Chapter 244: The Hidden Pain

Ivan and Lydia were kissing in the hidden room in the library. Their lips moved against each other in desperation, soft yet hungry, as if both were afraid the other would vanish if they stopped. Lydia could taste the alcohol in his mouth. It was strong, bitter, heavy on his tongue. She knew he was drunk, maybe too drunk, but in that moment she did not care. All she wanted was him. All she wanted was to feel the warmth of the man who once held her heart.

Ivan pulled away, his breathing rough and uneven, but his lips did not stop. He bent his head lower, his mouth brushing the soft skin of her neck, then lower still. He kissed her back, the line of her spine, each kiss burning her more than the last. His hands trembled as he undid the laces of her dress, whispering with a broken voice, "I missed you. I missed you so much. It is too painful to live without you."

Those words hit her harder than the kisses. Lydia’s chest tightened painfully. The thought of him missing her after everything he had done, after all the pain he caused, made her heart ache so deeply she could barely breathe. A part of her wanted to scream at him, to push him away, to tell him he had no right. But her body betrayed her. She melted into his arms, clinging to him as if she, too, had been starving all these years.

When he was done with the dress, it slid off her shoulders and pooled onto the floor. He lifted her up gently, his arms shaking as though even holding her was too much for his body to bear. He carried her to the bed tucked away in the hidden room and laid her down as if she were something fragile, something breakable.

Lydia’s body trembled. Her mind screamed that this was wrong, all of it wrong. He hurt her. He abandoned her. He left her when she needed him most. She should not forgive him, should not allow this. Yet her eyes met Ivan’s, and she froze. His gaze was soft, tender, overflowing with longing and pain. He looked at her as though she was the only light in his dark world. He looked at her as though she was still the most beautiful thing in his life—because she was.

Ivan’s hand slid into his pocket. He pulled something out. Lydia blinked through her tears and saw the necklace, the one he had searched for all these years, the one tied to their love and all they had lost. Without a word, his hands trembling, he placed it around her neck. His lips pressed against her nape, then the side of her throat, his kiss gentle, reverent. Lydia closed her eyes, her tears slipping down silently.

He pulled back only long enough to undress himself. His movements were clumsy, heavy, betraying how drunk he truly was. Lydia could see it in the way he fumbled with his buttons, in the way he swayed slightly, in the redness of his eyes. But she could not move. She was trapped by her own heart, trapped by the part of her that still loved him, no matter how much she tried to bury it.

He hovered above her then, his face so close, his breath warm and laced with wine. He kissed her again. Soft kisses, tender kisses, desperate kisses. He kissed her lips, her cheeks, her chin, her eyes, the bridge of her nose, and then returned to her lips as though he could never have enough. His mouth moved lower, to her breasts, taking her nipple between his lips, sucking softly, making Lydia gasp and arch beneath him. His kisses trailed down her stomach, and her whole body trembled as heat rushed through her.

She was already wet, already aching for him though her mind was still at war with her heart. Ivan’s lips reached between her thighs. He kissed her there, sucking her softly, gently, then harder, his tongue moving with desperate hunger. Lydia’s fingers curled into his hair, pulling him closer. Her head fell back, and soft moans slipped past her lips. "Ivan..." she gasped, calling his name again and again. Her body shook as pleasure built inside her, stronger and stronger, until it broke, and she came trembling under his mouth, her cries echoing in the small hidden room.

Ivan did not stop right away. He kissed her stomach again, her hips, her skin, as though worshipping her, as though even her sweat and tears were holy to him. Then he kissed his way back up, over her chest, her shoulders, her throat, until finally his lips found hers again.

And then, at last, he entered her.

Lydia gasped, clutching him tightly, her eyes squeezing shut. The pain he had caused her, the heat, the unbearable closeness—all of it crashed down at once. Ivan buried his face in her neck, his breath hot against her skin, his movements deep, uneven, desperate. He was drunk, she knew it, she could feel it, but his body still remembered hers. He moved as though he was relearning her, rediscovering every inch, every sound she made. Lydia clung to him, her nails digging into his back, her lips pressed against his shoulder as she moaned softly into his skin.

Their bodies rocked together, tangled in sheets, tangled in pain and longing and something neither could name. His kisses found her lips again and again, as though he needed her mouth to survive. Their moans and breaths filled the air. He whispered her name, broken and slurred, over and over, and each time it stabbed at her chest.

They came together at last, both trembling, both gasping. Ivan’s lips pressed against hers once more, soft and lingering, his kiss tasting of tears and wine and love. Their bodies collapsed into each other, sweat and heat binding them, their hearts beating as one. For a moment, for just that night, the world disappeared.

---

By dawn, Lydia’s eyes fluttered open. The room was still dark, the air heavy with the smell of wine and skin. Ivan lay beside her, his body slack with sleep, his face turned toward her, his hair falling over his closed eyes.

Lydia stared at him, her chest twisting painfully. Reality crashed back like ice water. What had she done?

She sat up, clutching the blanket to her chest, her whole body shaking. She looked down at herself, then at him. Her mind screamed. This was wrong. So wrong.

Quickly, with trembling hands, she reached for her clothes. She dressed hurriedly, her eyes blurring with tears. "How could you be so stupid?" she whispered to herself. "How could you?"

She dared not look back at him as she opened the door. Her heart was heavy, her throat tight. She slipped out of the library, her steps silent, like a thief escaping into the night. Tears streamed down her cheeks, blurring the halls around her.

From a distance, Tatiana watched. Her lips curled in disgust, her eyes narrowing as she saw Lydia leaving the hidden room, her movements hurried and guilty. Tatiana’s nails dug into her palms as she whispered to herself, "Like a thief..."

When Lydia was gone, Tatiana slipped into the library. She searched until she found the hidden room. Her breath caught when she saw Ivan lying there, covered loosely by a blanket, his bare chest rising and falling slowly. He looked so vulnerable, so wasted.

Her chest burned with anger, her teeth clenched. She turned to leave, but then she stopped. A thought entered her mind, sharp and dangerous.

She looked back at Ivan and smirked. Slowly, she undid the laces of her own dress. She let the fabric fall around her and walked toward the bed. With cold determination, she slipped under the blanket and lay beside him.

Her eyes glittered with a cruel fire as she thought, This is a good opportunity.

---

In the present, Tatiana sat on her bed. Her eyes were red, her face pale. She had not slept all night. Her body trembled with restless energy. She kept biting her nails until they bled, the taste of iron filling her mouth.

Her thoughts spun wildly, choking her. "I need to get rid of her," she muttered. "I need to get rid of her once and for all."