The Bride Of The Devil-Chapter 48: Love, Secrets And Blood

She was surprised.

Lydia stared up at him, wide-eyed and silent at first. Her lips parted slightly, but no words came out. She hadn’t expected him to come. Not tonight. Not after everything. Not after Tatiana.

Ivan looked down at her with soft, curious eyes. "What?" he asked quietly.

She blinked and looked away for a moment before answering in a quiet voice, "I didn’t think you’d come."

He raised an eyebrow, gently brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "Why?"

She couldn’t say exactly. She just shrugged slightly and muttered, "I thought..."

He studied her face for a second longer, and then a small, knowing smile tugged at his lips. He understood right away.

Lydia’s eyes widened. "What? Why are you smiling at me like that?" she asked, half shocked, half flustered.

He chuckled softly.

"What’s funny?" she asked, frowning and folding her arms, embarrassed.

He tilted his head, still smiling. "I just read your mind."

She frowned even more. "You can’t read minds. That’s not possible."

"No," he said, lowering his voice and leaning closer, "but I can read yours."

Her heart skipped a beat. Her breath caught when he came even closer and whispered softly in her ear, "You’re jealous, aren’t you?" Then his lips brushed against her ear, warm and slow.

She shivered. Her voice was barely audible when she said, "Is it that obvious?"

He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. "Yes," he said against her neck, "your face says it all."

His tone turned serious as he pulled back just a little. "Tatiana was one of the first friends I ever had," he said. fгeewёbnoѵel_cσm

Lydia’s eyes dropped to the floor. Her voice was quiet and small. "She must have been special to you."

He shook his head. "Not exactly. She was just someone I considered a friend. That’s all. It was a long time ago, Lydia. It doesn’t matter now, does it?"

Lydia looked up at him, her bottom lip jutting out in a small pout. "It does," she said.

She didn’t say the rest out loud, but it filled her heart anyway. More about you. I want to know more about you. I barely know anything.

She couldn’t form the words, but Ivan saw them clearly in her eyes. He stared at her for a moment, his face unreadable, then he whispered, "It’s best you don’t. You don’t want to know."

Before she could respond, he leaned in and kissed her—deeply.

Lydia gasped softly against his lips, surprised at the sudden intensity, but then she melted into it. Their mouths met again, more desperate this time, their bodies pressing together as the kiss deepened. She felt his hands cradle her face, then slide slowly down to her waist, pulling her closer.

Her fingers tangled in his hair. His breath was hot against her skin as he moved to kiss her neck, sending chills down her spine. She held onto him tightly, their bodies flush. His kisses grew slower, more deliberate, tracing her skin like he was memorizing her. He whispered her name like it was a secret, a prayer, something sacred.

She answered him with soft gasps and quiet moans, letting him take her deeper into a place she’d never been before. Every touch lit a fire inside her. Her nightdress slipped from her shoulders and he stared at her like she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. There was no rush, only gentle hunger.

He kissed her everywhere—her collarbone, her chest, her stomach—until she was trembling beneath him. Then he looked into her eyes once more, asking without words. She nodded, breathless.

He entered her slowly, carefully, like he didn’t want to break her. Her fingers dug into his back. Their bodies moved together in rhythm, soft and desperate. She clung to him like he was the only thing keeping her grounded. Every kiss, every touch, every movement was full of love, even if the words were never said.

She whispered his name over and over as they lost themselves in each other.

When it was over, they lay wrapped in each other’s arms, skin against skin, hearts still racing. Lydia was pressed against his chest, her cheek resting where she could hear his heartbeat. It calmed her. It made her feel safe.

But that feeling didn’t last.

Hours later, while the sky was still dark, Ivan slowly stirred. Lydia’s arms were still wrapped around him, her breath soft and even. She was asleep.

Carefully, he lifted her arm and slid out of bed. He moved gently so she wouldn’t wake. He pulled the blanket over her shoulder, making sure she stayed warm. She stirred slightly but didn’t wake.

He dressed quickly and quietly, not making a sound. Then, without a word or a glance back, he slipped out of her chambers and closed the door behind him.

A few minutes passed.

Lydia’s eyes fluttered open suddenly. Something felt off. Her arms reached out—but he wasn’t there.

She sat up quickly, her heart pounding.

"Ivan?" she called softly, but the room was silent.

She jumped out of bed and ran to the window. Just as she pushed the curtain aside, she heard the faint sound of hooves. A horse.

Her eyes widened. She saw his dark figure riding out through the palace gates under the moonlight, his cloak blowing behind him.

He was leaving again. But why?

She stood at the window, arms wrapped around herself as the cold air touched her bare skin. She didn’t move. She just stared at the spot where he had vanished. She waited. And waited.

Eventually, her eyes grew heavy. Her legs gave up and she sat on the bed, hugging her knees. She didn’t remember falling asleep, but when she opened her eyes again, it was morning.

The soft orange light of dawn poured into the room.

She blinked groggily and turned her head.

Ivan was beside her.

He was sleeping peacefully, as if he had never left. His dark hair was tousled, his breathing even. He looked so calm, so unbothered.

Lydia stared at him. Confused. Relieved. But mostly... hurt.

She sat up and reached out gently, brushing his hair with her fingers. "Why won’t you let me in?" she whispered to him, her voice trembling.

Her hand moved through his hair again—but this time, she felt something sticky.

She pulled her hand back slowly and looked at her fingers.

Blood.

Her heart stopped.

She stared at the red on her skin, her throat tightening. Then she looked back at Ivan.

His shoulder rose and fell steadily. He was alive. But where had he gone? What had he done?

And why did he come back like nothing had happened?

Lydia couldn’t speak. She just sat there beside him, the sunlight creeping in quietly, warming a room suddenly filled with new questions.

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