The air around them had changed.
It was thick with unspoken things—desire, hope, and the thrill of rebellion.
Max had chosen her.
Even if the world didn't approve.
Even if it made everything harder.
And Lydia…
She had never felt more alive.
Since that night, they hadn't spoken much. But the way he looked at her at every family dinner, every passing moment in a room full of people—like she was the only thing he could see—it was louder than words.
She wasn't used to being desired like this. Wanted like this.
Claimed , without being touched.
But tonight…
Tonight, it would be different.
It started with a text.
Max:
Come to the guesthouse. Now.
No one's there. Just me.
Her pulse spiked. She barely hesitated. Slipping past her sister's room, down the hallway, and out the side door into the garden, her hands trembled with adrenaline.
When she entered the guesthouse, she found him near the window—shirt sleeves rolled, hair messy, his phone still in his hand.
He turned, and their eyes met.
"You came," he said quietly.
She nodded. "I had to."
He stepped forward, not wasting time. "I've missed you."
"It's been two days," she whispered.
"Too long."
And just like that, his hands were in her hair, lips crashing down on hers like a storm he'd kept bottled for years.
This kiss wasn't gentle.
It was deep and desperate, raw and consuming.
She felt him everywhere—his scent, the scrape of his jaw, the heat of his hands on her waist as he pulled her flush against him.
She gasped when his lips left hers and trailed down to her throat.
"Tell me to stop," he breathed against her skin. "And I will."
But she didn't.
She just gripped his shirt tighter and said, "Don't even think about it."
That was all he needed.
His hands lifted her up, and she wrapped her legs around his waist instinctively. He walked her to the sofa and sat with her straddling him.
"You're killing me, Lydia," he groaned, forehead pressed to hers. "Do you have any idea what it's like pretending I don't want to touch you in front of them?"
"You're not alone," she whispered back. "I want you so bad it hurts."
His mouth found hers again, slower this time. More reverent. Like worship.
But before things could spiral further—footsteps outside.
They froze.
Max stood instantly, adjusting his shirt, helping her steady herself. She grabbed a cushion to pretend she'd just been sitting casually.
The door didn't open.
The steps faded.
But the moment was broken.
"Next time," he said hoarsely, lips brushing her temple. "I won't stop."
She smiled, flushed and breathless.
"Good. Because next time, I won't want you to."
✨Later That Night
He stared at the ceiling of his room, unable to sleep.
Everything about her was imprinted on him now—her touch, her moan, the weight of her legs around his waist.
He had tasted what it would be like to have her.
And he didn't want to wait anymore.
"I'm going to marry her," he whispered into the dark. "I don't care what anyone says."
But deep down, he knew…
The real war was just beginning.