Chapter 81: Me?
That single word hung in the air:
"You."
For a moment, I held back a laugh. Coming from a woman who measured every step, who controlled even the muscles of her face, this confession... was ironic.
I crossed my arms over my chest, looking at her with a faint trace of mockery on my lips.
"Me? If that’s what you came up with after all that dusting, I’m disappointed. I’d expected something more dramatic."
Willabelle’s gaze wandered across the table, then locked onto mine. For the first time, the cold veil in her eyes had cracked. Her lips parted, but she reined herself in before the words could escape. Still, there was a slight tremor in her voice:
"I expected you to mock me, anyway."
I shrugged.
"What can I do? When someone looks at me that seriously, they’re either declaring war or proposing marriage. I thought yours was closer to the first."
Willabelle caught my eye, but as her lips parted and closed, no words came out. Normally, she was a woman who could unravel the empire’s finances in a single move; but now, forming a simple sentence felt as daunting as charging onto a battlefield.
"I..." she said, her voice echoing through the room like a thin crack. Then she fell silent, as if even that single syllable had been too much.
I raised an eyebrow, loosening my arms and leaning back in my chair.
"Go on, Willabelle. If you need it, I can lend you a comma."
That mocking jab of mine would normally have pulled her together. But this time, it didn’t. As she clutched the edge of her dress with her hands, her eyes darted evasively to the floor.
"I... have feelings for you," she said at last, as if the secret had been torn forcibly from her lips. She immediately averted her gaze, her voice barely audible.
Silence settled over the room. If not for the crackling of the fireplace flames, even our breaths would have seemed too loud.
I tilted my head, the mocking smile refusing to fade from my face.
"Feelings? Yours? Or are you referring to some mathematical variable? Like +1 hatred, -3 admiration, times two respect or something?"
Willabelle’s gaze snapped back to me, but she couldn’t hide her flushed cheeks. Her lips were pressed tight, and in her eyes, there wasn’t anger, more like a helpless vulnerability.
"Don’t mock me. This isn’t easy for me."
My laughter gave way to brief seriousness. This was the first time I’d seen her like this: Willabelle with her walls down, stumbling over her words.
I shrugged lightly, but my voice softened, laced with mockery. "I’m sorry, I just wanted a little revenge... It wasn’t easy pretending nothing happened after you pressed your lips to mine before."
After my words, the silence returned. Willabelle’s eyes widened, her throat tight as if knotted. This woman, who normally calculated every move like a chess master, was now utterly without strategy, completely defenseless.
I didn’t take my eyes off her. The familiar mocking smile played on my lips, but the voice inside me was no longer silent. _I want her too._
I stood up, my steps heavy but slow. Willabelle, leaning against the edge of the table, didn’t pull away. On her face, which normally stood like an ice sculpture, there was now for the first time something resembling human warmth: a desire mingled with fear.
That fear wasn’t the terror of a monster, but the dread of uncertainty. That desire wasn’t mere sexual hunger, but a longing for the possibilities that might arise from my actions.
I leaned toward the table, bracing my hands on the wood. Nothing remained between us but a few inches. I felt her breath: quick, irregular... For the first time, so uncontrolled.
"Willabelle... This is your last chance to push me away, or I’ll go further."
She lifted her eyes to mine. Her ice-white irises rippled like a trembling sea. Her lips parted, but no words came. She only swallowed.
Her silence was a louder signal than any answer.
My hands lifted from the table, moving slowly toward her shoulder. In this woman, who normally betrayed no emotion in her gaze, there was now only one thing in her eyes as she looked at me: a shimmer where surrender and fear intertwined.
"You’re not joking..." she said, her voice as fragile as a child’s first whisper of a secret.
I smiled. "No. Not this time."
I tilted my head and drew closer. When our lips met, the world’s entire chessboards shattered into chaos. Willabelle’s hands were still trembling, but she didn’t push me away. She simply closed her eyes, leaning into me as another of the walls in her chest crumbled.
Amid the fireplace’s crackle, she forgot all her games.
The kiss was brief but searing. Hard, sudden, irreversible; like the cracking of an icy wall. When our lips parted, our breaths mingled.
Willabelle’s eyes remained closed; as if she knew that opening them would bring the whole world crashing down on her again. Her fingers clutched the edge of the table, trembling.
"I shouldn’t have done that..." she whispered, but her voice was so weak that even she didn’t believe it.
I tilted my head, keeping my eyes on her. "But you did."
When she opened her eyes, the cold walls were gone. What had taken its place was more frightening: raw vulnerability. The deepest crack in a strong woman.
"All I have left is my control," she said, trying to avert her gaze. "If I lose that too... I don’t know what will be left."
I could feel her down to my fingertips. The anxiety in her breath, the indecision in her eyes, the contradictory sentence on her lips that her heart refused to reject.
"Shall I tell you what you’ll have left?" I said, my voice low. "Us."
After my words, the silence in the room grew heavy once more. This time, even the fireplace’s crackle seemed to retreat. Willabelle’s lips trembled, but she said nothing. She only turned her eyes back to me, this time in hiding.
I could see the war forming in the depths of her eyes. One side telling her this was wrong, that she’d regret it. The other insisting it would make her happy, that she needed to trust me.
The conflict in Willabelle’s eyes was like two empires clashing at the border. One part of her trying to pull back, the other clinging to this warmth she’d grasped for the first time. As I watched her, I realized: all this woman’s armor, her strategies, her stone walls... had been built to hide her own loneliness.
Then, slowly, she raised her hand. One finger unclasped from the table, then another... and finally, it reached toward me. The distance between our hands was merely a few breaths.
I didn’t touch her fingertips with mine; I just waited. I left the decision with her.
And in that moment, Willabelle’s icy fingers touched me for the first time. Trembling, hesitant, but with conscious choice.
"I’ve made many mistakes, Leonardo. And betraying you was, by far, the stupidest of them. But if you give me one more chance..."
Before finishing her words, she looked into my eyes.
"I’ll do everything I can to be the woman you want."
I closed my hand over hers. My touch was possessive.
"Willabelle," I said, my voice carrying both mockery and a dangerous seriousness. "Don’t promise to be the woman I want. Because I want you just as you are."
The fireplace light danced across her face. In her eyes, for the first time, there was a nakedness unburdened by calculations.
"Will I be enough... as I am?" she whispered.
I drew closer, my breath mingling with hers.
"No, you’re not enough."
My words froze her like stone for a moment. But right then, my lips leaned toward her ear.
"Because I have no intention of settling for you. I’ll transform you into more. Someone powerful enough to crumble people to dust, yet weak enough to surrender only to me."
A short breath escaped Willabelle’s lips. Her hands gripped mine tightly; in that grasp were both fear and passion.
I looked at her, seeing the conflict still fluttering in her eyes. But the fluttering was slowly giving way to acceptance.
"Give me a chance, Leonardo... and I promise I won’t betray you again."
I tilted my head, a thin smile settling on my lips.
"Don’t forget that promise, Willabelle. Because I’ll be the only man to ever take a vow from you."
I brushed my lips against her neck, first a breath, then a kiss. Grazing my wet teeth lightly over her warm skin. Willabelle moaned, a silent moan, a whisper torn from her throat.
Her body shuddered, her hands balled into fists against my chest, but she didn’t push. Instead, her fingers began to clutch at my shirt, as if to hold on.
"Leonardo... please," she said, her voice a mix of plea and entreaty. Her eyes were half-closed, her lashes trembling. "I... I’ve never... I don’t know how..."
"Shh," I cut her off, sliding my lips to her earlobe. I tugged lightly with my teeth, making her shiver. "You don’t have to know. I do."
My hand slid down her waist, to the curve of her hips, to the soft flesh beneath the silk fabric. My fingers gripped there firmly, possessively. Every touch screamed: This body is mine now.
"Just feel. And remember: tonight, I’ll claim every inch of you."
Willabelle’s breath hitched, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her shyness flushed her skin. Her cheeks, her neck, even the decolletage of her breasts had turned pink, but her desire burned stronger.
Her hands, hesitant, slipped under my shirt, her fingers brushing the muscles of my chest warm and exploratory.
She leaned toward me, her lips touching my neck. This time, she was the one initiating — a shy kiss, but scorching like fire. Her inexperience was obvious, yet she was trying to learn.
I pressed my lips to hers again, this time with a deep, hungry kiss. My tongue found hers, danced with it, savored her taste. Meanwhile, my hands hiked up the hem of her dress, touching the inner curve of her thighs; her skin was softer than silk, warm, a wet invitation.
Willabelle moaned into my mouth, her hands tangling in my hair, her nails lightly scratching my back. Her shyness lingered, her eyes squeezed shut, her body surrendered to me.