Chapter 117: To Make Her Forget

Leitana was stunned still for a moment as Willow’s lips pressed against hers, soft, warm, tasting faintly of cherry gloss. The kiss lasted only two seconds, but it felt frozen in time. Then reality crashed back. Leitana pulled away sharply, stepping backward until her calves hit the piano bench with a dull thud.

“Willow?” Her voice came out small, breathless. She lifted her hand and wiped it across her lips, as though she could erase the feeling.

Willow stared at her, eyes glassy, cheeks flushed deep pink. She looked desperate, almost frantic.

“I… I’m so sorry,” she whispered, but the apology sounded hollow. “I just couldn’t help myself any longer. I like you, Leitana. I really do.”

Leitana’s eyes went even wider. “Like… like mi?”

Willow took a step forward.

Leitana instinctively took one back.

“Since the moment I met you,” Willow rushed on, voice trembling with urgency. “You’re so real. So kind. So beautiful. I can’t stop thinking about you. Every day, every night—it’s your face. Your smile. Your voice.”

Another step.

Leitana bumped into the piano keys—discordant notes clanged out behind her.

“Willow, wait—”

“I know Ravial’s not good for you,” Willow continued, eyes pleading. “Look what he did to Celeste. He used her up, discarded her like she was nothing. You deserve better. You deserve someone who’ll take care of you. Someone who sees how special you are. Be with me. Please. I’ll protect you. I’ll take care of you.”

She reached for Leitana’s hand.

Leitana yanked it back, heart racing. “No—no, mi no see yu dat way,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “Mi no like women. Mi see yu as friend. Only friend.”

Willow’s face crumpled for a second, then steadied. She stepped closer again.

“I know, I know,” she said, almost begging. “But we can get to know each other. Slowly. No pressure. Just… give me a chance. Please.”

“No.” Leitana’s voice came out firmer than she expected. “And mi husband good to mi. Him no cause Celeste death.”

Willow froze. “What?”

Leitana swallowed hard. The words felt heavy, but Willow needed to hear them.

“Mi bring yu here because mi wan’ yu help prove Celeste was used by sponsors. De same sponsors Jim was giving her to. Selling her body…...jus like yu now”

Willow’s eyes filled instantly—tears brimming, then spilling over.

“Jim?” she whispered, voice cracking. “He… he said it was normal. He said everyone does it. He said if I didn’t…”

Her breath hitched.

Leitana stepped forward, gently taking Willow’s hand.

“Yu no need to sell yu body for shoots,” she said softly. “Ravial will help yu go far in life. Like Celeste. Him no discard her. Jim manipulate her. Like him manipulating yu now. We have proof. So plis… tell us who dese sponsors are.”

Willow yanked her hand away like she’d been burned.

Tears streamed down her face, but her expression twisted, hurt, betrayal, anger.

“So this is really why you approached me?” she asked, voice shaking. “Not because you saw talent in me. Not because you liked me. Just to help Celeste again. Even in death she gets all the attention.”

“Willow, no…”

Willow shook her head hard.

“I thought… I thought maybe you felt something too. But it was all a lie. Just another way to use me.”

She turned sharply and stormed out the door.

“Willow, wait—!”

The door slammed behind her.

Leitana stood alone in the piano room, stunned, tears rushing to her eyes.

The silence pressed heavily.

Then the door flew open again.

Lafu rushed in, eyes wide.

“What happened?” she demanded. “Why is Willow crying? She just ran past us like the house was on fire!”

Leitana looked at her, tears already spilling down her cheeks.

“She say she like mi,” she whispered. “She… she kiss mi.”

Lafu’s mouth dropped open. “She what?”

Leitana hugged herself, voice breaking. “Mi ruin everyting, Lafu. She no help us again. She t’ink mi use her. Mi… mi no mean to hurt her.”

Lafu stepped forward fast, pulling Leitana into a tight hug.

“Hey, hey, no. You didn’t ruin anything. She’s confused. She’s scared. Jim’s been in her head for too long. We’ll fix this.”

Leitana buried her face in Lafu’s shoulder, tears soaking her shirt.

“But she cry,” she mumbled. “Because of mi.”

Lafu held her tighter.

“Then we make sure she stops crying,” she said firmly. “We get her away from Jim. We get the truth. And we make sure she knows you’re not the enemy.”

Leitana nodded against her, small and shaky.

Because even if Willow hated her right now…

She still wanted to save her.

Leitana sat on the edge of the bed, knees drawn up, staring out the tall window at the darkening Connecticut sky. The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the air conditioner and the distant tick of the clock on the mantel. Her eyes were distant, glassy, tears still clinging to her lashes like they couldn’t decide whether to fall or dry.

The bedroom door opened without a sound.

Ravial stepped in, blindfold in place, suit jacket already shed, sleeves rolled to his forearms. The house had been unnaturally still when he arrived, no chatter from the staff, no soft music drifting from the piano room, no barefoot footsteps rushing to meet him. He’d asked Clara where Leitana was. “Upstairs, sir,” she’d said quietly.

He knew something was wrong the moment he crossed the threshold.

“Lamb?” His voice was low, careful.

No answer.

She didn’t turn. Didn’t even flinch. Just kept staring out the window, small hands wrapped around her knees, shoulders hunched like she was trying to make herself smaller.

Ravial’s jaw tightened beneath the blindfold.

“Leitana,” he said again, sharper this time.

She startled, head whipping around. Her eyes—red-rimmed, shining with unshed tears—met the black silk covering his. For a moment she looked lost, like she hadn’t expected him to be real.

He crossed the room in three long strides and stopped in front of her.

“What happened?” The question came out rougher than he intended, edged with something worry.

Leitana didn’t speak at first.

She just stared up at him, silent, trembling then lifted one small hand and pressed it flat against his chest, right over his heart. Her palm was warm, fingers curling slightly into the crisp white shirt.

“Plis…” Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper. “Kiss mi. Make love to mi.”

Ravial went utterly still.

The air between them thickened, charged.

He felt the heat of her hand through the fabric, felt the faint tremor in her fingers, felt the way her breath hitched like she was afraid he’d refuse.

For a man who had spent centuries mastering every impulse, every desire, every weakness—he was taken aback.

Not by the request.

By the raw need behind it.

By the fact that his wife, his soft, gentle, unbreakable lamb was asking him to drown out whatever pain was clawing at her heart with his body.

He searched her face, blindfold hiding the storm in his eyes.

Then slowly, he lifted both hands to cup her cheeks, thumbs brushing away the lingering tears.

“You want me to take it away?” he asked.

Leitana nodded, small and desperate. “Plis, Ravial… mi need yu. Jus’ yu. Make mi forget.”

Something primal snapped inside him.

He leaned down and kissed her—slow at first, like he was tasting every inch of her pain and claiming it for himself. His lips were firm, coaxing hers open until she melted against him with a broken little whimper.

He tasted her salty tears and something sweeter underneath. Her.

His hands slid down her neck, over her shoulders, down her arms, mapping every inch like he was reminding her who has her.

When he pulled back just enough to breathe, his forehead rested against hers.

“Tell me what hurt you,” he murmured, voice dark with barely restrained desire to squash whatever had caused those tears.

Leitana shook her head, fingers clutching his shirt. “Later… plis… jus’ now…”

He exhaled through his nose, trying to stay in control.

Then he lifted her effortlessly, turning so her back hit the mattress. She gasped softly as he settled over her, knees bracketing her hips, weight braced on his forearms so he didn’t crush her.

His mouth found her throat, kissing, sucking, biting just hard enough to leave faint marks. She arched beneath him, small hands sliding into his hair, tugging like she needed him closer.

“Ravial…”

He growled low against her skin.

“Say it again.”

“Mi tingting blong yu,” she whispered, voice trembling with emotion and want.

He groaned, a deep, guttural sound and took her mouth again, harder this time. His tongue claimed hers in slow, possessive strokes while his hands worked the buttons of the shirt she wore—his shirt. He tore it open with one impatient tug, buttons scattering across the sheets.

Leitana laughed, breathless, and surprised—then moaned when his mouth closed over one breast, tongue circling the peak until it hardened under his attention.

He moved lower, kissing down her sternum, her stomach, the sensitive dip of her navel until he reached the waistband of the panties.

He looked up at her, blindfold in place, but she felt the heat of his gaze like fire.

“These,” he said, voice wrecked, “are mine.”

She nodded frantically. “Yours.”

He hooked his fingers in the waistband and dragged them down her legs, slowly, torturously slow until she was bare beneath him.

Then he settled between her thighs.

Leitana’s breath hitched.

He didn’t tease. Didn’t play.

He simply lowered his head and licked a long, slow stripe up her center.

She cried out, a needy sound, her back arching off the bed.

He growled in approval, hands clamping around her thighs, spreading her wider so he could feast.

His tongue circled her clit then plunged inside her, fucking her with slow, deep strokes while his thumb pressed against the swollen bud above.

Leitana’s hands flew to his hair, tugging hard, hips bucking against his mouth.

“Ravial, plis—!”

He sucked her clit into his mouth—hard—and she shattered.

Her orgasm hit like a wave, her whole body seizing, thighs clamping around his head, a broken sob tearing from her throat as pleasure crashed through her in white-hot pulses.

He didn’t stop.

He drank every tremor, every drop, until she was shaking, oversensitive, whimpering.

Only then did he rise, his lips glistening, chest heaving, crawling back up her body until his mouth hovered over hers.

“Better?” he asked, voice rough, wrecked.

Leitana nodded frantically, tears, happy ones this time, slipping down her temples.

“Mi love yu,” she whispered, voice trembling. “Mi tingting blong yu… always.”

Ravial’s breath caught.

He kissed her, deep, claiming, tasting herself on his tongue.

Then he flipped her gently onto her stomach, pulled her hips up, and sank into her in one slow, brutal thrust.

Leitana cried out, half moan, half plea, her fingers clutching the sheets.

He set a rhythm, deep, measured, possessive, each stroke driving her higher, claiming every inch of her until she was sobbing his name, begging, trembling.

When she came again—harder, louder—he followed, burying himself deep, growling her name like a prayer against her shoulder.

They collapsed together, sweaty, breathless, tangled.

Ravial pulled her against his chest, arms locking around her like he’d never let go.

“Tell me now,” he murmured into her hair. “What hurt you, lamb?”

Leitana turned in his arms, pressing her face to his throat.

“Willow… she kiss mi,” she whispered. “She say she like mi. Mi tell her no… mi love yu. But she t’ink mi use her. She run away crying.”

Ravial went still.

Then his arms tightened, possessive, protective.

“She’ll come back,” he said quietly. “And if she doesn’t… we’ll find another way.”

Leitana nodded against him.

Then, soft, sleepy, she whispered:

“Mi tingting blong yu.”

Ravial closed his eyes behind the blindfold.

“And mine,” he murmured, voice rough with something deeper than lust, “belongs to you.”

Always.