Veiled in Rivalry | The Dark Tale of Passion and Power| [18+]

Chapter 30: Fractured Illusion

"In the wreckage of shattered dreams, even the most fervent illusions can bleed. What is loved beyond reason often lies in ruins, a testament to the peril of unbridled desire."

— Viktor Giovanni

The cold morning air cuts through the thin veil of sleep still clinging to me. I sit up, rubbing my eyes, trying to shake off the restless night. My body aches from tossing and turning, my mind weighed down by dreams that feel too close to reality. I drag myself to the shower, hoping the hot water will wash away the heaviness, but even as I step under the stream, I feel the tightness in my chest persist.

After dressing quickly—just a shirt and pants, nothing special—I make my way downstairs. The house is unnervingly quiet, the only sound being the rhythmic buzz of my phone vibrating on the kitchen counter. I grab it, already tense, and answer with a curt "Yeah?" as I walk into the dining room.

And there she is—Lara. She's sitting at the table, her frame draped in a modest dress, the kind she always wears. I find myself staring, my gaze trailing over the soft folds of fabric that hide what I know is underneath. My conversation on the phone fades to background noise. I'm barely listening now.

"Come here," I command, ending the call without even a proper goodbye. My focus locks onto her completely now. There's something primal in the way I look at her, a hunger I can barely contain.

Lara hesitates but stands, her expression unreadable, and walks toward me. I rise to meet her, the space between us shrinking until I can feel the warmth of her presence. I reach out, my hand cupping her cheek, my thumb brushing her lower lip—a movement that feels both possessive and tender at the same time. The sensation stirs something dark inside me.

"I don't want you in these clothes," I murmur, my voice low and rough. "I want you in nothing—or lingerie, something that's just for me when we're alone."

Lara's eyes flash with something I recognize immediately—defiance. She takes a step back, out of my reach, crossing her arms in front of her chest like a shield. "Are you out of your mind?" she snaps.

I didn't expect the pushback, and it stings more than I care to admit. Frustration flares inside me, and I take a breath, trying to mask the hurt with anger. I step closer, crowding her space, making sure she feels the weight of my presence. "You don't get to say no to me."

She shakes her head, her voice sharp and firm. "I'm not going to wear anything stupid for you. I don't owe you that." With that, she turns on her heel and sits back down, lifting her coffee to her lips as if dismissing me entirely.

Her casual defiance infuriates me. The audacity of it—of her—to ignore what I've asked so easily. I grab the cup from her hand and slam it down on the table, the sharp crack of porcelain hitting wood making her flinch. The anger in me builds, rising like a storm. I step toward her again, and this time I grab her waist, pulling her against me. My fingers dig into her sides just enough to make her gasp, just enough to remind her of the strength I have over her.

"I only wear modest clothes," she says, her voice trembling, trying to keep her composure. Her eyes dart to the door, and I can see she's contemplating an escape. "It's who I am."

"Modest clothes?" I hiss, my lips curling into a sneer. "You think that's what angers me? You really don't understand, do you?"

She doesn't answer. I can feel her heart pounding against me, her body tense as she waits for my next move. She's always been good at hiding her fear, but now it leaks out in the smallest of ways—the way her breath catches, the slight tremor in her voice.

I grip her chin, forcing her to meet my eyes. "You don't defy me, Lara. If I tell you to wear something, you wear it. If I tell you to be silent, you shut up. Do you understand?"