CHAPTER 189: CHUCKLED

Lor chuckled, smoothing his hands down her thighs before nudging her gently aside.

"I’m trying to be. Someone has to make sure we’re not late."

"Fine, fine," she sighed, rolling off him with mock defeat, her body stretching in a languid arch that made his throat dry.

The shirt—his shirt—rode up higher, flashing the smooth expanse of her thighs, her bare pussy catching the morning light. "I’ll go home, change into my uniform, and meet you there. Happy?"

"The best idea you’ve had all morning," Lor said, his crooked smile betraying the heat still simmering in his veins.

She narrowed her eyes playfully, then slid off the bed with a grace that made his pulse skip.

She gathered her scattered clothes from the floor, slipping into them one piece at a time, each motion a slow torment—her skirt hugging her hips, her blouse straining against her bust.

When she was done, she slung Lor’s shirt over her arm, the fabric dangling like a trophy.

"Hey—" he started, but she cut him off with a sly grin.

"Mine now," she said, tucking the shirt against her chest possessively. "Consider it... spoils."

Lor shook his head, a mix of amusement and exasperation warming his chest. "You’re ridiculous."

"And you like it," she shot back, sauntering to the window with a sway that made it hard to argue.

His smile faltered as a thought struck him. "Won’t your family panic when they realize you were gone all night?"

Kiara froze, her hand on the sill, her confident face slipping for a heartbeat.

She glanced over her shoulder, her expression dimming into something quieter, sharper.

"They don’t really care much," she said, her tone casual but heavy, like a stone dropped into still water. "That house is too big—too many rooms, too many people. Even if someone notices, they’ll assume I’m... somewhere. With someone. They won’t worry."

Lor opened his mouth, but the words stuck, heavy in his throat.

The glimpse of vulnerability in her eyes caught him off guard, and silence felt safer than saying the wrong thing.

Her gaze lingered on him for a moment, then she smiled again—bright, confident, the mask snapping back into place.

"Don’t be late," she said, and with a fluid motion, she swung herself through the window, vanishing into the morning light.

The room felt emptier without her, the air cooler, the silence heavier.

Lor sat for a moment, staring at the swaying curtain, her clove-and-honey scent still lingering. He exhaled slowly, then forced himself into motion.

.

In the bathroom, he splashed cold water over his face, the chill chasing away the last threads of sleep and the warmth of Kiara’s body.

He studied his reflection in the polished mirror—dark circles under his eyes, a faint flush still clinging to his cheeks.

Despite the exhaustion, there was a glow in him, a secret spark kindled by her touch, her trust.

"Academy," he muttered, splashing his face again. "Focus."

He dried off, pulled on a fresh shirt and trousers, his fingers brisk as he fastened buttons and smoothed his hair into some semblance of order.

Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he descended the stairs, the creak of the wood a familiar comfort.

The smell of breakfast hit him halfway down—warm bread, spiced porridge, the sweet promise of something baking in the oven.

His stomach growled, loud enough to echo.

"Morning, Lor!" Mira’s voice called from the kitchen, bright and cheerful, pulling him back to the present.

.

.

The morning streets thrummed with life, a lively pulse of ordinary chaos.

Carts rumbled over cobblestones, their wooden wheels clattering in time with the steady clip of mule hooves.

Merchants’ voices rose above the din, hawking ripe fruit and vibrant bolts of fabric, their calls weaving into the chatter of passersby.

Young apprentices darted through the crowd, half-buttoned uniforms flapping, satchels slung heavily over thin shoulders, their hurried steps kicking up dust.

Lor moved through it all at his own pace, his bag slung carelessly over one shoulder, the warm weight of breakfast settling in his stomach.

Kiara’s absence lingered at the back of his mind, a faint ache he pushed aside.

When

"Lor.!"

The voice, crisp and controlled, cut through the street’s hum from behind him.

He turned, catching sight of Olivia weaving through the crowd with her signature efficiency, each step precise, like she’d mapped the chaos in advance.

Her wavy light-brown bob caught the morning sun, gleaming like polished copper, framing a face that was all sharp angles and quiet confidence.

Her crisp white blouse was tucked neatly into charcoal-gray pants that hugged her hips, accentuating their generous curve in a way that drew second glances from passersby.

Every button, every seam, was perfect—a discipline that spoke of her control.

Yet Lor’s eyes lingered on the subtle swell of her breasts beneath the fabric, the sway of her hips as she stepped deftly around a puddle, the way those pants clung to her thighs, hinting at the shape beneath.

She stopped in front of him, hazel eyes narrowing, her expression tidy but firm, like a ledger balanced to the last coin.

"Why didn’t you come to my house yesterday? You promised."

Lor scratched the back of his head, his grin sheepish, though his mind raced for an excuse that wouldn’t betray too much. "I... was busy."

Her brows rose slightly, a flicker of skepticism in her gaze. "Nellie?"

He sighed, opting for honesty, his voice softening. "Yeah. She needed my help more. You’re already strong enough to hold your ground in the tournament. Nellie isn’t."

Olivia studied him for a long moment, her lips pressing into a thin line, her hazel eyes sharp and thoughtful.

Then she nodded, her gaze flicking aside, as if filing his answer away.

"True. I am doing well. But that doesn’t mean I’ll settle. I want to top the class. I want to do better than Kiara. Better than Ameth. Everyone."

Lor’s lips quirked into a faint smirk, amused by her ambition. "Don’t forget Eva. She’s right there with you."