005: A morning after happiness

Liana’s POV

Gasping, I felt his hands glide over my breasts, slow, reverent, maddeninngly familiiar. A shiver ran through me as warmth pooled between my thighs, desire pulsing beneath my skin. My hips arched instinctivelly, guided by hands that weren’t truly there.

His touch lingered, featherlight. Fingers traced the curve of my breasts, ignitiing sparks in their wake. A moan escaped my lips, soft, involuntary.

“Maxwell…” I whispered.

I reached for him.

But the illusion shattered.

Morning light poured through the blinds, cruel and sterile. My fingers closed around empty air. He wasn’t here.

Of course he wasn’t.

I sat up, heart hammmering, sheets twisted around my legs. My nightgown clung to sweat-damp skin, nipples taut beneath the thin fabric, aching with unfulfillled need. I presssed trembling hands over my chest, willing the desire to passs, but the heat wouldn’t leave.

Because last night hadn’t just been a dream. It was a memory. A mistake.

One I swore I would bury.

I slipped out of bed quietly. Maxwell was stilll asleep when I’d snuck out. His back had been turned to me. Muscles relaxed, jaw slack in sleep. That image haunted me now.

I padded into the bathroom, tearing the silk from my body as if it burned. The underwear I wore just for him landed in a heap. In the mirrror, my reflection mocked me, flushed cheeks, swollen lips, eyes swollen with more than just sleep.

Pathetic.

I leaned against the sink, breathing deeply. You promised last night was the end. But my body refused to let go of him. The way he touched me. The way he looked at me. Like I was all he ever wanted.

I stepped into the shower and turned on the cold water, hoping it would cleense me. Drown the ghost of his touch. But the moment I shut my eyes, he returned, his breath on my neck, his weight pressing into me.

I flinched and shut off the tap.

Get a grip, Liana.

Wrapped in a towel, I stormed out, pulled my sketchbook from the drawer like a lifeline. I needed to draw. I needed to bleed this ache onto paper. My pencil moved in frantic strokes, lines connecting, curves forming. Skin, shoulders, abs, that signature smirk. My vision blurred, but I kept going until the image was complete.

Maxwell. Naked. As I remembered him.

I stared at the drawing, breath hitching.

And then, a knock.

Reality cracked back in.

“Come in,” I called, quickly pulling the towel tighter.

Maria stepped in with a cautious glance. Before she could speak, I heard a voice, his voice, booming from outside the room.

“Is my husband still here?” I asked sharply, already halfway to the wardrobe.

“Yes, ma’am,” she replied, quiet.

I blinked. Mattio? Still home?

The air shifted. “What’s going on? Who’s he yelling at now?”

“No, ma’am. He’s not scolding anyone. He has… a visitor.”

I froze mid-motion.

“A visitor?” I echoed. Mattio? Hosting someone at home? He barely acknowledged my presence most days. “Who?”

“He asked me to inform you to come downstairs,” Maria said with measured calm.

“Tell him I’ll be down shortly,” I murmured, already moving.

She nodded and left.

My hands trembled as I searched through my closet. I didn’t know why, but something felt… wrong. I needed to wear something beautiful. Impressive. Like armor.

Finally, I chose a soft peach blouse and cream trousers, elegant, not too revealing. Lip balm. Light makeup. I smoothed my hair and headed for the parlor, heartbeat fluttering like a warning bell.

The stranger’s back was to me. He was laughing at something Mattio said, a wide, fake grin stretched across his face. Polished. Confident. Too perfect.

Mattio noticed me and gestured without warmth. “Bro, meet my beautiful wife,” he said flatly, hand slicing through the air. No affection. Just obligation.

“Wifey,” he added with a smirk, “meet my stepbrother. The one I told you about, been out of the country for years.”

I stepped forward.

The stranger turned.

The air left my lungs.

No. No, no, no.

Maxwell.

My knees threatened to give way. I gripped the chair beside me for balance, masking it as grace. What the hell is he doing here?

“Sister-in-law,” Maxwell said smoothly, that same seductive voice now sharpened into something venomous. “It’s a pleasure. You’re even more beautiful in person.”

I swallowed hard. His eyes locked onto mine. No flicker of confusion. No hesitation.

He knew.

And he was pretending.

I forced a smile, thin and britttle. My heart beat so loudly I feared they could hear it.

“Pleasure’s mine,” I replied, sitting beside Mattio, hands clenched in my lap.

Maxwell sat opposite me, relaxed, comfortable. Dangerous.

God, what game was he playing?

How could he just sit there and lie so effortlessly? How could he pretend nothiing had happened between us less than twenty-four hours ago?

I wanted to scream.

Instead, I poured juice into a glass with shaking hands and nodded politely at whatever Mattio was saying. I couldn’t even hear the words.

All I could see was him.

All I could feel was everything we did replaying in my mind like a curse.

And worst of all… I still wanted him.

But I couldn’t afford to. Not now. Not like this.

Because now, he wasn’t just my past.

He was my husband’s stepbrother.

And I was trapped.

“So,” Mattio said, his voice sharp, “Maxwell’s going to be staying with us for a while. Family reunion, you know how it is.”

I turned my gaze slowly to Maxwell.

His eyes glinted with something unreadable, challlenge, amusement, danger.

He smiled again, soft and slow.

“Can’t wait to catch up, sis.”