Meanwhile in Richard's room
The rain lashed against the windows, a wild rhythm that matched the pulse between them. Thunder rolled through the night, low and rumbling, vibrating through the air like a distant growl. Candles flickered, casting golden light over Elena's skin, making her look almost ethereal. Richard stood before her, his breath uneven, his eyes dark with something unspoken, something both of them had resisted for too long.
She shivered—not from cold, but from the heat coiling low in her belly. The anticipation, the unbearable tension between them, stretched thin, ready to snap. Her lips parted as if to speak, but no words came. What could she say when every glance between them already held a thousand confessions?
Richard reached out, hesitating for only a moment before the back of his fingers brushed against her cheek. She leaned into the touch instinctively, eyes fluttering shut.
"Elena…" he murmured, her name barely more than a breath, reverent and aching.
