Chapter 142: Teach Me

I turned my head to look at him and smiled lazily."Alright," I said softly. "I’m ready to learn. Carl... please teach me."

The moment the name left my lips, something in Lewis changed.

His gaze locked onto mine. Not sharp. Not cold. Bright. Almost startled. Like I had unlocked something he’d kept sealed away for years.

"What did you just call me?" he asked quietly.

"Carl," I repeated, confused.

For a second, he didn’t move. Then his arms came around me, firm and warm, pulling me against him. His breath hitched, low and controlled, but I felt the tremor underneath it.

That name meant something to him.

To me, it was only a forgotten sound.

But as his hold tightened, memories stirred.

Back then, I had been small and fearless.

Camilla and I had slipped away from the guards on a crowded afternoon. Everything was loud. Too loud. When she fell into the water, I didn’t think. I just ran and grabbed her hand.

The current was strong. Stronger than us.

Her fingers slid from mine.

The last thing I remembered was hitting my head on stone before everything went dark.

When I woke up, I was told I had been saved by the Hales. I thanked Julian, believing he was the one who pulled me out. He never corrected me.

From that day on, our families grew closer.

I visited often. Played. Laughed. Lived without fear.

One afternoon, I heard music drifting from the upper floor. Soft. Lonely. I followed it upstairs and pushed open the attic door.

That was when I saw him.

A pale boy sat at the piano, long fingers moving with quiet grace. He didn’t look real. Like someone cut out of a storybook and left behind by accident.

"Who are you?" I asked.

The music stopped.

He turned slowly, his eyes distant but calm. "Lewis Hale."

"Are you part of the Hales?"

"Kind of."

He answered everything I asked, even though his tone stayed cool. I didn’t know who he was back then. I only knew he felt different. Safe in a way I couldn’t explain.

I asked him to teach me how to play.

He did.

Patiently. For hours.

"Carl," I said back then, watching his hands move. "Your fingers are so pretty. You play so well. Do you want to do this forever?"

He paused and looked at me.

"What did you call me?"

"Carl," I said cheerfully. "Or should I call you sir?"

He didn’t correct me.

That afternoon stayed with him longer than it stayed with me.

Julian found out later. He was furious. Told me Lewis was his uncle. Said he was strange. Said I shouldn’t go near him.

I didn’t understand. Lewis had been quiet, but kind.

Still, I believed Luke had saved me. So when he made me swear to stay away, I did.

And slowly, I forgot.

The name faded. The memory dulled. Lewis slipped out of my life like a dream I stopped reaching for.

But he never forgot.

Back in the present, his breath brushed my ear, hot now, restrained by force of will alone.

"Say it again," he murmured.

I frowned slightly, confused by the intensity in his voice.

"Carl..."

The sound barely left my mouth before he kissed me.

This time, there was no hesitation.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t rushed either. It felt like something breaking loose. Like years of control snapping all at once.

His grip tightened, steady and claiming, pulling me closer until there was no space left to breathe.

His arms locked around my waist, tight enough that I couldn’t breathe properly.

It wasn’t pain exactly.

It was pressure.

The kind that made my body react before my mind could catch up.

"Carl... it hurts," I whispered. "You’re hurting me."

I didn’t even realize I was frowning until the words slipped out.

His body stiffened.

"I’m sorry," he said immediately, his voice low and strained. "I didn’t mean to."

His hold loosened, but he didn’t let go completely, like he was afraid I might disappear if he did.

"Should I blow on it?" he asked softly, trying to sound light.

"Sure," I murmured, still hazy. "Carl..."

I expected a soft breath.

Instead, his lips brushed my forehead.

Then my nose.

Then my mouth.

Slow. Careful. Like he was testing how much I could take.

His kisses trailed lower, warm and deliberate, until a cool rush of air touched my skin. I shivered and instinctively tried to cover myself, suddenly aware of how exposed I felt.

"Darling," he said gently, stopping my hands. "I haven’t finished yet."

His voice wasn’t commanding, but it carried weight. The kind that made resistance feel pointless.

I couldn’t tell if the room was too warm or if the wine was still burning through me. My thoughts felt loose, drifting, while every touch pulled me deeper into sensation.

His lips brushed along my skin inch by inch, sending tremors through my body that I didn’t know how to control.

I tilted my head back without meaning to.

"Carl..." I whispered.

Something in him shifted.

His breath grew warmer against my neck, his presence overwhelming. When his lips touched a place that felt new and terrifying, my whole body reacted, sharp and unfamiliar.

"Be good," he murmured close to my ear. "Open up."

Morning came too fast.

Light spilled through the curtains, too bright, stabbing at my eyes. I raised my arm to shield my face, groaning softly.

My head throbbed. My body felt heavy. Sore in a way that made my stomach flip.

It reminded me of knowing I shouldn’t give in, doing it anyway, and waking up unsure whether I regretted it or wanted it again.

"Darling," a familiar voice whispered near my ear. "Are you awake?"

The word jolted me fully conscious.

I turned my head and met Lewis’s gaze.

Something uneasy crawled up my spine.

"Lewis," I asked slowly, "did something happen last night?"

He exhaled quietly. "You really need to stop drinking like that. You black out too easily."

"Oh."

"But," he added, his eyes darkening slightly, "with me here, you’re safe."

There was something in the way he looked at me that made my skin tighten. Not regret. Not apology. Something deeper. Possessive. Watchful.

I didn’t remember anything clearly.

But I didn’t need memory to understand one thing.

I was naked. Pressed against him. Wrapped in his arms like I belonged there.

A dull soreness lingered through my body as I stared at him, my voice barely steady.

"Last night... did we "

He lifted my chin gently, forcing me to meet his eyes. They were dark, unreadable, full of something that made my pulse jump.

In a rough, quiet voice, he asked,

"Do you wish we did... or that we didn’t?"

And suddenly, I wasn’t sure which answer scared me more.