CHAPTER 74: HER REVENGE ON HIM

Lorraine looked at her husband, utterly oblivious to the storm he was stirring in her chest. His lips brushed against her shoulder, a warm trail of reverent kisses, while his hand swept across the dip of her waist like he was memorizing her shape.

"Why would it matter?" she asked, her voice quiet but sharp with the edge of something she couldn’t name.

Hope, maybe.

Hope that he touched her like this because he knew who she was. Because somewhere inside him, he recognized her.

"It doesn’t?" he asked, pausing, his breath a soft warmth against her skin.

The pale light fell behind her, outlining the graceful edges of his face. That angular jaw, the slope of his nose, the faint curve of his lips were all achingly familiar. Before she realized it, her hand lifted and found his cheek, her thumb brushing lightly over the bone as if to say, You’re real, right?

This man... whatever cord bound him to her, it wasn’t loose. It was tight. It tied around her ankles like a silken weight, dragging her beneath the surface. And she feared one day it would drown her.

"Why would it matter?" she repeated, softer now, eyes lowered. "Can you ever bring me into the light?"

Bitterness laced her voice, no longer for him, but for herself. For loving him like this. For hoping.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned forward, kissing her shoulder again, this time slower. Then he gripped her waist, pulling her flush against him, his other hand tangling in her hair with possessive tenderness.

"And?" he asked, voice barely more than a murmur. "What if I could?"

She smiled faintly, too bitter to be sweet. "I’m just the silent promise. Your midnight prayer. A song you can’t name." Her fingers slid from his cheek. "And I’m fine with that. I wouldn’t want it any other way."

She told herself that this was her revenge. Her punishment. Her power over him.

Because what could she say? That she was the wife he married without love? The mistake he tried to forget?

She wasn’t his first love. She wasn’t even his first mistress. She still had her pride. She wouldn’t beg to be chosen.

"You’re fine," he repeated, confusion flickering in his voice, "with what we have in the dark?"

She nodded once, sharp and deliberate. "Of course, this is what I want." Then she looked him dead in the eyes.

"I don’t want to stand beside you."

A lie. And the cruelest one she’d ever told.

Because if the gods were listening, if fate had ever been kind, she would stand beside him without hesitation. Not as a shadow or a secret, but as his blade. His wrath. His spine. She would strike down every obstacle in his path, cut through the ones who hurt him, and drag his enemies to their knees.

She’d walk beside him, blood on her hands, his name on her lips, and lead him to the Throne.

The Throne.

The one above all.

So he would bow to no one.

She had once craved power the way drowning men crave air. She thought power would save her. And it did. It carved her path through ruin. It silenced her enemies. It kept her alive.

But now? After tasting love, even if only in the dark... Power felt like dust.

She no longer wanted to conquer. She only wanted to stay. To rest, just once, in the warmth of being wanted.

But there was no place for her in the light beside him. Not as herself. So she would run. Not because she was afraid, but because if she stayed any longer, she would lose the last piece of her that still knew how to leave.

She would abandon the war, the thrones, the power she once worshipped, all for the love she could never keep.

"Hmm," he hummed, and she felt the subtle shift in his body, the slackening of his grip around her waist. "You just want me to kneel over you."

Was that wounded pride in his voice?

Poor royal. Did it sting him, that a woman didn’t beg for his name, didn’t plead to be made a princess?

She already had that title. It had brought her nothing. She didn’t want the throne. She didn’t want the empire.

She just wanted him.

His warmth. His breath on her skin. The sound of his heartbeat against hers.

And she wouldn’t let go. Not yet.

This time, she’d be the one to leave first.

"What’s wrong with kneeling over me?" she said, her voice silk and steel. Then, with a fluid, practiced motion, she grasped the back of his head, pulling him forward as she straddled his lap.

His eyes widened slightly at her boldness, but she saw it—the way his lips parted, the flare in his nostrils, the way his hands itched to touch her again.

"If that bothers you," she whispered into his ear, her lips brushing the shell, "how about..."

Her fingers trailed down his chest, tracing the ridges of muscle, then lower still, until they wrapped around the hot, heavy length of him. She stroked him, slow and deliberate, base to tip, watching his jaw clench under her touch.

"...I kneel over you?"

He gasped, low and guttural, and she pushed him down. He fell back onto the floor with a grunt, and she followed, sinking over him in one graceful movement—her knees astride his hips, her hands pressing against his chest as she rode him.

This time, she could take him all. Maybe she was used to it now. Or maybe... maybe he was being gentler. She didn’t care which.

All she cared about was the sound he made when she took him in... the helpless moan, his fingers tightening around her thighs, the flush that spread up his throat as she began to move.

He didn’t stay passive for long.

He sat up, wrapping his arms around her, burying his face in the swell of her breast. His tongue circled her peak, teasing her, making her bite back a moan as she rocked over him. Their bodies moved in rhythm, skin on skin, pleasure coiling hot and fast between them.

She looked down at him—his brows furrowed, lips parted, trying and failing to hold back another groan as she tightened around him.

You like this, don’t you, Leroy?

She kissed him, open-mouthed, hungry, and breathless. And he kissed her back like he would unravel if he didn’t.

You don’t have to know who I am, she thought, pressing her forehead to his. This is enough. Let your body remember me. Let this be the shape of your hunger. Let my voice echo in your bones every time you touch yourself, even when I’m gone.

Think of me. Only me.

And after I leave, when you finally learn the truth...

Cry.

Cry like I did. Miss me like I missed you for thirteen years.

This would be her revenge. She could destroy everyone who had wronged her.

But him? This was the cruelest thing she could do.