fever.

He had rushed out into a violent storm to save her from freezing to death.

And now, she was pushing him away. She was yelling at him. She was telling him that everything was his fault, and ordering him to leave her alone in the cold dark night.

Damon’s shoulders dropped slightly. He felt a sharp, confusing pain in his chest. He did not understand the sudden, hostile change in her behavior. He thought he must have done something terribly wrong when he was carrying her, or maybe he had startled her when he ran out of the house.

Damon stepped forward slowly. He held his hands out in a calm, peaceful gesture, still holding his coat.

"Did I do something wrong?" Damon asked. His deep voice was soft, gentle, and full of genuine, worried confusion.

He looked at her shaking, freezing body. He just wanted to get her inside.

"If I did, I’m sorry," Damon apologized smoothly. He did not care about arguing. He just wanted her safe. "I didn’t mean to upset you."

Hearing him apologize so gently was the worst thing that could possibly happen.

Camilla stared at his earnest, caring face.

She thought to herself, her internal voice breaking completely.

"He’s doing it again," Camilla thought, fresh, hot tears mixing with the freezing rain on her cheeks. "He is being gentle. He is being understanding. He is not fighting back. He is acting like the perfect, loving husband."

Every single soft word he spoke chipped away another piece of her icy armor. His apology was making her fall even deeper in love with him. It was destroying her plan to make him hate her.

She could not handle his kindness. It terrified her more than the storm.

Camilla lost her temper.

"Just stop!" Camilla shouted at the top of her lungs, her voice cracking with raw emotion.

She covered her ears with her wet hands, squeezing her eyes shut. She shook her head violently side to side, sending wet red curls flying through the air.

"Stop apologizing!" Camilla shrieked desperately into the loud wind. "Stop it!"

She opened her eyes and glared at him, shivering so hard her teeth chattered loudly. She looked small, broken, and terrified.

Damon stared at her.

He listened to her irrational screaming. He looked at her bare feet standing in the freezing, muddy water. He saw her thin white chemise clinging to her shaking body, offering absolutely zero warmth, zero coverage against the brutal, violent storm.

The gentle, confused, apologetic husband slowly began to fade away.

She was standing in the freezing rain, risking pneumonia and death, just to yell at him to stop apologizing.

The fear for her safety slowly transformed into a protective frustration. The strict, demanding aura of the Tyrant General finally returned to his face.

Damon’s jaw clenched tightly. His dark brown eyes narrowed sharply, burning with a sudden, intense fire through the pouring rain.

He dropped his arms to his sides. He gripped the coat tightly in his large fist.

Damon took an aggressive step forward. He closed the distance between them, towering over her small, shaking frame.

He spoke. His deep voice boomed with overwhelming power, easily cutting through the loud crashing of the thunder. It was no longer a gentle question. It was a strict, demanding, angry roar.

"Then why are you angry?" Damon shouted back at her, his protective frustration exploding.

He pointed a firm, angry finger at the dark, freezing sky, and then at her soaking wet, shivering body.

"What is going on," Damon demanded fiercely, his eyes locking entirely onto her terrified face, "that you have to put your health in danger?!"

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