Let her go

Janevera’s POV

I crossed the space between us, every step silent but sharp, and leaned down onto him, sinking onto his lap like I’d been invited, like I belonged there. My legs draped over one of his thighs, my hand planted behind his broad shoulders for balance and the other settling boldly on his chest. Claiming him right in front of her.

Ceasar shifted beneath me, muscles tightening under my touch, but he didn’t stop me. He didn’t breathe a word. His eyes were locked on me. Not her but me.

And the woman noticed. Oh, she definitely did notice.

His gaze traveled slowly from my face down to my exposed body, jaw tightening as if he wanted to pull me onto his lap, straddling me over him and making me ride him until I forgot my own name. His breath hitched at the press of my naked body against his.

Her composure wavered just for the briefest moment and she froze, hands falling away from him, utterly stunned by my audacity.

I slid my legs higher along his thighs, brushing the hardness straining through his pants, my voice low enough for only him to hear: “Do you let all your guests touch you like that… or just her?”

Caesar exhaled slowly, dangerously, heat pressing into my skin.

I pressed my lips against his cheek, letting the warmth of my breath tease his ear. My fingers trailed lightly down his chest, tracing the ridges of his muscles, drawing a shiver from him without seeming desperate.

He inhaled sharply.

The woman cleared her throat, reminding me she was still present.

I didn’t bother looking at her and I could already feel the weight of her stare digging into my skin.

“You didn’t tell me you were expecting a visitor, sexy thing,” I said, voice teasing, letting the words roll with a lazy, mocking drawl. “I would have put on some clothes before I came down.” The subtle edge in my tone and the way my body claimed him in front of her left no doubt whose attention and possession mattered here.

“Who is she?” I asked next, not bothering to hide the sharp edge in my voice.

Caesar’s jaw clenched, the tension in him palpable. But before he could answer, the woman’s hand slid over his shoulder again, nails grazing his chest in a way that made my blood simmer.

“Oh, well… I’m his,” she began.

I cut her off with a soft, sweet smile, masking the sharp edge in my words.

“She must be the… new maid, then? Right?”

Her head snapped toward me so fast her ponytail whipped, eyes blazing with fury.

“What the heck did you just call me?” She hissed, her voice razor‑sharp, danger coiling through every syllable.

Caesar leaned back slightly, lifting a hand in a lazy, almost casual gesture, smooth and teasingly authoritative, almost amused.

“It’s fine, Sophia… She isn’t trying to pick a fight,” he said, his tone gentle enough to soothe, yet edged with a warning that only someone who knew him well would hear.

So Sophia was her name. I let a small smirk curl at the corner of my lips.

Sophia blinked, momentarily thrown but only for a heartbeat. She recovered quickly, of course she did, like the obedient little slut she’d learned to be whenever Caesar’s warning cut through the air.

Her glare sharpened, a cruel smirk twisting across her lips.

“Oh, so she’s your new temporary girl, huh?” Her voice dripped with Venom, eyes raking over me like I was something sticky someone had stepped in.

I didn’t flinch. My jaw tightened, pulse hammering hot beneath my skin, but I refused to give her the satisfaction of even a flicker of reaction.

Sophia leaned back, straightening her posture, arching slightly as she folded an arm beneath her chest. The motion pushed her full, heavy breasts upward, spilling more of her cleavage into view at the plunging V-line of her dress. Her smirk sharpened, predatory and deliberate, daring me to respond.“Don’t worry,” she purred, “he’ll dump you the same way he dumped the others.”

My stomach knotted. Neven's exact words were flashing through my mind.

Sophia wasn’t done. Not even close.

“And let me guess…” she continued, her tone dipping into mocking sweetness, “he calls you kitten too? Just like all the others, he fucks when he’s bored.”

My expression shifted, just barely but enough for her to notice.

Her smirk stretched wider, predatory. “Aww… struck a nerve?” she cooed, tilting her head with that fake, sugary sympathy she weaponized so well. “What’s the matter, sweetheart? Can’t think of a comeback? Cat got your tongue?”

A soft, mocking laugh escaped her lips, thin, sharp, meant to slice, each note savoring the pain she was intent on delivering. Then, her voice dipped, low and filthy, carrying a whisper that curled through the air. “Or…” she dragged the word out, letting it hum between us, “…did Caesar already put that tongue to use this morning?”

Before I could even blink, her hands lifted from her chest. Long, lithe fingers curled indecently, wrapping around invisible lengths. She leaned forward, letting her tongue flick the corner of her mouth, then began moving her head in a slow, obscene rhythm as if something thick were sliding in and out between her lips.

A filthy, mimicking performance crafted to provoke, to humiliate, to force a reaction and damn, it hit me like a strike straight to the gut. Every motion, every obscene gesture was designed to shatter the composure and pride I guarded so fiercely, all in one searing blow. She dragged it out, mocking me with cruelty, and Goddess, the sting of that insult cut deep into my chest.

My breath caught, lips parting in a silent scoff, no words came, no sharp comeback could pierce her smugness. Heat coiled in my throat, anger twisting tight in my chest, the pulse of fury thundering beneath my skin.

But before I could force anything out, Caesar’s voice slashed through the room, cold and commanding, “Enough, Sophia.”

Sophia froze mid-smirk, her hand dropping instantly, the command landing on her like a physical blow. There was no room for argument. Not when he used that tone.