His clean-shaven face revealed the strong jawline I had traced many times with my fingers. His normally unruly hair was brushed back neatly, framing his striking features. It wasn’t just the clothes that made him seem princely—there was an aura about him, a commanding presence that filled the room as though he had always belonged to this world of splendor.
Without hesitation, I ran across the plush carpet, my heart galloping. With a few strides, I was in his arms, throwing decorum to the wind as I pressed my lips to his in a kiss that sang of desperation and relief. It felt like the end of the world and the beginning of everything, all at once.
Roman cupped my face with his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears rolling down my cheeks.
“Oh, my love… I thought I lost you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You were so pale… You weren’t breathing, Olivia.”
The weight of those words bore down on me, yet they lifted a burden I hadn’t known I carried.
“The thought of losing you darkened my world,” he said, “but your presence now paints my days in the colors of dawn. I love you more profoundly with each sunrise.”
Our eyes locked, and I felt the universe still for a moment.
“In every life,” I whispered, “in every version of reality, it’s you—my constant, my certainty. You are the dream from which I never wish to awaken.”
His smile then was worth every trial we’d ever faced, every question still unanswered. It was the silent echo of my soul recognizing its counterpart in another.
Our bodies collided with a force fueled by an insatiable hunger for each other; each kiss was a fierce proclamation of our unbreakable bond and the wars we had waged to preserve it. My skin prickled and tingled under the scorching heat of his touch, igniting an inferno along my body as he traced a searing path down my spine through the delicate layers of my Ottoman attire. Every caress felt like a powerful thread binding our souls together, pulling us closer until there was no space between us.
“Olivia,” Roman growled against my lips, his breath hot and irresistible like a raging wildfire consuming us both. “You will not believe what happened at the last trial. Pasha Hassan confessed to me that he is my father.”
“I know. A woman named Zara told me.” I tried to focus on the gravity of his confession, but it was like trying to grasp smoke. My senses were overwhelmed by his scent, the strength in his arms, and the taste of his kiss. My fingers danced up into his hair.
“The blades were never poisoned. It was a sedative,” he said, voice husky as if each word was a struggle against the tidal wave of desire that threatened to sweep us away.
“A sedative,” I breathed, utterly focused on him. “Zara told me. And I’m not dead, so I believe her.” I tried to smile, my lips trembling as his gaze held mine with a tenderness that deepened the fire between us.
“Sonot dead,” Roman murmured, his hands trailing up and down my back.
I could barely nod, let alone form coherent thoughts. Our connection was electric, consuming—every brush of skin against skin amplified by the revelations and mysteries enveloping us. We moved together, and words fell away. Only the language of touch and longing remained.
I gasped when his lips trailed from my mouth to the sensitive hollow of my neck. My hands roamed over the embroidered velvet of his waistcoat, feeling the solid strength of his chest beneath, the power of the man who had fought for us—for this moment of unguarded passion.
“Olivia, my love,” he whispered, pulling back just enough to look into my eyes. The intensity in his gaze mirrored the fervor of our embrace. “We are entwined, you and I, beyond bloodlines and battles. In this life, and all others.”
With a groan that vibrated through my very being, he captured my lips once more, his kiss a promise, a plea, a surrender. As we clung to each other, the world outside our cocoon of ardor ceased to exist. There was only Roman, only this moment, only the undeniable truth that whatever came next, we would face it together, hearts ablaze.
The sudden creak of the door sliced through the haze of our desire. A male servant entered, his eyes darting away as though the sight of our entwined bodies was too much to bear.
“I do apologize,” he stammered, a deep blush creeping up his neck, “but Pasha Hassan is awaiting you in his study.”
He retreated quickly, closing the ornately carved door with a soft snick.
I pushed away from Roman, trying to steady my breath and thoughts. The urgency in the servant’s voice reminded me that there were matters beyond the walls of this opulent prison of passion.
“This is your moment,” I said to Roman, clasping his hand in mine, feeling the calluses of many battles. “You’ve been waiting to learn about your father and who he is. Now, this is your chance to ask and learn everything about him. Hear your father’s story before awakening the blades.”
Roman’s jaw tensed, and his eyes clouded with a fear I had seldom seen.
“I’m scared, my love,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Why?” I asked, squeezing his hand tightly. “You’ve always wanted to know your father and your origins. This man is part of your creation.”
The room thrummed with electric tension, the air crackling as though it could barely contain the moment’s weight.
“I’m afraid of the truth,” he said. “This man...He is powerful beyond measure. You should have seen him in the final battle against me. He was like a madman, consumed by a berserker rage that defied all logic. But it’s not just darkness that drives him... there’s something more to him, something mysterious and enigmatic.”
I stepped closer, my voice steady yet filled with an urgent plea. “This is your moment, Roman. Ask him every question that haunts your mind. The truths he reveals may tear you apart, but you have to face them. Prepare yourself for raw reality, for brutal honesty. This is your moment, and I will stand by you through it all.”
