Tainted Desires; Demons. Darkness. Damnation のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 71 - チャプター 80

‎Kane sees Castelle lost in thought ever since he told her that the people she knows as her parents aren't her real ones and that Rem could still be alive.‎He gave her space until afternoon then he intervened.‎‎Kane: “Come here.”‎‎She hesitates. He tilts his head. His voice sharpens.‎‎Kane: “I said—come here.”‎‎She moves toward him slowly, eyes down. He watches her carefully.‎‎Kane: “Talk to me.”‎‎She swallows hard. Her voice comes out small.‎‎Castelle: “It’s nothing.”‎‎Kane: “You know I don’t tolerate lies from you. What is it.”‎‎She bites her lip, hugs herself.‎‎Castelle: “I just... I shouldn’t even be here. Look at me.”‎Castelle: “I’m not beautiful like those other women. I’m not... enough. For someone like you.”‎Castelle: “I’m soft, too much, too emotional. Weak. I’m— I'm full of drama. Fake parents, missing or dead brother, evil ex-husband”‎‎His voice cuts through like steel.‎‎Kane: “Stop.”‎‎She flinches.‎‎Kane: “You do not speak about yourself like

‎The bedroom was soaked in shadows, the flickering light of a dying candle casting long shapes on the walls. The air was thick—humid with anticipation, with the primal scent of sweat, leather, heat and Kane—a blend if smoke, cedar and citrus.‎Kane stood in the doorway like a storm about to break, his chest rising slowly, then stilling when his eyes found her.‎‎Castelle.‎Bound. Bare. Brilliant.‎‎She lay in the middle of the bed, wrists straining above her head, suspended by a web of blue silk that was beautiful but unmistakably wrong—loose in places, taut in others. Sloppy. Lazy. Mason and Lyra’s must have done this. Kane’s eyes narrowed.‎‎Her ankles were cuffed to the footboard, legs parted enough to make her hips tremble and get a clear visual of her wet pussy shivering. A strip of white linen bit between her lips, tied tight at the base of her neck. Her chest rose in short, shallow gasps, nipples peaked, skin glistening with sweat, marked with the faint red lines of struggle

‎That evening, the manor was cloaked in its usual quiet, but the silence was suspicious—thick with maddening tension. ‎‎Kane descended the grand staircase slowly, the echo of his boots deliberate on the polished wood. His shirt hung open, collarbone bruised from Castelle’s teeth, his hair still damp from a rushed shower. There was a scratch on his jaw—thin, red, and wicked—and the corner of his mouth curled with the memory.‎‎He entered the breakfast room without a word. At the long table sat Mason and Lyra—smirking like foxes with feathers stuck to their lips. Across from them, Lucien sipped his coffee like he hadn’t heard the moan that shook the house hours earlier. Matteo scrolled through his phone, but his brows twitched—he was listening, just not pretending to care.‎‎Kane set his hand on the back of a chair, tapping one ringed finger against the wood. Once. Twice.‎‎“I see you’ve both rediscovered your creative flair,” he said finally, voice like silk over steel.‎‎Lyra lo

‎The door slammed shut behind Lucien with a sharp click—final, echoing through the dim, stone-clad room like a judge’s verdict.‎‎Lyra didn’t flinch.‎‎She sat cross-legged on the bed, her dress ruffled from earlier mischief, an untouched glass of wine in hand. Her eyes glinted with defiance. Pride. A little too satisfied for someone about to face her storm.‎‎Lucien’s eyes narrowed.‎‎He didn’t speak at first—just unbuttoned his sleeves and rolled them up, eyes locked on hers.‎‎“You thought Kane wouldn’t trace that little game back to you and Mason?” His voice was calm. Too calm.‎‎Lyra didn’t blink. “She asked for help. I gave it.”‎‎He moved closer. “You gagged her. With my silk.”‎‎“I thought you liked sharing.”‎‎Lucien’s jaw flexed. “Not when you share my things to provoke war.”‎‎Lyra smirked. “You’re not mad. You’re just… wound up.”‎‎Lucien stopped an arm’s length away. “You don’t get to read me, brat. Not after risking her safety.” “Do you know what would have ha

‎‎The night had swallowed the estate whole.‎‎In the quiet stillness of Kane’s private quarters, the outside world no longer existed. Just the weight of the silence, the warmth beneath the duvet, and two souls learning how to breathe again.‎‎Castelle lay curled into Kane, their bare skin pressed together under the soft cocoon of covers. His arm wrapped around her like a shield—solid, unmoving, safe. His breath kissed the top of her head with every exhale, while his hand stroked her back in slow, calming circles.‎‎“I used to think I wasn’t meant to be loved,” she whispered into the silence, her voice raw. “Before you, they never saw me. Just used me. Rooms I couldn’t escape. Shadows that smelled like liquor. I wasn’t a person—I was a body.”‎‎Kane didn’t speak.‎‎He only held her tighter, his hand pausing at the base of her spine, grounding her.‎‎“I thought I was broken,” she continued, chest tightening. “Especially after my ex-husband came back. I had finally started stitchi