CHAPTER 152: THE POOL OF DESIRES

Tatiana’s steps were slow but heavy. Each one brought her closer to the window where Lydia stood, her gaze still fixed on the pale morning sky. Lydia didn’t move. She didn’t turn her head. She didn’t even seem aware of the quiet footsteps behind her.

Tatiana’s hands were clenched so tightly that her knuckles turned white. In one hand, she held the fruit knife she had picked up from the floor.

Her breath was uneven. Her heart was pounding in her chest, but her anger pushed her forward. She could see Lydia’s back, the robe hanging loosely on her body, her hair spilling down like a challenge.

She gripped the knife tighter. She was close enough now that she could reach out. Just a few more steps and it would be done.

But before her hand could move, a shadow appeared between them.

Ivan.

He had moved so quickly it was as if he had appeared out of thin air. His hand shot out, grabbing the wrist that held the knife. His grip was strong, unyielding. Without a word, he twisted her arm just enough to make the knife fall from her hand and clatter to the floor.

The sound was sharp in the quiet room.

"Get out," Ivan said, his voice low and firm.

Tatiana’s eyes widened. Her lips parted in shock. She tried to speak, tried to form a lie.

"It’s not— I wasn’t—"

But he didn’t let her finish. His hand moved to her arm, holding her tightly, almost roughly. His jaw was tense, his eyes cold. Without another word, he turned and dragged her toward the door.

"Ivan— please—" she started, but his steps didn’t slow.

Lydia finally turned from the window. She watched as he pulled Tatiana across the room. Her face was calm, almost unreadable, as if the scene before her didn’t matter at all.

When they reached the door, Ivan yanked it open and pushed her outside. His voice was sharp now, cutting through the hallway.

"I won’t warn you again, Tatiana. Don’t test my patience."

The door slammed shut with a sound that echoed.

Tatiana stood there in the hallway, her chest rising and falling quickly. Her eyes burned with hot tears that spilled down her cheeks. She clenched her fists so hard her nails dug into her palms.

"It’s all because of her," she whispered through gritted teeth.

Inside the room, Lydia turned back to the window. Her expression was the same — calm, almost bored — as though she had not just been seconds away from having a knife in her back.

Ivan walked past her and looked down at the mess on the floor. Pieces of broken porcelain, crushed pastries, and a small pool of spilled tea were scattered across the rug. He crouched down and began to pick them up one by one, his movements slow and careful.

Lydia didn’t look at him. She simply stood there, her eyes following a bird that had landed on a branch outside.

There was a knock at the door.

Ivan glanced up as Katherine entered with several servants. They carried a basket of freshly folded clothes, pitchers of steaming water, and wooden pails for the bath. The scent of lavender drifted into the room.

Katherine’s eyes moved from Ivan to Lydia, then back again. She held her tone steady as she asked,

"Shall I prepare for your bath first, your highness, or for his highness?"

Lydia’s answer came without hesitation.

"Prepare for his. I’ll have mine after his."

Katherine nodded and gestured for the servants to follow her into the adjoining bath chamber. The sound of water being poured into the tub echoed softly.

Ivan remained where he was, carefully picking up the last shards of broken porcelain. His fingers moved slowly, as though giving his mind something to focus on.

Lydia’s eyes did not leave the window.

After a while, the servants stepped out of the bath chamber, their work done. Katherine stayed behind for a moment. She looked at Ivan, who was already setting the last piece of porcelain on the tray.

"Your bath is ready, your highness," she said quietly. Then, turning to Lydia, she added, "I will return shortly to prepare for your bath and bring your breakfast."

Lydia nodded. "That’s fine."

With that, Katherine left the room, closing the door gently behind her.

Ivan stood and walked toward the bath chamber. Lydia did not turn to watch him, but she could hear the sound of his footsteps and the faint creak of the door as it opened.

Inside, he removed his clothes slowly, letting each piece fall neatly aside. He stepped into the warm water and sat down, closing his eyes for a moment. The heat seeped into his skin, easing the heaviness in his body from the sleepless night.

He exhaled deeply, letting himself relax for the first time since yesterday.

The sound of the door opening again made his eyes snap open.

It was Lydia.

She leaned against the doorway for a moment, her eyes on him. Then her voice came, soft and almost playful.

"Can I join you?"

Ivan froze. He didn’t answer, not because he didn’t have words, but because his mind went completely blank.

But Lydia didn’t wait for his reply — or perhaps she didn’t care for it.

Her fingers moved to the belt of the robe she was wearing. The fabric slipped from her shoulders and down her arms, falling soundlessly to the floor.

She stepped into the tub with slow, deliberate movements, the water rippling around her legs. When she sank into the heat beside him, a soft sigh escaped her lips.

"God, it feels good," she murmured, leaning her head back for a moment.

Then she turned her gaze to him. Her eyes searched his face before she tilted her head slightly and moved closer. The water shifted with her movement, closing the space between them.

"Are you okay?" she asked quietly.

Of course he wasn’t.

He could feel her breath against his skin, warm and steady. The scent of her hair mixed with the steam, filling the air around him. His chest felt tight, his heartbeat uneven. It was as if every nerve in his body had woken at once.

He swallowed hard, trying to find his voice, but no words came.

Lydia’s eyes didn’t leave his. She was close enough now that her knee brushed his under the water.

"Ivan," she said softly, almost as if testing the way his name sounded between them in this quiet space.

He was breathing faster now, but he didn’t move away. He couldn’t. His body was caught between the instinct to retreat and the impossible pull that kept him still.

His hands tightened slightly against the edge of the tub.

He could barely think, barely breathe. Every part of him felt like it was caught between wanting to pull her closer and wanting to push her away before he lost control completely.

She smiled faintly, and for a brief second, it wasn’t the cold, mocking smile she often gave him. This one was softer. Warmer.

But it was still dangerous.