Lahat ng Kabanata ng Betrothed To Six Lovers: Kabanata 131 - Kabanata 140

Lila’s P.O.VThe morning light felt different today.Not just brighter, not just warmer—it felt like it belonged to me. I woke before the first bell rang in the east tower, Lucian’s arm still heavy across my waist, his breath slow and warm against the back of my neck. I didn’t move right away. I lay there letting last night replay behind my closed eyelids: the way he’d whispered my name like a prayer when he was deep inside me, the way his fingers had traced every line of my body afterward as though memorizing me again, the way he’d hummed that wordless lullaby until my heartbeat slowed to match his. My skin still carried the faint imprint of his mouth on my throat, the ghost of his hands on my hips, the delicious ache between my thighs that made me shift and smile into the pillow.I was happy.Not the cautious, fragile happiness I’d learned to ration over the years.This was fuller. Bolder. The kind that made me want to stretch like a cat in sunlight and laugh for no reason at all.L

Lila's P.O.VI pushed through the side door of the throne room with more force than I intended, the heavy oak groaning on its hinges. The corridor beyond was cooler than the chamber I’d just left—almost a relief after hours of sitting under the weight of too many eyes and too many decisions. My head throbbed in that dull, familiar way it did after long sessions, the kind of ache that started behind my eyes and slowly wrapped around my temples like a thin metal band being tightened notch by notch. I rubbed at the bridge of my nose with two fingers and kept walking.The day had been long, yes, but not unbearable. A steady stream of petitioners: a baker whose oven had cracked during the last frost, two sisters arguing over their father’s last cow, a young widow who’d lost her lease because the steward claimed she “didn’t work the land hard enough” after her husband died. I listened. I asked questions. I ruled. Most left relieved. A few left angry. One left in tears. I didn’t enjoy the te

Lila’s P.O.V“I feel his spirit was disturbed,” Madam Lavinge said quietly, her eyes fixed somewhere beyond me, as though she were listening to a voice I could not hear. “And he has been searching for a way to reach you. But since you remarried… since you bound yourself to another man… the channel has been blocked.”Her words did not fall gently. They struck—sharp, invasive, lodging somewhere deep inside my chest where breath came hardest.For a moment, I could not speak.The air in the room felt thinner, as if the walls had shifted inward without warning. My hands, resting in my lap, had begun to tremble, though I hadn’t noticed until the porcelain saucer on the table rattled faintly from the vibration.Shay.The name pulsed through me like a wound reopening.Disturbed.Searching.Blocked.I had the sudden, overwhelming urge to cry—no, not just cry, but collapse entirely, to let years of carefully buried grief tear free without restraint. My throat burned with the effort of holding i

Lila’s P.O.VThe first sound was not his voice.It was breath.Rough. Uneven. Too close to the receiver, as though he had pressed the phone to his mouth without realizing it was already recording. For a moment, I heard nothing else—just that quiet, strained exhale, the faint rush of air that carried distance inside it.My fingers tightened around the phone.He was alive.Before my mind could run further, his voice came through—low, hoarse, threaded with something I had never heard from him before.Pleading.“Lila… God, I don’t even know where to start.”My chest caved inward.It was him. Undeniably him. The familiar cadence, the quiet depth of his tone—but frayed at the edges, like a rope worn thin from too much strain.“I’m sorry,” he said, the words tumbling out too quickly, as if he feared the message might cut off before he could get them out. “I’m so sorry I haven’t come home. I know it’s been days. I know you’ve been calling, texting… I saw everything.”Saw everything.A sharp a

Lila’s P.O.VThe quiet that followed his words did not feel empty.It felt full—fragile, breathing, like something newly formed between us that neither of us quite knew how to hold yet.I studied his face on the screen, memorizing the small details I had missed more than I cared to admit. The faint shadow along his jaw, the crease between his brows when he was thinking too hard, the way his eyes softened when they rested on me like I was something worth staying for.It made everything harder.Because now I could see him again.And seeing him made the distance feel sharper, more real.“I meant it,” he said again, quieter this time, as though afraid the promise might dissolve if he didn’t reinforce it. “About staying. About trying.”Trying.Such a simple word.Such a dangerous one.I nodded slowly, though something inside me still hesitated—not out of doubt, but out of self-preservation.“I heard you,” I said.It wasn’t quite acceptance.But it wasn’t rejection either.His gaze lingered