Chapter 180: She Would Stay
"Letter?" Leroy asked, his brows knitting together. Her reaction told him this was something far heavier than a trivial message.
"I’ll burn it," Lorraine said, her tone soft but unwavering. She was sure that Leroy hadn’t gotten to that letter yet.
She shifted, adjusting her position so that he now lay against her chest, not as an invitation of lust, but as an offering of solace and unwavering support.
If he took comfort in her presence, now was the moment to provide it. Her arm came around his neck, cradling him as though anchoring him in safety. Her other hand moved slowly, rhythmically, rubbing his back, soothing the tension he carried like a wound too deep to speak of.
His breath, warm and steady, settled on her chest. Lorraine closed her eyes. She did not want him to read his mother’s words; words of betrayal, of partiality, of how she would hand Leroy over to ruin just to shield Gaston.
Leroy didn’t resist. He let himself fall completely into her embrace, as though her warmth was the only tether holding him to the world.
His lips moved with growing urgency over the gentle mound beneath her thin nightgown, soft at first, reverent... but increasingly insistent, as if trying to drown out every echo of pain, every memory of neglect.
Her skin yielded beneath him, warm, pliant, and achingly familiar.
When his breath brushed against the sensitive bud of her breast, it stiffened, erect beneath his touch, responding not just to sensation, but to the raw hunger he had buried for far too long.
He swirled his tongue around it, tasting, savoring, as if each gentle flick could somehow make up for every moment of rejection he had ever suffered.
A low, involuntary moan slipped from Lorraine’s lips, small and fragile at first, then growing, filling the space between them.
Her hand came to his head, rubbing him, not just with tenderness, but with a possessive reassurance, as if grounding both of them in the undeniable truth of this claim.
This was not gentle love. This was need, overwhelming and unapologetic.
Each stroke of his tongue, every press of his lips, every lingering touch was his way of marking her, his body drawing her closer, consuming her, making sure there would be no doubt.
Because in that fleeting, decadent moment, every inch of her was his. His to crave. His to possess. His to never let go.
He lost himself entirely, abandoning restraint, abandoning thought, driven only by the primal certainty that if no one else would claim her, he would.
His breath, once heavy with the ache of need and abandonment, slowly began to calm, as if her presence and her surrender were the balm that could soothe every wound.
"What did she say?" Leroy asked, his voice hollow but patient. His hands, cupping her, moved to steady her as he gently rolled her onto her back, his lips never leaving the tender curve of her skin.
"She knows Gaston is involved," she said, her voice trembling, "and she wants you to protect him."
A slight wince crossed her face as his grip on her breast unintentionally tightened. She let the small sting linger, knowing he would feel it.
His hold loosened immediately, as if instinctively aware of the hurt he caused.
He pressed his cheek to the fullness of her breast, his fingers now lightly tracing circles around her sensitive bud, not seeking pleasure, but grounding himself in the reality of her presence.
Lorraine felt his body stiffen beneath her touch. She understood now, with painful clarity, the unbearable truth:
This was not the first time his mother had chosen Gaston over him.
Every subtle gesture, every unspoken word from his family pointed to the same cruel pattern: a son abandoned, sacrificed for another.
It wasn’t a theory anymore. It was a gut-wrenching, undeniable reality.
Her heart ached for him as she watched the man she loved, that proud, strong, and yet irrevocably broken man, accept that truth once more.
Slowly, his breathing began to even out, as if surrendering to the weight of a life lived in the shadow of betrayal.
She pressed his head closer against her chest, holding him like she was the only safe place left in the world.
"You’ll always have me, Leroy," she whispered, her voice unwavering, a vow cast in love and defiance.
No matter who stood by his side or turned away. No matter the power, the lies, the isolation. Even if the world condemned him, even if the gallows awaited...
She would stay.
"I know," he murmured, lifting his face to meet hers.
He kissed her softly, not out of desire, but out of reverence: a gesture of trust and surrender.
"So... handle this," he said, his voice steady, almost gentle.
Lorraine simply nodded, happy that he trusted her enough to handle this.
He then wrapped her tightly in his arms, not as a possessive gesture, but as a surrender, a shared refuge from the world.
She relaxed completely, her breath evening out, her body melting into his, as if the very act of holding her could stave off the darkness.
And in that quiet, fragile moment, beneath the soft candlelight and the weight of everything unsaid, Leroy let himself drift into sleep—content, whole, irrevocably bound to the woman who chose him above all else.
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Before the first light of dawn could touch the horizon, Lorraine, cloaked in the shadow of Lazira, stepped silently into the dungeons. Her black velvet cape whispered against the cold stone floor, each step measured and deliberate, the vyrnshade blossoms spread their sweet and intoxicating scent around her, as though she was a shadow herself—unyielding, inevitable.
The faint glow of the torches flickered in the darkness, casting long, wavering shadows that seemed to recoil from her presence. The emerald pin nestled in her hair caught the light, glinting sharply beneath her hood like a silent signal of power, of purpose.
Behind her, Leroy followed without hesitation, his presence steady and protective, like a silent guardian. The air between them was thick with unspoken intent, the weight of secrets pressing heavier with every step.
"So, Hadrian..." Her voice was low, calm, and cold, carrying a tinge of challenge, "Have you figured out who I am?"
Her words cut through the silence of the dungeon like a blade, echoing faintly against the damp walls.
The deeper they walked, the more oppressive the atmosphere became. The stench of earth, sewage, blood, and despair clung to every surface, as though the walls themselves remembered centuries of suffering.
Leroy’s eyes remained fixed ahead, but his grip on the hilt of his sword tightened imperceptibly.