Chapter 92: Stay Close

Warmth bloomed across my neck before my mind fully caught up. The moment I realized what Lewis was doing, my body tensed on its own, breath hitching.His touch was nothing like Julian’s had ever been.

It wasn’t rushed or clumsy. It was steady. Certain. A brief, sharp sting followed where his lips had been, and it sent a strange shiver through me, half shock, half something I didn’t know how to name.

I grabbed the front of his silk pajamas without thinking, fingers curling tight.

"Lewis..." I whispered.

He stopped immediately.

His fingertips brushed over the spot he had just claimed, slow and careful now, as if grounding me again.

"You’re delicate," he murmured. "If I touched you again..."

My face burned hot. I cut him off, flustered and breathless. "Lewis!"

He laughed softly and pinched my cheek, light and teasing.

"Why are you blushing like this? Has no one ever treated you this way before?"

I knew he was joking, but the question still struck something tender inside me. Maybe he was thinking about Riley. Or Yenik. Riley hadn’t spent much time with him before, after all.

As for Julian... even back in school, everything between us had been careful and restrained. We held hands sometimes. Hugged, rarely. He always said he wanted to wait until marriage. He never left marks. Never crossed lines.

Nothing like this.

I lowered my eyes and shook my head. "No."

For just a heartbeat, something warm flickered in Lewis’s gaze. Satisfaction? Relief? Whatever it was, it disappeared almost instantly.

"It’s late," he said gently. "We should sleep."

I started to sit up, but his hand pressed lightly against my waist, guiding me back down.

"Stay," he said calmly. "We’re married now. Don’t worry. I won’t cross any line unless you want me to."

His voice was steady, grounded. It made my racing heart slow, just a little. Still, I hesitated.

"I... I’m not used to sleeping beside someone," I admitted.

Even with the bond tying us together, sharing a bed felt too intimate. Like something meant for people who already knew each other’s hearts, not two souls still circling, still learning.

Lewis sensed it right away. His hand loosened, then fell away completely.

"Alright," he said softly. "I won’t push you."

"Thank you," I said, standing up quickly before my resolve could weaken.

I retreated to my small bedroom. The air smelled faintly of essential oils, calming and familiar. Before I knew it, sleep pulled me under.

That night, I dreamed.

The dream was warm and vivid, filled with closeness and heat, my pulse racing for reasons I couldn’t explain. But the man in front of me wasn’t a stranger.

It was Lewis.

In the dream, I kept calling his name, my voice soft and pleading.

"Uncle Lewis... please, don’t..."

A warm hand closed around mine, firm and steady. Someone leaned close, breath brushing my ear, voice low and dangerous in a way that made my heart race.

"Say it again, sweetheart."

I jolted awake.

The dream slipped through my fingers the moment my eyes opened, details blurring like mist at sunrise. But the heat stayed. It lingered in my body, deep and undeniable, making my chest rise faster than it should have.

As I sat up, my eyes drifted to the sheets.

A faint, dried patch.

My face burned instantly.

I pressed my lips together, mortified.

What kind of dream was that?

It was ridiculous. Shameless. Completely inappropriate.

And yet... now, even the thought of Lewis made my pulse jump.

Was it really just because I’d gone too long without affection? Or was it something else something deeper, something my body understood before my mind did?

When Lewis walked in, he looked exactly as he always did calm, controlled, perfectly put together. Like nothing in the world could shake him.

"You’re awake," he said evenly. "Get ready. We’re going to the Hudsons’ estate for lunch."

"Alright," I mumbled, keeping my eyes down.

That morning, I felt restless, unsettled. Every time I accidentally met his gaze, the memory of that dream crept back in, making my ears burn and my fingers curl at my sides. I couldn’t stay focused for more than a few seconds.

By afternoon, both the Morrigans and the Hales gathered at the Hudsons’ estate.

The atmosphere was polite on the surface, but beneath it, I could feel tension moving like an undercurrent silent, watchful, waiting.

Fiona, who had once treated Camilla with cool indifference, now greeted her with surprising warmth.

"I heard you’ve entered the International Art Exhibition," Fiona said with a graceful smile. "I had no idea you were the mysterious S everyone talks about."

So that was it.

Everything clicked into place. Fiona’s sudden change had nothing to do with Camilla as a person. It was about status. Reputation. Power.

Camilla had stepped into the spotlight, and everyone followed.

Vivian’s face lit up instantly. "Yes, Camilla has been praised since she was young. Her teachers always said she had rare talent. She’s just too modest. If her work hadn’t been recognized at her last solo show, she might never have revealed her identity."

Fiona clasped Camilla’s hand, admiration clear in her eyes.

"I judged you too quickly. Sometimes humility hides brilliance. Don’t hold back anymore. Represent our families well."

Camilla lowered her lashes, smiling softly. "I’ll do my best."

It was almost impressive how easily she played the part.

The same woman once viewed with doubt was now fully accepted, all because her value had been confirmed.

When my gaze lingered on Camilla for just a second too long, Vivian immediately stepped in front of her, sharp and defensive, like a mother guarding her territory.

"What are you staring at?" she snapped. "Are you jealous of my daughter?"

I let out a quiet laugh before I could stop myself.

"Jealous? Of her?"

Vivian lifted her chin proudly. "Do you know how many admirers Camilla has now? How many brands and galleries want her work? Yes, there was a little trouble recently, but real talent always survives. People forget scandals quickly."

Then she smiled, thin and pointed.

"Unlike some people. Those who scheme and dig traps for others don’t realize they’re the ones falling in."

Her words weren’t subtle. They were meant for me.

I met her gaze calmly and smiled back.

"Then let’s wait and see," I said lightly. "When the competition begins, we’ll find out who ends up buried."

The air around us went still.

And somewhere deep inside me, something quiet stirred patient, alert, and ready to bare its teeth when the time came.