Chapter 32: The Broken Facade

Her kiss was a fire, a consuming, desperate blaze that threatened to incinerate us both. For a moment, I was lost in it, my body responding with a primal, instinctual need. My hands roamed her back, feeling the soft, warm skin beneath the thin cotton of her shirt, my mind a chaotic whirlwind of lust and triumph. This was it. The final surrender. The fortress had fallen.

But then, a cold, sharp clarity cut through the haze. This wasn’t Devi. Not the real Devi. This was the alcohol, the loneliness, the hurt, all manifesting as a desperate, reckless act. This wasn’t a queen claiming her prince; it was a wounded animal lashing out. And I wouldn’t have it. Not like this.

With a surge of strength, I pushed her away, my hands firm on her shoulders. “Stop,” I commanded, my voice a low, serious growl.

She stumbled back, her eyes wide with shock, a flicker of hurt warring with the drunken defiance. “What ... what are you doing?” she slurred, her voice a confused, wounded whisper.

“This isn’t you,” I said, my voice a little softer, but still firm. “This is the whiskey talking. Go to bed, Devi.”

Her face crumpled, the defiant facade shattering to reveal the vulnerable, heartbroken woman beneath. She opened her mouth to say something, to argue, to fight, but the words wouldn’t come. Her body went limp, her eyes rolling back in her head. She would have collapsed onto the floor if I hadn’t caught her.

I scooped her up into my arms, her body a light, trusting weight. I was about to carry her to her own room, to tuck her into her own bed, to maintain the fragile boundary between us. But then I stopped. Why? Why should I? She had come to my room. She had called herself my lover. She had started this. Let her see where it led.