CHAPTER 154: THE DEVIL’S GAME PT2

Ivan and Lydia sat together on his bed, a tray of breakfast between them. The air was quiet, almost peaceful, but that peace was only on the surface. Inside, Ivan’s chest felt tight. His thoughts were far from calm.

Lydia ate in silence. She didn’t fidget, didn’t rush, didn’t seem in any hurry at all. She moved with slow, measured grace, and that was exactly the problem.

Ivan couldn’t take his eyes off her. The faint glow of her skin still carried the warmth of the bath. He could smell the faint scent of rose and jasmine oil that clung to her. His robe was on her now, but it was barely tied. The loose knot sat low, allowing the fabric to fall open just enough to show the curve of her bare shoulders. Her collarbone caught the morning light. His eyes trailed lower to the soft swell of her breast, the skin warm and smooth, rising gently with her breath.

Her golden hair was still damp, curling slightly as it dried. Strands clung to her neck. He wanted to reach over, to brush them away, to touch her just once.

But then there was the way she ate. Slowly. Purposely. Each bite was deliberate. She brought a piece of fruit to her lips, parting them just enough to let it slip in. Sometimes she sucked on it a little longer than necessary before chewing. Sometimes her tongue brushed her lips, catching the juice.

Ivan’s breath grew shallow. His palms were damp.

And then there was her foot. Bare. Smooth. She let it graze his leg under the blanket, dragging her toes lightly against his skin. She did it lazily, like she wasn’t even thinking about it. But Ivan knew she was. Every touch was planned.

His hands trembled. The cool morning air did nothing to help the heat rising in his chest. His heart pounded so loudly he wondered if she could hear it.

He wanted to pull her into his arms. He wanted to kiss her until he couldn’t breathe. He wanted to feel the softness of her skin under his hands.

She knew it. She could see him fighting it. And that was when she gave him a small smirk. Not a sweet one. Not innocent. A knowing smile. A dangerous one.

Ivan was spiraling. His thoughts blurred. He was about to move—he didn’t even know if it was to kiss her or to push her away before he lost all control—when a knock came at the door.

The sound was sharp in the silence.

Ivan froze.

Lydia’s voice came soft and unbothered. "Come in."

The door opened. Irina stepped inside. Her eyes took in the scene—Lydia in his robe on his bed, breakfast half-eaten, the closeness between them. She didn’t comment on it, but Ivan saw something flicker in her expression.

"I went to your chambers," Irina said, her tone calm but firm, "and they said you were here."

"Yes," Lydia replied, her voice light. "My chambers are being renovated. I’ll be staying here for the meantime."

There was a pause. Lydia tilted her head slightly. "What is it?"

Irina turned to Ivan. "Your Highness, I wish to speak to her alone."

Ivan nodded without a word. He stood, stepping away from the bed. Truthfully, he felt like Irina had just pulled him out of deep water.

As the door shut behind him, Irina’s eyes moved back to Lydia. Lydia sat with her legs crossed, lifting her teacup with slow elegance.

"What are you doing?" Irina asked.

Lydia’s lips curved faintly. "I’m spending time with my husband. What else would I be doing?"

Her gaze sharpened slightly. "I know why you are here in Svetlana. To watch me. Isn’t that so?"

Irina took a breath. "That’s not why."

Lydia didn’t reply, only sipped her tea, waiting.

"Why are you here now, then?" she asked softly.

Irina’s tone grew serious. "What was that last night?"

Lydia’s brows lifted. "What was what? I said the truth. Why is everyone overreacting?"

"I’m not overreacting, Lydia," Irina said. She set the tea down, moved closer, and lowered herself to her knees beside Lydia. She reached for her hands.

"I want only what’s best for you," she said gently. "I know you want to get back at him. But I think you are going too far. It’s best you stop now before you go beyond the point of return."

Her hands moved up to cup Lydia’s face. "I don’t want you to do something you’ll regret in the future."

For a brief moment, Lydia’s eyes softened. A single tear slid down her cheek. But it was not a tear of sadness—it was sharp, bitter.

Her expression changed. Her eyes went cold.

"Overboard?" she said, her voice low but sharp enough to cut.

She pulled Irina’s hands away from her face.

"Did you forget what he did to me?" Lydia’s voice trembled, not from weakness, but from anger that burned deep. "Did you forget everything?"

Irina shook her head. "It’s not that."

"Then what is?" Lydia’s voice rose. "Tell me what is!"

Irina fell silent. She couldn’t answer.

"You were there, godmother," Lydia said, her tone icy. "You of all people should know better how I feel."

"I do understand, my precious child," Irina whispered. "I know how it feels. But I don’t want you to destroy yourself in the process."

"Don’t," Lydia said coldly. "Don’t pretend you understand, because you don’t. We may have both lost our loves, but yours was different, godmother. He died. Mine threw me away. He didn’t even think twice."

Her voice shook with rage.

"So don’t tell me to stop. Because I will make him suffer. For everything I went through, I will make him cry like I cried. I will make him beg on his knees like I did. I will make him feel like he is choking on his own breath. I will make him wish he was dead. I will tear his heart to pieces, just like he did to me."

Irina’s eyes filled with tears.

Lydia’s gaze did not soften. "Either you support me, or you leave. Which one is it?"

"I support you, Lydia," Irina said quietly. "It’s just... I don’t want you to get hurt. I only want to protect you."

Lydia let out a bitter scoff. "Like you did when my parents died?"

Both women had tears in their eyes now.

Lydia stood, her robe shifting slightly with the movement. "You seem to have forgotten, godmother, that I begged you. I begged you to let me live with you. But you refused. And because of that, look at what happened. If I had stayed with you, my uncle would never have tried to force me into that marriage. I would never have married him to escape my uncle. It is all your fault, godmother. So please, leave. Abandon me like you always do."

Irina trembled, tears streaming freely down her cheeks now. "I’m sorry, Lydia," she whispered.

She turned and walked away, her steps uneven, her sobs soft but heavy in the quiet room.

Lydia stood still, watching her go. She told herself she didn’t care. But something in her chest felt heavy. It was the first time she had seen her godmother cry, and she knew it was because of her.