Onyx's Pov:
*I wake up one morning. I try to open the door but no one replies and I was shut in and panic weaves over me*
"What did I do? Did I offend Liam? ,Did he find out i kissed Ash? ,Is this his punishment? ,Is this what Ash meant when he said Liam would get tired of me?"
*The thought sends a fresh wave of nausea through me.*
After a while:
*My knuckles are raw, a dull ache radiating up my arms. The shouting has left my throat sore and my mouth desert-dry. I slump back against the cool wood of the door, the silence of the room pressing in on me, heavy and suffocating.*
*My gaze drifts to the table, the mountain of food and water a stark, silent mockery of my panic. With a defeated sigh, I stumble over and grab a rice ball, my movements mechanical. I eat without tasting, my mind a frantic, looping reel of questions.* After eating, exhaustion followed.*
*The exhaustion is a physical weight, pulling me down into the thin futon on the floor. The questions, the panic, the raw ache in my hands—it all blurs together into a gray haze, and then, blessedly, gives way to the deep, dreamless dark of sleep.*
*The sound that jolts me awake is not a gentle creak, but a sharp, definitive*thunk*as the door's bolt is slid back. My eyes fly open, my body tensing, heart hammering against my ribs as the door is pulled inward. The sudden influx of light from the hallway makes me flinch, and I scramble up, pressing myself against the far wall as a procession of figures fills the doorway.*
*The woman who normally dresses me, Milan, is there, her expression unreadable as always. Beside her stands Lucia, her arms laden with colorful silks and fabrics, a shy, almost apologetic smile on her face.*
*Behind Lucia, a woman with the delicate ears and fluffy tail of a squirrel struggles with a stack of boxes, their contents clinking softly with the sound of metal and glass. Two large, silent men follow, their expressions impassive as they carry a large, ornate wooden tub between them.*
*The implications hit me all at once, a cold dread washing over me. A bath, new clothes, jewelry... this isn't a punishment. This is preparation. The unspoken fear that has been gnawing at me solidifies into a single, terrifying thought: I am about to be sold.*
*The men set the tub down with a heavy thud, their task complete. Milan gives them a curt nod, and they exit as silently as they arrived, leaving the door ajar. Once they're gone, Milan reaches out and pulls the door shut, the sound of the lock engaging echoing in the small room. It's the same sound that has kept me prisoner all day, and now it feels final, inescapable.*
*The click of the lock is the final seal on my fate. I shrink back against the wall, my breath catching in my throat as Milan turns to face me, her expression a placid mask. She doesn't speak, simply begins to unfasten the ties of my simple sleeping robe. The fabric falls away, leaving me exposed, and I instinctively cross my arms over my chest, my skin prickling with goosebumps that have nothing to do with the room's temperature.*
*She ignores my silent plea, her movements practiced and efficient. She guides me toward the large wooden tub, the water inside already steaming, its surface fragrant with unfamiliar herbs. She helps me step in, and the heat is immediate, a shock to my system. As she begins to wash my hair and skin with a gentle, scented soap, I try to ask,* "Where are you taking me?" *but the words die on my lips.*
*The words catch in my throat, a silent plea that dies on my lips as Milan's fingers work deftly through my hair, lathering it with a sweet-smelling oil that makes my scalp tingle. She doesn't even look at me, her focus entirely on her task. The water laps at my shoulders, its warmth a stark contrast to the cold dread coiling in my stomach. I open my mouth again, a different question forming, but she beats me to it.*
"Hush now," *she says, her voice surprisingly soft but firm.* "It's best not to ask questions. Just be still. It will be easier for everyone that way." *Her tone is not unkind, but it's final, a clear signal that my cooperation is expected, but my input is not. She rinses the soap from my hair, the water cascading down my back, and then helps me out, wrapping me in a large, soft towel.*
*She dries me with a brisk efficiency, the rough terrycloth a scratchy counterpoint to the softness of the towel she wraps around me next. The air in the room has grown noticeably cooler now that the steam from the bath is dissipating, and I shiver, though whether from the cold or from the mounting anxiety, I can't tell. Milan guides me to a low stool in the center of the room, where Lucia is already laying out the clothes like offerings on an altar.*
*Then come the stockings, sheer and whisper-thin, followed by the corset that Lucia holds up. It's not the restrictive, punishing kind I've seen in pictures, but still, the idea of being laced into it makes me feel trapped all over again. Milan's hands are surprisingly strong as she begins to tighten the laces, pulling me in until I can take only shallow breaths.*
*The corset is cinched tight, a firm embrace that shapes my waist and forces me to hold a posture of rigid elegance. It's both restrictive and strangely empowering. Lucia steps forward with the gown, a stunning creation of rich fern-green velvet. It feels heavy and luxurious in her hands as she helps me into it. The fabric is cool against my skin, but it quickly warms to my body heat as she begins to fasten the rows of tiny, pearlescent buttons that run up the front. The gown is a redingote, its lines long and elegant, the skirts flaring out just enough to allow for movement but still maintaining an air of sophisticated formality.*
*Once the gown is on, Milan turns her attention to my hair. She brushes it out until it shines, then expertly gathers it, twisting and pinning it into an elegant style with the ends flipped up in a soft, flattering curve. She secures it with a few simple pins, her movements sure and confident.*
*With my hair secured, Milan steps back to survey her work, her head tilted slightly in concentration. Lucia approaches with a small tray, on which rests a pot of deep red lipstick and a tiny pot of shimmering powder. The lipstick feels cool and waxy as Milan applies it, a single, careful stroke that defines my lips without being garish. The powder is dusted lightly across my cheeks, my nose, my forehead, erasing any trace of fatigue and leaving my skin with a soft, luminous glow. The makeup is subtle, designed to enhance rather than transform.*
*Finally, the squirrel-eared woman, who has been waiting quietly in the corner, steps forward. She carries a small, open box filled with jewelry. Inside, nestled in black velvet, are a collection of exquisite green and silver pearls. She selects a delicate necklace, its strand a perfect mix of pale green beads and faceted silver ones, and fastens it around my neck. The cool weight of it rests just above my collarbone.*
*The cool weight of the necklace settles against my skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of the gown. The squirrel-woman then selects a pair of matching earrings, long and elegant, that brush against the lobes of my ears when I turn my head. She moves with a quiet reverence, as if handling priceless artifacts, and the final touch is a delicate bracelet, also of green pearls and silver links, which she fastens around my wrist with a soft click.*
*Milan gives a final, decisive nod, her critical eye sweeping over me from head to toe. The transformation is complete. I don't recognize the person staring back at me in the reflection of the polished screen in the corner.*
* I look like a porcelain doll, perfect and fragile and utterly removed from myself. The final step is the shoes. Lucia kneels before me and helps me into a pair of green and silver D'Orsay pumps. The heel is slender but not precarious, adding a few inches to my height and forcing me to stand even straighter.*
*I take a hesitant step in the unfamiliar shoes, the click of the heel on the wooden floor sounding unnaturally loud in the suddenly silent room. The unfamiliar height makes me feel unsteady, a puppet on strings. Milan and Lucia exchange a final, satisfied look. There is no more to be done. I am a finished product, wrapped and ready for presentation.*
*My heart hammers a frantic rhythm against my ribs, a trapped bird beating against a cage. The door is still locked. I am still a prisoner. The only question is, who is my jailer, and who is my buyer? The thought sends a fresh wave of cold dread through me, and I instinctively take a step back, away from the women and their silent, assessing eyes.*
*Lucia couldnt help but compliment me *
"you are breathtaking miss"
*The compliment from Lucia hangs in the air, a small, bright spark in the otherwise tense room.*
"I am sure the-"
* But before she can finish her sentence, a sharp, disapproving look from Milan cuts her off. The girl's shoulders slump, her excitement deflating like a pricked balloon. I see the flicker of annoyance and mockery cross the squirrel-woman's face as she watches Lucia. A small, humorless chuckle escapes her lips, a sound devoid of any real mirth. It's a clear signal of her disdain, a petty jab in the silent competition for approval. She quickly schools her expression, but the damage is done. The jealousy is as plain as the jewelry on my skin, a venomous undercurrent to the carefully constructed facade of politeness.*
*I force a smile, my lips feeling stiff and unfamiliar from the lipstick.* "Thank you, Lucia," *I manage to say, my voice sounding thin and reedy to my own ears. The compliment feels hollow, a momentary distraction from the reality of my situation. The squirrel-woman's glare at Lucia is like a physical weight, pressing down on me. It's a look that says she believes she should be the one receiving the praise, that she is more deserving of this attention. I ignore her, turning my gaze to the floor, unable to meet the hostile stare.*
*Milan, oblivious to the silent drama unfolding behind her, gives a final, curt nod of approval. She turns, her hand already reaching for the door. The lock grinds open, the sound echoing the finality of the situation. She pulls the door wide, revealing the dimly lit hallway beyond. The air that drifts in is cool and smells faintly of incense and damp stone.*
*The muffled sounds of music and laughter grow louder with each step down the polished corridor, a stark contrast to the oppressive silence of the room. The bass of the string quartet vibrates through the soles of my shoes, a steady, unnerving rhythm. I glance at Milan, my question about the noise dying on my lips. She keeps her gaze fixed ahead, her expression impassive, offering no explanation or reassurance.*
*Then, we reach the grand doors. Milan pushes them open, and the sound hits me like a physical wave. The grand hall is a blinding spectacle of crystal chandeliers and gilded mirrors, their light reflecting off the polished marble floors and the shimmering silk gowns of the guests. The air is thick with the scent of expensive perfume, the sweet aroma of gourmet food, and the sharp tang of champagne.*
*My eyes dart around, desperate for a familiar face, an anchor in this sea of strangers. I spot the children first, tucked away in a quieter corner.*
*They're dressed in their finest little clothes, their faces bright with excitement as they wave at me. A small, fragile part of my heart aches for their simple, uncomplicated joy.*
*Then, I see him. Liam. He's standing near the center of the room, engaged in conversation with a group of men who look every bit as imposing and elegantly dressed as he is. He's in a perfectly tailored suit, his posture confident, his smile easy and practiced. He looks powerful, untouchable. A world away from the man I know.*
*And then my gaze catches Ash. He's in another corner, a stark picture of discomfort. A cluster of giggling girls has cornered him, their flirtations obvious and loud. He's trying his best to ignore them, his jaw tight, his posture rigid.*
*The moment I step through the threshold, I am an anomaly. Conversations falter for a split second, and curious eyes follow my path across the polished floor. I feel like a specimen under glass, a beautiful but unsettling creature they don't know how to categorize. I make my way through the crowd, my movements careful and measured in the unfamiliar heels, towards Liam.*
*He is in the middle of a story, gesturing animatedly. He sees me approach, his smile doesn't waver, but his eyes slide right past me as if I were a piece of furniture. He doesn't acknowledge me in the slightest. A cold knot of dread tightens in my stomach. Is this it? Is he really tired of me, of us, and has decided to sell me off like a piece of art? The thought is so painful it steals my breath.*
*I force my chin up, my spine straightening, and I walk away from Liam, the sting of his dismissal a fresh wound. I seek refuge with the children, their small circle a haven of genuine warmth. They cluster around me, their voices a chorus of excited whispers.*
"You look like a princess!" *one little girl gasps, her eyes wide with awe.*
"Are you going to dance?" *asks a boy, no older than seven.*
*I kneel, the green velvet pooling around me, and force a smile that I hope doesn't look as brittle as it feels. I ask the oldests children , what's happening, but one of them answered, she just shakes her head, her brow furrowed in confusion.*
"We don't know, Miss Onyx," *she says, her voice small.* "But we hope it's for the best." *Her simple faith is a balm, but it also sharpens my own fear. I can't let them see how terrified I am. I manage a reassuring smile, ruffling her hair before standing up.*
*After a moment longer with the children, drawing what little comfort I can from their innocent presence, I take a deep breath and steel myself. I push away from the group and navigate through the throng of oblivious nobles, my path clear as I head towards the corner where Ash is trapped. His posture is rigid, a statue of pure discomfort as the girls flutter around him, giggling and touching his arm. One of them, a bold redhead in a gown the color of claret, leans in far too close, her hand lingering on his forearm.*
*I approach them, my steps deliberate. The girls turn as one, their smiles faltering slightly at the sight of me. I ignore them completely, my focus solely on Ash.* "Ash," *I say, my voice cutting through the air with a calm I don't feel.*
"May I borrow you for a moment?" *I don't wait for his answer, but simply place a hand on his arm, a silent signal that I am rescuing him from his predicament.*
*My hand is still on Ash's arm, but the redhead's grip on his other is like a vise. Her voice is a sharp, venomous thing, slicing through the gentle music and the hum of conversation.*
"Can't you see I was talking to him?" *she sneers, her eyes flashing with malice. She leans in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial, cruel whisper that is loud enough for everyone nearby to hear.* "Besides, why do you think he would want to talk to a cheap tramp like you?"
*The other girls titter, a chorus of cruel laughter that feels like physical blows. I can feel the heat rise to my face, not from shame, but from a sudden, white-hot anger. I had been trying to hold onto my composure, to play the part of the graceful guest, but her words shatter that fragile illusion. I don't look at Ash. I don't look at the other girls.*
*The world tilts on its axis. For a fleeting, hopeful second, I thought he might help me. But then he yanks his arm from my grip with such force that I stumble back a step. The pain isn't just in my wrist; it's a deep, hollow ache in my chest. I stare at him, my expression crumbling into one of pure, unadulterated hurt and betrayal. He doesn't even look at me, his attention fully consumed by the redhead's triumphant gloating.*
*She preens, basking in her victory, and turns to her flock of giggling followers.* "Didn't I tell you girls?" *she declares, her voice dripping with condescension.*
"General Ash only settles for the best." *She throws a final, dismissive glance in my direction, a look that promises I am nothing, and then she leads her cackling posse away, leaving me standing utterly alone in the middle of the grand hall.*
*The air crackles with the sudden shift in power. Before I can even process the sting of his earlier rejection, Ash's demeanor transforms. His voice, when he speaks, is low and dangerous, a stark contrast to his earlier discomfort. He wrenches his arm from the redhead's grasp.*
"Get off me, you piece of trash," *he growls, his eyes blazing.* "I will never settle for an ugly, untrained, ill-mannered insecure girl who derives pleasure from bringing other people down and the approval of men."
*He turns his full attention to me then, his gaze intense, as if he's trying to burn his words into my very soul.* "And never call her a cheap tramp," *he says, his tone softening, becoming almost reverent.*
"She is a beautiful, kind, and a brave Goddess, who deserves the best and more."*The redhead is left sputtering, her face a mask of fury as her former allies laugh at her downfall.*
*The redhead's face contorts into a mask of pure, impotent rage. Her mouth opens and closes, a fish out of water, but no sound comes out. She points a trembling finger at me, her eyes shooting daggers.* "You—" *she starts, but Ash is already moving.*
*He steps between us, a solid wall of muscle and righteous fury. He doesn't even look at her. Instead, he reaches for my hand, his fingers closing around mine with a firm, reassuring warmth. The contact is electric, a jolt that cuts through the numbness of my earlier hurt.* "Let's go," *he says, his voice low and decisive.*
*Without a backward glance, he leads me away from the scene of her humiliation, through the grand hall, and out into the cool, quiet sanctuary of the garden. The heavy doors close behind us, muffling the sounds of the party, leaving us only with the rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of crickets.*
*He leads me through the manicured hedges of the garden, his grip on my hand tight and unyielding, until we reach a secluded corner, hidden from the prying eyes of the party. The scent of damp earth and night-blooming jasmine fills the air. Before I can even draw a breath to ask what he's doing, his lips are on mine. The kiss is hard, desperate, and all-consuming, a storm that silences every thought in my head. He holds me against him, one hand tangled in my hair, the other pressed firmly against the small of my back.*
*My mind is reeling, a jumble of confusion and betrayal from moments before warring with the sudden, intense heat of his touch. I try to pull back, my hands pressing weakly against his chest.* "Ash, w—" *I start, but he doesn't let me finish. With a fluid, powerful motion, he spins me around and presses my back against the cold stone of a large statue.*
*My back hits the cool, unyielding stone of the statue, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from Ash's body. Before I can even process the change, he's lifting me, his hands gripping my thighs as he effortlessly hoists me up. My legs instinctively wrap around his waist for support, the green velvet of my dress bunching around us. He cages me against the statue, his body a wall of hard muscle and desperate energy.*
*He claims my mouth again, this time with a deep, possessive urgency. His tongue sweeps in, demanding and intoxicating, silencing any remaining protest. His hands move from my waist, one sliding up to pin both of my wrists together above my head against the cold stone, holding me fast. The world narrows to the press of his body against mine, the heat of his breath, and the wild, intoxicating taste of his kiss.*
*He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark with a raw hunger I've never seen before. A smirk plays on his lips, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes.* "Gosh," *he breathes, his voice a low rumble against my ear.* "I have wanted to do that ever since our little interruption at the shop." *His words send a fresh wave of heat through me, but they also confuse me. The shop? That feels like a lifetime ago.*
*He doesn't let me go. Instead, he leans closer, his touch becoming impossibly gentle. He traces the line of my jaw with the back of his fingers, the slight, cool pressure of his claws a stark contrast to the warmth of his skin. He looks at me as if I'm the only thing in the universe.* "You are so beautiful," *he murmurs, his gaze intense. He starts to lower his head again, his eyes fixed on my lips.*
*But this time, I react.*
*He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark with a raw hunger I've never seen before. A smirk plays on his lips, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes.* "Gosh," *he breathes, his voice a low rumble against my ear.* "I have wanted to do that ever since our little interruption at the shop." *His words send a fresh wave of heat through me, but they also confuse me. The shop? That feels like a lifetime ago.*
*He doesn't let me go. Instead, he leans closer, his touch becoming impossibly gentle. He traces the line of my jaw with the back of his fingers, the slight, cool pressure of his claws a stark contrast to the warmth of his skin. He looks at me as if I'm the only thing in the universe.* "You are so beautiful," *he murmurs, his gaze intense. He starts to lower his head again, his eyes fixed on my lips.*
*But this time, I react. With a surge of strength I didn't know I had, I wrench one of my hands free from his grasp. My palm lands flat against the center of his chest, pushing him back just enough to create a sliver of space between us. The contact is firm, a silent command to stop. His eyes, dark with desire, flicker with confusion and something else... pain.*
*The question slips out before I can stop it, my voice barely a whisper.* "What are you doing?" *I ask, searching his face for an answer that makes sense of this sudden, intense reversal. The hurt that flashes across his features is so profound it stabs me in the gut. He looks wounded, as if my question is a physical blow.*
*He swallows hard, his voice unsteady when he speaks.* "What do you mean what am I doing?" *he asks, his brow furrowed in genuine bewilderment.* "I'm kissing you..."
*His voice falters, the confident smirk completely gone, replaced by a vulnerability that is almost painful to see. He looks down, his gaze dropping to the stone beneath us, as if the answer is written there. The words catch in his throat, the sentence unfinished.* "The truth is ...I—" *He stops, shaking his head slightly as if to clear it, a muscle in his jaw ticking.*
*Instead of finishing the sentence, he closes the small distance between us, pressing his forehead to mine. His breath is a warm, ragged caress against my lips, and I can feel the frantic beat of his heart under my palm. He is holding me so tightly, as if I might vanish if he lets go. The garden is silent around us, the only sounds the soft rustle of leaves and our own ragged breathing, tangled together in the cool night air.*
*I decide not to push it, not tonight. The confusion in his eyes, the raw emotion in his voice—it's a tangled knot I'm not sure I have the strength to unravel right now. I need space, and I need him to calm down. With a soft sigh, I gently untangle my legs from around his waist and slide down the cool stone of the statue until I'm sitting on the grass. I pat the empty space beside me.* "Sit," *I say, my voice much softer now, a deliberate attempt to soothe the tension crackling between us.*
*He hesitates for a moment, his gaze still locked on me, a silent battle raging behind his eyes. But then, as if my simple command breaks through his turmoil, he obeys. He sinks down beside me, the space between us charged but no longer suffocating. He keeps his eyes on the ground, his shoulders slumped in defeat. The silence that follows is heavy, but it's different now—less confrontational, more thoughtful."
*I gently cup his face, my thumb stroking the sharp line of his jaw. He doesn't resist, leaning into my touch like a man starved for kindness. I force a small, reassuring smile.* "Hey, look at me," *I murmur, my voice soft.* "It's okay. I'm not rejecting the kiss. I just... I wanted to know the reason behind it." *I let my words hang in the air for a moment, giving him space to process them.*
*His eyes, which were fixed on the grass, slowly lift to meet mine. They are filled with a storm of emotions—longing, fear, and a sliver of desperate hope.* "But you know," *I continue, my smile widening, trying to project an innocence I don't quite feel.* "if you're not comfortable telling me, it's fine. I won't push it, okay?" *The words are a lie, of course.*
*I watch the conflict in his eyes—the war between his desperate need to confess and his fear of my reaction. Then, I see it. The moment he decides to believe me. The tension in his shoulders eases just a fraction, and he lets out a shaky breath he didn't realize he was holding. He gives a small, almost imperceptible nod.*
*My smile widens, feeling genuine now, a beacon of warmth in the cool night. I squeeze his cheek gently.* "Good," *I whisper, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone.* "And just know... whatever it is you wanted to say..." *I pause, letting the weight of my next words settle between us.* "It's mutual." *I say it with all the conviction I can muster, my smile wide and innocent, a complete shot in the dark meant only to soothe his frayed nerves.*
*The moment the words leave my lips, a flicker of something—hope, disbelief, maybe even a little bit of fear—crosses Ash's face. He stares at me, his expression unreadable. He doesn't move, doesn't breathe, it's as if the world has stopped spinning just for him to process what I've said.*
*Then, slowly, deliberately, he leans forward. He doesn't kiss me this time. Instead, he rests his forehead against mine again, his eyes closing. A single, warm tear escapes and traces a path down his cheek. He doesn't wipe it away. His voice, when it comes, is a broken, ragged whisper.* "Thank you," *he breathes, the words heavy with a relief so profound it makes my own heart ache.* "Thank you."
*I pull him into a tight embrace, my arms wrapping around his broad shoulders. As I hold him, my mind wanders, a puzzle forming. What could he have possibly been about to say that would shatter the formidable General Ash, reducing him to this—this trembling, vulnerable man in my arms? The question hangs in the air, unasked and unanswered. For now, his quiet acceptance is enough.*
*After a long moment, feeling the steady thrum of his heart begin to calm beneath my hands, I gently pull back. I pat my lap, a silent invitation. He looks up at me, his eyes searching my face, a silent question in them.*Are you sure?*I nod, a small, reassuring smile on my lips. Seeing my approval, he complies without a word.*
*He shifts, resting his head carefully in my lap. The moment his weight settles, he lets out a long, blissful sigh, his body going completely lax.*
*For a moment, I simply watch him, the powerful General Ash reduced to a state of utter contentment. The sight is so at odds with the rigid, controlled man I'm used to that it brings a smile to my lips. Hesitantly, I lift my hand. My fingers hover over the magnificent, spiraling antlers that crown his head, a symbol of his power and pride. They feel cool and smooth under my touch.*
*I begin to stroke them, moving slowly from the base to the intricate tips and back down again. The effect is immediate and profound. A low rumble, almost a purr, vibrates from his chest and into my legs. His eyes, which were closed in bliss, squeeze shut even tighter. His lips part slightly, and a look of pure, unadulterated bliss washes over his features. It's a look so vulnerable, so trusting, that it steals my breath away. He's completely lost in the simple sensation, a creature of immense strength finding solace in a gentle touch.*
*I continue my ministrations, my fingers tracing the smooth curves of his antlers, the gentle rhythm soothing us both. As I do, he shifts, his lips brushing against the fabric of my dress. A muffled sound escapes him, a low murmur that sounds suspiciously like a confession.*
* I can't make out the words, but the tone is enough—a raw, vulnerable admission meant only for me. A soft smile touches my lips, even though I can't hear him. He seems to take my silent acceptance as permission, curling further into my lap like a child seeking warmth, his body a silent plea for more of my touch.*
*After some time, the spell is broken. The music from the grand hall, which had been a distant melody, suddenly lowers, shifting to a slower, more intimate tune. The change makes me jolt slightly. I gently tap his cheeks.* "Ash," *I say softly.* "I think we have to head back." *He whines, a sleepy, protesting sound.* "Five more minutes,"
*His sleepy protest is so childlike, so unlike the General I know, that I can't help but giggle. The sound is light and airy in the quiet garden.* "No, silly," *I insist, my tone a mix of amusement and gentle firmness.* "Let's go before they start to look for us." *I tap his cheek again, a little more insistently this time.*
*With a sleepy hiss, he reluctantly complies. He turns his face up to me, his eyes still heavy-lidded but now with a glint of playful determination. He reaches up, one hand coming to cradle the back of my head as he gently draws my face down to his.*
*This time, the kiss is different. It's deep, slow, and deliberate, his tongue exploring my mouth with a languid, possessive heat. It lasts for a long moment before he pulls back, a wide, fully awake smirk playing on his lips.* "I needed that,"*
*He helps me to my feet, his strong hands steadying me. We stand for a moment, the space between us crackling with a new, charged energy. He takes my hands and begins to brush the dirt and stray leaves from my dress, his movements careful and precise. Then, he does the same for himself, straightening his jacket with a few sharp tugs, the General reasserting himself. But the look he gives me is different now—soft, yet intensely focused.*
*Once we're presentable, he pulls me close again. This kiss is different from the last two. It's not a desperate claiming or a sleepy plea. It's a promise, deep and lingering, sealing the unspoken confession from earlier. Then, his lips press against the sensitive skin inside my wrist, a soft, possessive caress. I'm vaguely relieved that my lipstick is dry and doesn't smudge, a small, practical thought in the midst of the overwhelming emotion.*
*We stand there for a heartbeat longer, our foreheads almost touching, the air around us thick with everything we haven't said. He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes holding a universe of meaning—a promise, a question, and a vow all at once. He gives me one last, devastating smile before taking my hand, his fingers lacing tightly with mine.*
*We walk back towards the grand hall, the noise of the party growing louder with each step. The moment we step through the tall, arched doorway, the world transforms. The loud music washes over us, the chatter of the guests fills the air, and the scent of perfume and food is almost overwhelming. It's as if the quiet, intimate world we had created in the garden never existed. We are instantly swept back into the glittering, crowded event, And we unplaced our hands at the party.*