The scent of roses and sweat lingered in the air, heavy and heady, clinging to the velvet drapes and the silk sheets tangled beneath them. Charles slowly pulled away from the golden-haired duchess sprawled beneath him, her skin flushed and gleaming in the aftermath of their passionate collision. Her breath came in soft, ragged pulls, her body still trembling with the aftershocks of release.
But it wasn't the pleasure that held Charles's attention—it was her eyes.
Luciana's half-lidded gaze, glowing with post-orgasmic warmth, was too focused. Too calculating. Like she was trying to memorize his soul before something tore it away.
"Was that real?" she whispered, her nails still pressed into his skin like she was anchoring herself to him. "Or just the System again?"
Charles smirked and kissed her damp forehead. "Does it matter, if it made you scream like a siren?"
She blushed. But she didn't smile. Didn't laugh.
And that was what set his senses flaring.
The silence.
