All Chapters of GEEKY GIRL REVENGE: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

His hand lifted my chin, and this time, his kiss did not attack. It did not demand. It pleaded. As if he knew that what he was touching tonight was not just lips, but a heart that had been locked away for so long.His kiss traced a path from my lips to my cheek, then down to my neck and collarbone, leaving behind gentle marks like a painting that only the skin could understand. His fingers glided down my back, slowly untying the satin knot, as if uncovering a secret buried deep for years.“You can still say stop,” he whispered again.I looked at him. “Don’t stop.”“Don’t regret it, because I won’t be able to hold myself back,” he murmured hoarsely.His hands, lips, and body moved in rhythm, dancing along every curve of mine. And when he began to touch the most vulnerable part of me, I winced. But he didn’t stop. He continued with tenderness until he reached the depths.Hugo went still. He looked into my teary eyes, and in them, I saw surprise.“You’ve never been touched?” he asked. I

I shook my head softly, but I couldn’t hide my smile. His gaze was like that of a satisfied wolf, still wanting to play with its prey. Not out of hunger, but because he enjoyed every second of what had happened the night before.“You never get tired, do you?” I murmured as I picked up a knife and began slicing fruit. Hugo only smiled at me briefly, then turned to the ingredients he had gathered, moving with ease as he began preparing our breakfast. He’d become addicted to cooking for me ever since we stayed at the old Cassilas villa in Spain.He came closer and placed the dish he’d just made in front of me. His left hand found my waist, and his chin rested once again on my shoulder. This time, his breath was warm against the skin of my neck.“I’m tired,” he whispered, “but it’s the kind of tired I’ve longed for. And I know I’ll keep longing for it every time I wake up.”My hand slipped, the blade nearly grazing the tip of my finger. I hissed quietly.“Careful,” he said quickly, taking

Hugo looked at me as I helped him fasten the top two buttons of his T-shirt. “Ask me to stay,” he said. His hands, which had been loosely wrapped around my waist, gave a gentle squeeze. “Never. You have to go. Don't you dare make me, and possibly the baby we may have made last night, live in poverty because of your laziness.” I gave him a sly smile, then kissed his lips lightly. A deep sigh escaped his mouth, for what felt like the hundredth time this morning. “My fortune could last a hundred generations,” he muttered, as if trying to convince himself. I chuckled softly and caressed his cheek, where fine stubble had begun to grow, trimmed neatly. “Go. You’ve already marked me as yours. What has gotten into you?” His forehead rested against mine. Silent. Then the words slipped gently from his lips. “Our first night. My first night. Your first night too.” He closed his eyes, as though the gravity of emotion was too heavy to resist. I froze. “What…?” I whispered, barely audible.

Doña Graciela opened her arms and embraced me the moment I stood before her. She smiled at me."Come. I want to see my foolish son at once."We spent the ride exchanging light conversation. Just like a grandmother who hadn’t seen her grandchild in a long time. Until the car stopped in front of the Cassilas mansion."Walk lightly. Let no echo give away our arrival before I begin," said Doña Graciela as she stepped out of the car, of course with the help of the attendants who had opened the door for her."No one is to announce my arrival," she called out. All the staff bowed in respect.I followed behind her, my steps cautious but steady. Today was no ordinary day. This was the day sides would be chosen. The day I had to make it clear that I was not only part of the Cassilas family, but one of its forces.We passed through the long hallways of the mansion, lined with portraits of ancestors and crystal chandeliers swaying gently in the breeze. I could feel the slight trembling in my hand

Being the wife of Hugo Maximiliano Cassilas was never just about living in luxury or sipping tea on a marble balcony overlooking the city of Paris. Being a Cassilas meant being the face, the shadow, and the voice of a family name that was never far from scrutiny. Even before I fully understood the weight of my new position, the world had already demanded that I act as if I had long belonged.That day, the Cassilas family foundation held its annual gala to raise funds for children’s mental health research. It was a prestigious event, not merely for charity, but a stage for power, networking, and legitimacy.The silver gown I wore that evening was not my choice, but a direct recommendation from Madame Cassilas. A silent signal that, little by little, she was beginning to accept me again. With an off-shoulder cut and delicate crystals that shimmered under the chandelier lights of the Ritz Paris, I looked like someone crafted for this room. Though my heart wasn’t entirely sure it belonged