𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐀𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧

13⚚ My brat

Vencie POV:

Viraj crouched beside her, his gaze soft yet filled with an unspoken intensity that made Amaira's heart tremble.

His hand reached out, brushing over her cheek with a touch so gentle it felt like a whisper against her skin.

It was as if he feared she might shatter under the weight of anything more. His fingers lingered, tracing the faint trails of her tears, and his jaw tightened, a flicker of anguish crossing his face.

He hated seeing her like this—broken, vulnerable, haunted. But he also knew this wasn't the time for anything more than reassurance.

She needed him, not as a protector, but as someone who could help her reclaim herself, piece by piece.

His lips hovered near her cheek, and after a brief pause, he placed the softest kiss there.

It wasn't rushed or demanding—it was pure, his way of silently telling her: I'm here. You're safe now.

Amaira's breath hitched, her fingers clinging to the bedsheet as if holding on for dear life. But she didn't pull away. She didn't retreat.

Instead, she let him in to her personal space, something she'd never allowed anyone to do—not her father, not her brothers, no one.

The trust she placed in Viraj was something sacred, and he treated it as such.

He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting gently against hers. "You're safe," he whispered, his voice barely audible but carrying the weight of a thousand promises.

When she gave him a hesitant nod, he took it as permission to continue. Slowly, deliberately, he leaned in and kissed the corner of her lips before moving to her jawline.

Each kiss was measured, testing her comfort, ensuring he wasn't crossing a line. His lips found the soft spot just beneath her ear, and he pressed a lingering kiss there, his warm breath sending shivers down her spine.

Amaira let out a soft gasp, her body instinctively leaning into him. He wasn't just touching her skin—he was reaching her soul, rewriting the memories that had once caused her pain.

His kisses trailed down her jaw, slow and unhurried, before moving to her neck. The warmth of his lips against her skin made her shiver, but not from fear.

For the first time, Amaira didn't feel like retreating into herself. She didn't feel disgusted or tainted. All she felt was Viraj—his warmth, his tenderness, his love.

Viraj's lips grazed the hollow of her throat, and then he kissed her collarbone, his fingers gently brushing the fabric of her shirt. His touch was reverent, like he was handling something fragile yet precious.

With careful movements, he pressed a kiss to her shoulder, trailing down her arm to her trembling fingers. He intertwined their hands for a moment, squeezing gently.

"You're looking so gorgeous, baby," he murmured, his voice deep with emotion.

When her breathing steadied, he unbuttoned her shirt slightly from down, his eyes meeting hers for reassurance. She nodded, and he parted the fabric just enough to reveal the smooth curve of her stomach.

Bending down, he buried his face against her skin, letting his warm breath fan over her. "So beautiful," he whispered, the words vibrating against her, sending a warmth through her body she hadn't known was possible.

Viraj kissed her stomach, soft and lingering, his lips brushing against every inch of her skin as though trying to erase every pain she felt.

He blew gentle puffs of air, smothering her with affection that felt so pure it brought tears to her eyes. "You deserve to feel cherished, not broken," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.