Investing in the Three Villainesses Gives Me Infinite Returns

Stella crawled across the larger bed with an excited grin, while Natasha stared at her and Elias in utter confusion because, unlike the two of them, she could not hear what they had been discussing.

Most of the time, Natasha lacked the context behind whatever was happening around her because, well, she couldn’t hear, so she maintained an impassive expression, but she had only just woken up, and between Stella’s theatrics and Elias’s ridiculous bedhead, she had been completely thrown out of the loop.

Stella reached her side and immediately picked up the notebook and quill resting nearby before beginning to write.

The difference between their handwriting was obvious even from a glance; Stella’s writing was sharp and straightforward, almost like the simple swings of a sword, while Natasha’s was elegant and graceful, with every character carrying the same beauty as its owner.

After finishing, Stella turned the notebook toward Natasha.

Do you want to bathe with our husband?

Natasha’s brows furrowed as she read the sentence, and she immediately glanced toward Elias.

Elias noticed the misunderstanding forming in her eyes and quickly sent a Mental Whisper.

[She wanted to bathe with me, but I denied it. Then she said I had already bathed with the others, and I told her I had not. So now she is telling me to bathe with you.]

Natasha stared at him for a moment before turning her attention back toward Stella.

She stared for several seconds, her expression becoming slightly more complicated as she considered the strange request, and then she slowly shook her head.

Stella’s brows immediately knitted together.

She grabbed the notebook again and began writing with noticeably greater force than before.

Why? Are you not his wife?

Natasha stared at the words.

For Stella, the answer seemed obvious.

Husband and wife were supposed to be like her mother and father; they were supposed to care for each other, love one another, support each other, and remain together without hesitation.

That was the only understanding Stella’s current personality possessed, and she could not account for the circumstances surrounding her marriage to Elias because she simply lacked the memories and understanding necessary to account for them.

It was not that she refused to understand the sadness surrounding her life.

She simply could not.

The splitting of her personality had left her childlike self separated from the memories that had caused that pain, meaning she felt sadness without understanding where it came from.

It was like having a weight settle inside her chest without knowing why it was there, or suddenly crying without understanding what had made her tears appear.

It was pitiful in its own way, yet perhaps that ignorance was also a blessing when compared to the memories that sadness had originally stemmed from.

Natasha remained unresponsive for a long while as she looked at Stella.

Eventually, she took the notebook from her hands and wrote something of her own before turning it around.

I cannot do it... yet.

Stella’s crimson eyes immediately settled on the final word.

Her lips parted slightly, and she seemed ready to question Natasha about it, but before she could say anything, Natasha raised one finger and gently placed it against Stella’s lips.

Stella froze.

She then pouted in irritation and crossed her arms over her chest before turning her face away.

Surprisingly, however, she remained silent.

Elias watched the exchange with a confused expression, his eyes moving between the two women as he tried to understand what had just happened.

Natasha eventually lowered her hand, picked up her quill again, and moved it across the notebook. She carefully covered her previous statement beneath a layer of ink before writing a new sentence.

Go get ready for the day.

Stella stared at the words before letting out a reluctant sigh.

”Fine...” she mumbled as she climbed down from the bed with her shoulders slouched.

She took a few steps toward the door before stopping and looking back at Elias.

Her crimson eyes carried a faint sense of grievance as she gave him a sad look.

”Bad husband,” she mumbled before walking away.

Elias watched her disappear through the doorway and shook his head helplessly.

”She is a handful...” he mumbled.

Natasha also began rising from the bed, but before she could step away, Elias stopped her.

[Wait.]

Natasha stopped and turned toward him.

Elias stepped down from his bed and approached her, his expression becoming more serious as his gaze settled on the scar running from the left side of her chest toward her shoulder.

[I was meaning to ask...] he sent through Mental Whisper, his eyes remaining fixed on the scar. [Do they hurt?]

Natasha lowered her gaze toward the scar.

Her fingers unconsciously moved toward it before stopping halfway, and after a brief moment, she bit her lower lip and shook her head.

Elias frowned slightly.

[Really?]

Natasha nodded.

Elias continued staring at her.

He had already learned that the damage inflicted upon her body was far more complicated than ordinary wounds, and considering everything she had endured, he wondered whether it still hurt just like how Monica’s poison was.

His gaze remained on the mark for another moment before he slowly raised his hand.

His finger moved toward the scar, intending only to touch it gently.

However, the instant his fingertip came close, Natasha’s expression changed.

She immediately pushed his hand away and wrapped both arms around herself, her body shrinking slightly as a sad expression appeared on her face.

Elias froze.

He glanced at his hand and then at her, confusion filling his eyes.

[What is wrong?]

Her eyes trembled at the question, and she pointed at the notebook and quill on the bed.

He followed her gaze and noticed the items; then he picked them up and handed both to her.

She quickly began writing.

Do not touch them. They are ugly.

Elias frowned deeply upon reading that, his expression turning dumbfounded.

He tilted his head and asked while gazing into her golden eyes, [What are you talking about? How can something of you be anywhere close to bad, let alone ugly?]