CHAPTER 74

CHAPTER 74


ARIA

My mind screamed at me that this wasn’t real.

That it couldn’t be.

I had to be imagining it.

A trick.

A dream.

Something my loneliness had stitched together out of scraps of memory and need.

This wasn’t Lian.

It couldn’t be. The real him—the one I had once sworn was gone—was still somewhere else. Still trapped, suffering, locked away in Dr. Evers’ cold, sterile hell. Still beyond my reach, never free enough to find me here.

But my body didn’t care about logic.
It never had.

It betrayed me in the simplest ways. 

My hands shook as they reached for him, as though pulled by some force I couldn’t fight. 

My fingers brushed against warmth and solidness, and I almost recoiled, because it felt too real. 

Too alive.

I told myself to stop. 

To wake up. 

To run.

But instead I leaned closer.

Because if this was just another cruel dream, then I wanted to drown in it.

I pressed my palms to his body, feeling the heat radiating beneath the room's chill. The subtle tension in his muscles. The weight of his chest rising and falling in time with mine.

Aria…”

My name broke through the dark like thunder. His voice was rough, ragged, carrying something I couldn’t quite pin down. Was it worry? Anger? Desperation? It was all tangled together, and the sound of it hit me so hard my chest tightened, my knees threatening to give way.

I didn’t even think. My hands just moved on their own, reaching for him, clutching him as if he might vanish if I let go.

“Lian…?”

The name slipped out before I could stop it, shaky and broken, as though my heart said it without asking my permission.

And then my mind snapped awake, sharp and jarring.

Was it him?

Could it really be him?

Every part of me screamed yes, yes, yes—but my head kept shaking, refusing to believe it.

If Lian was alive—if he was really out there, hidden away, trapped somewhere far from me—then who was this man holding me like I was his lifeline?

Was he the same one from last night?
The one who found me in the dark, whispered my name, pressed his lips to my forehead like he’d always had the right?
The one who wrapped me up in his arms as if he’d been mine all along?

Or was he something else entirely? A cruel trick of my mind, a ghost born from loneliness and grief?

I didn’t know. God, I didn’t know.

My chest ached with the confusion of it, twisting sharp like a knife, even as his arms tightened around me. 

His hold was crushing, almost painful, like he thought I might slip away if he didn’t hold on hard enough. 

My ribs protested, but I clung to him anyway, refusing to let go.

For one terrifying second I thought maybe I’d imagined it all, that I was still alone, clutching at empty air. But then I felt it—his chest rising and falling against mine, hot, solid, trembling.

Real.

My tears slipped down, dampening his shirt. My fingers shook as they curled into him.

And his scent—God, that scent.

Dark. 

Wild. 

Familiar in a way that twisted my insides. 

Earth and storm and smoke. 

It wrapped around me, buried itself in my lungs, coiled inside me like something I’d once known in another life.

I lifted my head, desperate to see him. 

But the darkness gave me nothing. 

No face. 

No shape. 

Only a pair of eyes—golden, glowing faintly, like embers smouldering in the night.

His thumb brushed my cheek with a gentleness so profound it made my throat ache. I leaned helplessly into the touch, even as the thought beat in my skull: He can’t be real. 

He can’t.

His lips crashed into mine—hot, desperate, trembling. His breath was unsteady, brushing against my mouth in ragged bursts, and his hands clung too tightly, like this kiss was the only thing keeping him alive.

And maybe it was the only thing keeping me alive, too.

When his teeth scraped over my lip, a sharp gasp tore out of me before I could stop it.

The sound he gave back wasn’t human. A growl rumbled out of his chest, low and primal, vibrating straight into me, right down to my bones. It was the kind of sound that should’ve frozen me in fear.

But it didn’t.

Instead, it lit me up, every inch of me burning like fire had been poured under my skin.

This can’t be real, I thought wildly. It can’t be. 

Dreams could do this—they could trick you into believing, into feeling too much, too fast. 

Right?

His fingers find the hem of my nightgown, and he slowly pulls it over my head, his eyes never leaving mine. 

I shiver as the cool air hits my skin, my nipples tightening and aching, craving his touch. He leans down, his lips capturing one sensitive bud, his tongue swirling around it, sending shocks of pleasure straight to my core.

I moan, my head falling back, my body arching into his touch. He moves to the other breast, giving it the same attention, his hands roaming over my body, mapping every curve, every line, every inch of me.

His lips trail down my stomach, his tongue dipping into my navel, sending shivers of pleasure through me. He continued his journey south, his breath hot against my inner thighs, his hands spreading me open, exposing me to his hungry gaze.

"Lean," I gasp, my body trembling with anticipation.

He pressed me back carefully until the edge of the bed caught me. 

Softness beneath, his weight above, every inch of him trembling with restraint. 

His golden eyes hovered above me, flickering faintly in the dark. I blinked, tried to clear my vision, but the shadows swallowed everything else.

Only his heat, his breath, his heartbeat proved he existed.

“Please,” I whispered, desperate. I didn’t even know what I was begging for. 

“Don’t stop. Don’t—don’t disappear.”

But the questions burned anyway. 

Who was he? 

My Lian? 

A cruel echo of what I’d lost?

His tongue emerges, a wet, warm serpent that trails long, possessive strokes up my inner thigh, getting closer and closer to my most intimate place. I squirm, my hips bucking, seeking more contact, more pressure, more of everything.

Finally, his tongue finds my clit, circling it, teasing it, sending waves of pleasure crashing through me. 

I cry out, my body convulsing, my fingers digging into the sheets as I ride the wave of my orgasm, my body shaking and trembling with the intensity of it.

He continues to lick and suck, drawing out every last shudder of pleasure, every last gasp of ecstasy. 

When I finally come down from my high, he moves up my body, his lips capturing mine in a deep, passionate kiss, allowing me to taste my own desire on his tongue.

My hands roamed over him, reacquainting themselves with the contours of a body my memory insisted they had known forever. 

My fingers slid into his hair, clutching as though I could tether him to this moment, to me.

He answered without words, only action. 

His mouth claimed mine again, fevered, urgent. My fingers traced shoulders, neck, jaw, clinging for proof. Every touch was too solid, too searing to be an illusion.

And yet the nagging doubt gnawed at me. 

Dreams could be vivid. 

Dreams could trick the mind into believing warmth, heartbeat, the weight of a body pressing down. 

I strained to find the fracture, the inconsistency.

But each time I thought I might, his hand moved—rough at my hip, tender at my ribs—and the thought dissolved into ash.

I leaned into him harder, pressing my lips to his chest, tracing the sharp line of his collarbone with my mouth. I needed to memorise him—every curve, every nuance. 

My mind screamed questions:

Who was he?

Why did he smell like him? 

Move like him? 

Feel like him?

My body screamed it was him, that I had found him, that I had never truly lost him. But my head refused to yield, hammering with disbelief and dread.

Could a dream leave marks—my nails biting into his shoulders, half-moons pressed into skin? Could a dream leave my throat raw from gasping his name?

Or was this madness?

Maybe grief had devoured me and conjured a man from shadow to ease the ache.

The thought burned my eyes with fresh tears. Even as pleasure consumed me, fear gnawed at my core.

“Are you real?” I whispered against his mouth, my voice so faint I barely heard it.

He gave no answer but a growl, followed by a kiss that silenced my plea.

He didn’t answer.

I reach down, my hand wrapping around his length, feeling the velvety smoothness of his skin, the way he pulses and throbs in my grasp. 

He groans, a low, primal sound that sends shivers down my spine, his hips bucking into my hand, seeking more friction, more pressure, more of everything.

He positions himself at my entrance, the head of his cock pressing against me, teasing, probing, promising

And with a single, powerful thrust, he enters me, filling me completely, stretching me, completing me in a way that I never knew was possible. 

A cry broke from my throat. 

My back arched, my hands clutched him as if he were my only lifeline. The rhythm built—wild, consuming—dragging me deeper into the storm. His growls shook the air around us, raw and feral, yet his eyes never left mine. Fierce. Golden. Commanding me to see, to believe.

We move together, our bodies in perfect sync, our breaths mingling, our hearts beating as one. The world outside fades away, leaving only the two of us, lost in each other, lost in the intensity of our shared pleasure.

I wanted to. God, I wanted to believe he was flesh, that this was real, that I wasn’t lost in a desperate invention of a lonely heart.

He continues to move, his hips thrusting up into me, his cock hitting that perfect spot, drawing out every last shudder of pleasure, every last gasp of ecstasy. 

Release tore through me, violent, unstoppable. 

My body convulsed against his, and he roared into my throat, collapsing onto me with a trembling so fierce the bed shook beneath us.

For a long time, we lay tangled, breathless, sweat cooling where our skin met. I wrapped my arms around him tighter, terrified that if I let go, he would vanish back into the dark.

Slowly, I lifted trembling hands to his face, needing proof. My fingers traced stubble, cheekbones, and heat. Solid. Real. I slid lower, finding the strong lines of his throat, the ridge of his collarbone. He didn’t vanish.

And yet, when I blinked, the darkness swallowed all but those golden eyes. My mind gave me no face, no clear picture. Only the glow, faint and fierce.

I shut my eyes tight, as though I could trap him inside.

Maybe I was lying somewhere else entirely. Maybe I was curled in the street outside, rain soaking through me, my mind spinning this hallucination because the truth was unbearable.

Maybe I would wake tomorrow with empty arms.

The thought carved me open.

I pressed my face harder to his chest, breathing deep, swallowing the proof of him. If he were only a dream, I would memorise every breath, every beat of him, until I carried him with me when he faded.

His hand moved through my hair, slow, trembling. No words followed. Only touch. Only silence.

And I couldn’t tell if silence meant he wasn’t real at all—or if words were too fragile to hold this moment.

I wanted to ask again, Who are you? 

I wanted to scream it, demand the truth. But fear strangled me. If he answered, I might learn it wasn’t him. 

If he answered, he might dissolve into nothing.

So I stayed silent.

I let myself lie in the arms of a man who might be a beast, might be memory, might be nothing at all.

The darkness pulsed around us, endless, unknowable.

And I couldn’t tell—would never tell—whether I was finally home, or hopelessly lost inside a dream.