Chapter 134: Do Not Lie

“Why yu think mi lying,” Leitana said. Her voice cracked at the end. She pulled away from his touch fast, stepping out from under the shower spray. Water streamed down her body in cold rivers now that his warmth was gone. She grabbed a towel from the rack and wrapped it tight around herself like armor.

Ravial didn’t move. He stood under the water, black shirt plastered to his chest, blindfold dark against wet skin. He watched her, saying nothing.

Leitana turned her back to him and walked out of the bathroom. Her bare feet slapped against the cool tile, then the bedroom floor. She kept walking until she reached the middle of the room.

Ravial followed.

She felt him behind her.

As she crossed the threshold into the bedroom, his hand shot out, grabbing her wrist.

He spun her around and pressed her back against the wall.

His arms caged her in, palms flat on either side of her head, body close but not touching.

Leitana’s chest heaved.

The position was too familiar.

Jim had done this.

Pinned her.

Trapped her.

She flinched again.

Ravial noticed.

He leaned in—close enough she could feel his breath on her lips.

“I know you’re hiding something,” he said softly. “And you will tell me.”

Leitana’s eyes filled with tears.

She shook her head fast.

“No.”

His voice dropped even lower, deep and dangerous.

“If I find out someone touched you… hurt you… that person is dead.”

Leitana’s breath hitched.

She stared up at him, shocked and horrified.

“Ravial…”

His jaw tightened.

“I do not make idle threats, lamb.”

She shoved at his chest, but he didn’t budge.

She kept pushing, hands flat against his chest, voice rising.

“No! Mi no wan’ dat! Mi no wan’ yu kill anyone! Dat no right! Dat no God’s way!”

Ravial’s eyes narrowed behind the blindfold.

“You think I care about God’s way when someone puts their hands on my wife?”

Leitana’s tears spilled over.

“Mi care!” she cried. “Mi care! Mi no wan’ blood on yu hands because of mi! Mi no wan’ dat darkness in yu soul!”

He stared at her, amused in that dark, quiet way only he could be. Amused that she still didn’t fully grasp the lengths he would go for her. That she could look at him with those wide, tear-bright eyes and genuinely believe there was some line he wouldn’t cross.

Ravial had no moral compass.

He never had.

Morality was a human invention—fragile, inconsistent, easily bent or broken. He had watched empires rise on promises of virtue and collapse under the weight of their own hypocrisy. He had seen saints become sinners and sinners become saints, all in the name of the same hollow ideals. He cared for none of it. No creed. No code. No god but the one he used to be, before the fall turned light into shadow.

People were nothing to him.

Fleeting. Replaceable. Insects wearing crowns they hadn’t earned.

He had ended lives for boredom.

He had twisted souls for sport.

He had watched entire bloodlines burn because someone once looked at him the wrong way.

And he had felt nothing.

No guilt. No regret. No echo of conscience.

And with his little lamb, nothing had changed. If anything, it had worsened.

“Yu tink mi weak? Yu tink mi need yu fi fight every battle? Mi no! Mi strong! Mi choose to forgive! Mi choose to trust God! Not violence!”

Ravial’s arms stayed braced on the wall.

“Forgive?” Ravial repeated the word slowly, tasting it like something bitter and foreign on his tongue. His voice stayed low, but the calm had cracked, replaced by something sharper, something that made the room feel suddenly colder.

“You want to forgive whatever made you flinch when I touched you? Whatever left those marks on your skin? Whatever made you cry in the shower like you were trying to scrub away your own body?”

Leitana’s breath caught. Fresh tears welled up. She shook her head, but he kept going.

“I have no forgiveness in me, little lamb. I never did. I don’t forgive. I erase. I make sure nothing like that ever happens again.”

He leaned closer, forehead almost touching hers, water still dripping from his hair onto her face.

“You keep looking up for salvation. You keep praying to a God who stays silent while you’re hurting. You keep asking heaven for help when heaven has already answered.”

His palm flattened between her breasts, right over her pounding heart.

“It answered with me.”

Leitana’s eyes widened, shocked and surprised by the words leaving his mouth.

“Ravial… no…”

“Yes,” he said softly. “Yes. You keep trusting a voice that never speaks back. A God who lets bruises happen and then waits for you to forgive them. But I’m right here. I’m the one who would tear the sky open if it dared to make you cry. I’m the one who would drown the stars themselves if they looked at you wrong.”

Her tears fell faster. She tried to push his hand away. He didn’t let her.

“There is only one god who answers when you’re in pain,” he whispered. “Only one who would rip paradise apart for you. And he’s standing right here. Not up there. Not in some book. Here. In this room. In this body. For you.”

Leitana shook her head.

“Stop… plis… yu scaring mi…”

“I’m not trying to scare you,” he said, voice dropping even lower, almost tender. “I’m trying to make you see. You don’t need to forgive anything. You don’t need to pray to anyone else. You just need to let me be what I am.”

She stared at him, wide-eyed, trembling.

“Mi can’t… mi can’t stay with yu tonight.”

Ravial went still.

Leitana slipped under his arm, quick, desperate, and backed away.

“Mi need space,” she whispered. “Mi feel… mi feel wrong. Mi no wan’ be touched right now.”

She turned toward the dresser, fumbling for her nightgown with shaking hands.

Ravial watched her.

She pulled the thin cotton over her head fast. Grabbed a pillow from the bed.

“You’re not leaving this room.”

Leitana froze.

She clutched the pillow to her chest like a shield.

“Ravial… plis stop…” Her voice trembled. Something in her tone—hurt, not fear—made his grip loosen.

“I am behaving exactly how I should,” he said, jaw tight.

“No,” she whispered. “Yu acting….” She trailed off.

“Don’t pin mi,” she shot back, tears still streaking her cheeks. “Don’t trap mi. Don’t decide fi mi what justice is. Yu say yu love mi? Then let mi choose how mi heal.”

Silence.

His fingers flexed around her wrist.

Then… he let her go.

Leitana stumbled back a step, clutching her wrist to her chest like it still burned. She grabbed her pillow from the floor, holding it protectively.

“I not happy with yu right now,” she said, voice breaking but firm. “If yu love mi… let mi go.”

His teeth ground together.

The word go did something ugly inside him.

He wanted to lock every door. Seal every window. Chain her to him.

But she was looking at him like she was waiting to see who he would choose to be.

Monster.

Or husband.

His chest rose slowly.

“Fine,” he bit out.

She didn’t wait.

She rushed past him, barefoot against the floor, the door opening and closing in a soft but final sound.

The room fell into heavy silence.

Ravial stood there.

Water still dripping from his shirt onto the hardwood.

He stared at the closed door for a long moment.

The air behind him shifted.

A ripple.

A tear in space.

Lucius stepped out of the shadows and bowed his head. “My lord.”

Ravial did not turn around.

“Track his every movement, do not touch him,” he said calmly.

Lucius nodded. “It will be done.”

He bowed once more and disappeared into nothing.

Ravial finally moved.

He walked to the window, staring out into the night.

Jim had just committed something unforgivable.

Ravial had stepped back from the investigation so Leitana could help Celeste, and he wanted to see what his lamb could do.

He wanted her strong. Untouchable. Victorious.

But they had mistaken restraint for weakness.

They had mistaken absence for mercy.