CHAPTER SIX THE STORM BENEATH THE CROWN
615 Words
LUCIAN'S POV
I sighed, turned, and cupped Modeca’s cheeks softly.
I looked at her keenly, knowing that look so well. Modeca was using her baby face and obsession on me.
“Okay, Princess. I won’t push you away.”
I tried to be the fiancé she deserved. Yet even as I pulled her close, the storm inside me refused to quiet.
I captured her lips with mine. A smile curved at the corner of her mouth as she returned the kiss.
My kisses had always been deep and rough, never giving her space to breathe. If asked, she would say she loved it—loved the way I caged her, made her feel desired.
As our tongues tangled, I used my strength to lay us back on the bed, positioning myself above her.
She hurried to remove my clothes while my lips traced the line of her throat. Soon, we were both bare.
I entered her without hesitation, drawing a sharp, sweet moan from her lips. No matter how many times we had been together, she still struggled to take all of me.
My hand tightened in her hair as I thrust, her cries filling the room.
Yet even in that moment… my thoughts drifted elsewhere.
Oma.
The name echoed silently inside me as my face pressed into Modeca’s neck. She mistook the movement for tenderness, her fingers sliding into my dark hair.
But only one truth burned through my mind—
Oma shouldn’t be here.
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Omatovia’s POV
I stood before the wooden mirror, my reflection staring back at me like a stranger.
The off‑shoulder gown hugged my curves in ways that made me feel exposed and vulnerable.
My big hips and small waist seemed to mock me, reminding me of the woman I had become.
I felt like a fragile leaf, torn from its branch and left to wither in the wind.
“Goodness… I’m too shy to come out in this,” I whispered, my voice trembling.
I had never worn something so revealing—so foreign.
Back home, my clothes were long gowns that covered my skin, hiding me from the world.
But now, I felt naked, as though I had shed not just my clothes, but my very identity.
Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to leave the bathroom, yet my feet felt rooted to the spot.
I glanced again at my reflection, and tears pricked the corners of my eyes.
“Why doesn’t he recognize me?” I murmured, my voice cracking.
Three years had passed, yet I still remembered every line… every curve of his face.
I had thought—hoped—that he would remember me too.
But it seemed I had been nothing more than a fleeting memory… a whispered promise lost in the night.
“Are you planning on sleeping in there?” a voice called from outside, shattering the fragile silence.
I recognized Lady Arora’s tone immediately, and my heart sank.
I stepped out with my head bowed in submission.
“What took you so long?” she asked, hands resting firmly on her hips.
“I’m sorry… chief—Lady Arora,” I corrected quickly, my voice barely above a whisper.
I had forgotten the title. Forgotten the protocol. Forgotten everything… except the pain.
Would I ever be more than a forgotten memory to him?
Would I ever be truly seen—beyond this fragile, broken shell?
The thought twisted inside my chest like a knife.
“Follow me,” Lady Arora said firmly.
And it felt as though I was following not her… but my own heartbreak.
What’s the point of trying? I whispered silently.
I’ll never be enough.
- Writer
