Chapter 48 Hymns for the Monster
Leitana lingered at the door, fingers curled around the handle, a shy warmth glowing in her chest.
“..Good night,” she murmured softly, smiling at Avery, who sat on the edge of the bed watching her.
“Good night,” Avery replied, her lips curving into a small, half-hearted smile.
Leitana nodded, heart full. They had talked, well, mostly she had talked, words tumbling out like she’d been holding them in for years, and Avery had listened. That was enough. More than enough.
She started to pull the door shut behind her.
“Leitana.”
Avery’s voice stopped her cold.
Leitana spun around, eyes bright, hope leaping in her chest. Maybe Avery wanted to talk more. Maybe she wanted her to stay.
But Avery was already standing, tray in her hands, the cocoa cup and plate of cookies untouched.
“You forgot this,” Avery said, tone flat, holding it out.
Leitana took the tray quickly, smile still wide and grateful. “Tank yu! Mi almost leave it.”
Avery’s gaze flicked to the cookies, then back to Leitana.
“I hate coconut,” she said. “Next time, tell the maids to make something else.”
The words landed like a small slap.
Leitana blinked, smile faltering for just a second.
Hate coconut?
But… everybody back home love coconut.
Still, she didn’t let the hurt show.
She just nodded, bright again, naive and kind as ever.
“Okay,” she said softly. “Mi tell dem tomorrow. Good night again.”
She backed out, pulling the door gently closed behind her.
Avery stared at the empty space where her sister had been, the faint scent of coconut lingering in the air like a mocking reminder.
Leitana walked down the hallway hugging the tray, smile smaller now, but still there.
Because her sister had spoken to her.
That was something.
Even if the cocoa had gone cold.
Leitana dropped the tray in the kitchen, but she didn’t throw the cocoa or cookies away.
She poured the cocoa into a small glass jar, capped it tight, and slid it into the fridge for tomorrow.
Then she ate one cookie slowly, standing at the counter, letting the sweet coconut melt on her tongue while she stared at nothing.
It was past eleven. The house was quiet; the staff had long gone to bed.
She wiped her hands after watching the dishes, padded barefoot up the grand staircase, and slipped into the master bedroom.
Empty.
The bed was untouched on his side.
Ravial had never once slept the full night beside her.
He came to fuck her, fast or brutal, depending on his mood, marked her, filled her, and left.
Always left.
The room felt too big without him.
She went into the bathroom, turned the shower hot until steam filled the air.
The water ran over her small body, tracing every curve, every bruise he’d left, faint fingerprints on her hips, the bite on her shoulder still tender.
She washed slowly, fingers sliding between her legs over her sore and swollen pussy.
Every touch made her shiver, made her thighs clench with memory.
She stepped out, skin flushed pink, droplets clinging to her full breasts and the soft swell of her hips.
Didn’t bother with much.
Just a thin white silk slip, one of many she found in the fully stock walk- in closet, so short it barely skimmed the curve of her ass, so sheer her dark nipples pressed visibly against the fabric.
No panties.
She liked how soft and comfortable it felt and it didn't really bother her since she was in the house and she felt no one would see her like this except from him if he came in.
She combed her wet hair in front of the mirror, long black waves falling to her waist.
Then she walked to the window, pressed her forehead to the cool glass, staring out at the dark gardens.
She didn’t want to be alone tonight.
She wanted his arms, his heat, his voice telling her she was his.
Then she remembered that the maids had once whispered that the master sometimes worked late in his study, in the east wing.
She had never been there.
Tonight, she went.
Barefoot, slip clinging to damp skin, nipples hard from the cool air, she padded through the silent halls until she reached the heavy mahogany door.
Voices inside.
She hesitated, heart racing.
Knocked softly.
No answer.
She pushed the door open anyway.
Ravial sat behind the massive desk like a king on a throne, blindfold in place, shirt sleeves rolled up, forearms inked and scarred.
A dozen of his men stood or leaned around the room, suits, guns, hard faces.
Every pair of eyes snapped to her.
Leitana froze in the doorway, her cloth completely see through in the lighting of the room, barely covering her, nipples peaked and visible, the shadow between her thighs clear in the lamplight.
Ravial’s head turned slowly.
The room went dead silent.
Then his voice, low and lethal:
“Turn. The fuck. Around.”
Every man spun instantly, backs to her, facing walls or windows like their lives depended on it.
Because they did.
Ravial rose from the chair.
He crossed the room in three strides, gripped her waist, and pulled her inside, shutting the door behind them with a soft click.
His hand slid up to fist in her wet hair, tilting her face to his.
“What are you doing here, little lamb?” he murmured darkly.
“Dressed like this.
Walking into a room full of men who now have to forget what they just saw… or die tonight.”
His other hand slipped under the dress, cupping her bare pussy, fingers finding her slick and swollen.
“Answer me,” he growled against her lips.
And Leitana, cheeks burning, body already melting, could only whisper,
“Mi… mi no wan sleep alone tonight.”
Ravial stared down at her, hand still fisted in her wet hair, the other cupping her breast like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“I’m working, little lamb,” he said, voice low, almost amused.
Leitana bit her lip, shifting on his thighs. “Yu always workin’… yu never sleep in di bed with mi. Not once. Yu come, yu… yu do ting to mi, den yu leave.”
She looked up at him, eyes wide and honest. “Mi no like sleep alone.”
Something flickered behind the blindfold.
He didn’t answer right away.
Instead he turned his head to the room.
“Out.”
One word.
The men moved instantly, silent, filing out like ghosts. The door clicked shut behind the last one.
Ravial carried her to his chair, sat down, and settled her on his lap again, her back to his chest, legs draped over his thighs.
The dress rode up, leaving her completely exposed.
She blushed hot, squirming.
He buried his face in her neck, inhaling deep, like her scent was a drug he couldn’t quit.
“Fuck,” he muttered against her skin. “You smell so good and mine.”
She shivered.
“Tell mi,” she whispered, brave now in the quiet room. “What work yu do? Yu always gone.”
He huffed a soft laugh. “Ashbourne Global. I’m the CEO. Media, entertainment, tech… half the movies you’ve never seen, I own. Half the music, too.”
She nodded slowly, eyes wide. “Sound big. Sound… fun.”
He hummed, fingers tracing lazy circles on her bare thigh. “Fun?”
He tilted his head. “Would you like to work, little lamb?”
Her eyes went huge.
“Mi?” She laughed, shocked. “Mi never think ‘bout work. Back home, mi plan was give mi self to Papa God. Convent. No job, jus’ pray an’ help di children.”
He went still beneath her.
Then his gaze drifted across the room and landed on the grand piano in the corner, black, gleaming, expensive as sin.
Leitana followed his look.
Her breath caught.
A piano.
She hadn’t seen one since the old, out-of-tune upright in the orphanage. Sister Maria used to play hymns on Sundays, taught the girls simple melodies when the power went out.
Leitana slid off his lap before he could stop her.
She walked to it like it might disappear, fingers trailing over the smooth lid, then the ivory keys.
Ravial watched, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed.
“You like it?” he asked.
She smiled, small and shy, and sat.
The first note was hesitant.
Then her fingers remembered.
A slow, simple melody filled the room, an old hymn, soft and sweet, the kind sung under palm trees with children’s voices.
Not perfect.
A wrong note here, a pause there.
But it was hers.
Ravial didn’t move.
He just watched her, blindfolded eyes fixed on her small form at the piano, back straight, wet hair dripping down her spine.
The monster who owned empires, who made men disappear for looking too long, sat completely still.
Mesmerised.
When the last note faded, the room felt different.
Leitana turned on the bench, cheeks pink.
“Mi no good like Sister Maria… but mi remember small-small.”
Ravial rose slowly.
Walked to her.
Stood behind her, hands settling on her shoulders.
“Play it again,” he said, voice rough.
She did.
And for the first time in years, Ravial Ashbourne listened to music
and felt something dangerously close to peace.