White Roses, Black Doves

A hunger through time-14

The memory of the carriage—the raw, animal intensity of his temper—had left a tremor in my bones, but when Cornelius arrived at my bedroom door later that night, the darkness in his eyes had transformed into something molten and magnetic. He didn't ask; he simply took. His apology was not spoken, but woven into the way he touched me, a desperate, consuming worship that washed away my doubts.

In the sanctuary of my bedroom, amidst the soft glow of dying candles, I lost myself to him and his wicked caresses. I was no longer the banker's daughter or the debutante; I was simply his. Every touch he bestowed was a claim, every murmur a brand. When he whispered against the curve of my neck, "You are mine, my love ... I will place my child within you, and you will never belong to anyone else as long as you breathe," I didn't fear the possessiveness. I craved it. I surrendered to him, the sounds of our intimacy filling the room, drowning out the world beyond the heavy oak door.

“Can you feel me? Can you feel what you do to me? You drive me to the brink of madness with your beauty. How was I supposed to know that when I unwrapped his glorious present of mine that I would find an insatiable siren hidden beneath” he groaned into my neck and he moved in and out of me. “How was I supposed to know that I would be utterly consumed by you. I can not fathom living another day in this world now knowing the sounds you make in pleasure, the sounds you make only for me” he said as he buried himself further and further. Colliding our souls as one.

“Does anyone else know these sounds?” He asked lowly, dangerously.

“No, only you,” I said breathless as he relentlessly moved inside of me.

“Good girl, I would hate to have to kill another man because he knows the sweet sounds of pleasure that you make” he growled and I knew he meant it but i was perfectly drowning in his obsession.

Just on the other side of that wood, Lucy stood as if carved from ice.

She had been pacing the hall for an hour, the sound of their union acting like acid on her composure. Her knuckles were white where she gripped her skirts; her chest heaved with a jealous rage that bordered on madness. She heard his voice—low, guttural, and absolute—declaring his intent to tether her sister to him through blood and biology. It was more than she could bear.

When the bedroom door finally creaked open—Cornelius emerging in the half-light, his shirt unbuttoned, his eyes still bright with the fervor of what had just passed—he found Lucy standing in the shadows of the hallway like a vengeful specter.

He didn't flinch. He walked toward her, his posture radiating a terrifying, predatory calm.

"You should have been asleep, Lucy," he said, his voice a dangerous velvet.

"You are a plague," she hissed, her voice trembling with a cocktail of agony and spite. "You are using her to build a life on a foundation of lies. You think you’ve won, but you are nothing but a common rake playing at godhood."

Cornelius moved faster than she could track. His hand lashed out, a sharp, stinging slap that snapped her head to the side. The hallway went deathly silent.

But Lucy didn't retreat. She slowly brought a hand to her burning cheek, a jagged, broken laugh bubbling up from her throat. She looked at him—fixated, obsessed, and completely unhinged—and the hatred in her eyes was replaced by a chilling, predatory gleam.

"Hit me again," she whispered, stepping into his space, her eyes wide and wet. "It won't change the truth, my dear. If you proceed with this marriage, if you continue to play this game of possessiveness, you will watch them all fall. I will see to it that Alice, and everyone else who stands in the way of what I deserve, pays for your arrogance. You think you own her? You have no idea what a woman scorned is capable of."

Cornelius stared down at her, his jaw tight, his hand curling into a fist at his side. He wasn't afraid. He was amused by the volatility, the danger of it. He was a man who thrived on the chaos he created, and as he stood there between his future bride and the sister who had become his shadow, he realized that the labyrinth he had built was finally starting to burn.

The hallway was dim, the only light coming from a dying wall sconce that flickered like a nervous heartbeat. Cornelius stood perfectly still, his silhouette imposing, blocking the path out of the hallway. Lucy stood in the shadows, her eyes rimmed with red, her composure a fragile thing held together by spite.

"You’re a coward, Cornelius ," she whispered, her voice hitching. "You come to my room, you whisper of rot, and then you crawl back to her bed? Do you think I don't see the pathetic irony of it all?"

Cornerlius stepped forward, his expression stripping away the charming mask he wore for the world. The shift was immediate and terrifying; his face became a cold, unreadable slate.

"You never understood the game, Lucy," he said, his voice a low, smooth cadence that sounded like silk sliding over a blade. "You were never an accomplice. You were a diversion. A pawn I moved across the board to keep the boredom at bay while I finalized my prize."

Lucy stopped, her breath catching in her throat. "A pawn? Is that all I was to you? I know the things you said—"

"I said whatever was necessary to keep you watching," he interrupted, his tone devoid of empathy. "But the truth? The truth is that for the first time in my life, I have found something I actually care to keep. Alice is not just a settlement or a legacy. She is mine, and I have found myself—much to my own surprise—harboring actual, genuine affection for the way she looks at me, the way she surrenders to me."

He leaned in, his shadow engulfing her. "You were a tool to test the edges of my resolve, Lucy. Nothing more. And now that the game is nearing its end, you have become a liability."

Lucy’s face paled, her hands trembling as she reached for the wall to steady herself. "You wouldn't."

"I would," Cornelius replied, his eyes narrowing into cold, predatory slits. "Let me make this perfectly clear. If so much as a strand of my fiancées hair is harmed—if she catches a cold, if she stumbles, if she feels a single moment of distress that I can trace back to your meddling—I will ensure the world knows exactly who you are."

He took a menacing step closer, his voice dropping to a jagged whisper. "I will frame you for everything. Every bit of malice, every whisper of scandal, every tragedy that befalls this family will be laid at your feet. I will destroy your name, your reputation, and your future without a second thought. You are a shadow, Lucy. And I am quite prepared to leave you in the dark permanently."

He reached out, catching her chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to look into his eyes. There was no warmth there, only the cold, calculating intelligence of a man who had already decided the outcome.

"Be quiet, stay away from her, and pray that she remains perfectly content," he commanded, releasing her with a dismissive flick of his hand. "Because if she suffers, I will make sure you are the one who pays the price. And believe me—the price will be everything."

He turned and walked away, his stride steady and unbothered, leaving Lucy standing in the cold hallway, the terrifying weight of his threat settling into her bones. She had tried to play him, but she hadn't realized until this moment that he wasn't playing the same game at all.