Chapter 81 His Little Lamb Confesses
Ravial’s blindfolded gaze remained fixed on her sleeping face as he cleaned her with slow, carefree strokes of a warm cloth, wiping away the evidence of their joining from her thighs, her swollen folds, the soft curve of her belly. Every touch was reverent, possessive, as if he were polishing something priceless that belonged only to him.
“Sweet little lamb,” he murmured, voice barely above a breath, meant for no ears but his own. His fingers traced the blooming red marks on her inner thighs, his teeth, his claim, lingering with dark satisfaction. “So fragile. So utterly mine. I could break her with a thought… and yet she trusts me to hold the pieces.”
He reached for his long black coat. With careful gentleness that contrasted the brutality of moments ago, he draped it over her naked, exhausted body, wrapping her small frame until only her flushed face and damp curls peeked out. Then he lifted her into his arms, effortless, cradling her against his chest like something sacred and breakable.
He pressed the intercom button with his elbow.
“Ms. Harrow, come in.”
The door opened almost immediately. His secretary stepped inside immediately. Her gaze flicked once to the unconscious girl in his arms, torn dress beneath the coat, marks on her throat, face still tear-streaked and then snapped back to his face. Not a word. Not a flicker of surprise.
“Cancel the rest of my day,” Ravial said, voice flat, absolute. “All meetings. Everything.”
“Yes, sir,” she answered instantly, already turning.
He didn’t wait for more. He walked past her, coat swirling, Leitana cradled close. His two guards fell in behind him without a sound, shadows trained to move only when he allowed it.
The private elevator descended in silence. Down to the underground garage, where the black Maybach waited, the door was already open. He slid into the back seat without releasing her, settling her across his lap, her head tucked beneath his chin. The door closed. The car pulled away smoothly into the night.
Ravial’s fingers stroked idly through her curls.
“Speak,” he said quietly.
The guard in the front passenger seat didn’t hesitate.
“Mrs. Ashbourne left the Juilliard building at 17:42. Entered a black SUV registered to Marco Delgado. Occupants: Lafu Moreau, Stacy Kline, Marco Delgado. They drove for twenty-eight minutes, parked near Riverside, spoke inside the vehicle. Topics included Celeste Rey’s death, voicemail evidence, contracts, possible internal cover-up. Mrs. Ashbourne agreed to assist discreetly. They advised her not to inform you. She was reluctant but consented. Returned to Juilliard at 18:15. No further deviations.”
Silence filled the car again.
Ravial’s lips curved, barely. A tiny, predatory smirk that no one saw.
“So you refused to tell me, little lamb. You lied.”
He looked down at her sleeping face, thumb brushing her swollen bottom lip where he’d bitten her. Inside, dark pleasure coiled tight. “You chose to hide it. You let them convince you I shouldn’t know. Good girls don’t lie to their husbands… but you’ll learn. You always do. And when you wake, you’ll give it all to me anyway.”
An hour into the drive, Leitana stirred.
Her lashes fluttered. She blinked up at him, disoriented, then memory flooded back, heat, overwhelming pleasure, passing out in the middle of it. Her cheeks flamed pink. She tried to sit up, squirming on his lap.
Ravial’s arm tightened instantly, keeping her pinned against his chest. “Stay.”
He reached for a chilled bottle of water from the side console, cracked it open, and held it to her lips. “Drink. All of it.”
She obeyed, small hands wrapping around his as she drank thirstily, throat working. When it was empty, he set the bottle aside.
Leitana’s fingers twisted nervously in her lap,his coat still wrapped around her naked body. She could feel his gaze on her face, heavy, unreadable. The silence stretched, thick and oppressive. Her stomach knotted.
He knew.
He always knew.
And she had lied. To her husband. A sin. A betrayal.
Ravial finally spoke, voice soft as silk, calm.
“What is eating you, my little lamb?” he murmured, thumb stroking her jaw. “Say it.”
Leitana swallowed, wishing desperately she could see his eyes, read him, know if he was angry. His face was cold marble, beautiful and terrifying. She did the only thing her heart told her to do.
Her small hands rose, cupping his sharp cheeks gently, reverently.
“Mi sorry,” she whispered, voice trembling. “Mi sorry for lying. No vex, plis…”
He didn’t move, didn’t pull away, letting her hold his face.
“For what?” he asked, tone neutral, curious, though he knew.
She leaned closer, looking up at him from beneath wet lashes, nose almost brushing his.
“Mi no tell yu,” she confessed, words tumbling out in a rush. “Mi learn school small… then go meet Lafu, Marco, Stacy. We talk ’bout death of Celeste Rey. To know what really kill her.”
Inside, satisfaction bloomed cold and sweet in Ravial’s chest, she was giving it to him freely, trusting him even now. But nothing showed on his face.
He pulled her hands gently from his cheeks, holding both her wrists in one of his.
“Why?” he asked, voice still soft.
Leitana’s lip quivered. “Mi see her in dream. She come to mi… crying. Asking for help. She restless soul now. No peace. She say… dey close to yu. Mi promise her mi help.”
She searched his blindfolded face, terrified of his anger, his disappointment.
Ravial was silent a long moment.
Then he lifted her hands to his lips, pressing a slow, kiss to her knuckles.
“You should have told me immediately,” he said quietly, no heat, no accusation, just fact. “But you’re telling me now.”
He released one wrist, sliding that hand into her curls, tugging lightly so her face tilted up to his.
“I will handle Lafu, Marco, and Stacy,” he continued, voice calm, lethal. “You will not meet them again without my knowledge. Do you understand?”
Leitana nodded quickly, relief and fear mingling. “Yes… mi understand.”
“Good girl.”
He leaned in, lips brushing hers, soft at first, then deeper, possessive, tasting her surrender.
When he pulled back, his thumb traced her bottom lip again.
“Celeste’s death is already being investigated,” he said. “By me. Quietly. Thoroughly. You will tell me every detail of your dream. Every word she said. And you will not keep secrets from me again.”
His tone left no room for argument.
“Because you are mine, little lamb. Your fears, your dreams, your pretty little lies… all of it belongs to me.”
Leitana’s heart pounded, but she nodded, curling closer into his chest, coat and all.
“Yes, Ravial,” she whispered. “All mi… belong to yu.”
And in the darkness of the car, Ravial held her tighter, satisfaction thrumming deep in his veins.
His lamb had come back to the wolf.
Exactly where she was always meant to be.