CHAPTER 156: BEG FOR LOVE

The air between them was heavy. Lydia sat on Ivan’s lap, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck as if she didn’t want to let go. He held her close too, his large hands moving gently through her soft hair, the strands slipping like silk through his fingers. She smelled faintly of the warm bathwater, of roses, and something that was simply her — a scent that made his chest ache.

She sniffled softly against his neck and spoke in a trembling voice.

"I missed you so much, Ivan," she whispered, her breath brushing against his skin. "I was scared. I used to cry every day."

Her words stabbed into him like a blade. His arms tightened around her.

"I’m really sorry," he murmured, his voice low and rough. "I’m sorry, Lydia. I am so sorry."

For a moment, there was silence — just the sound of their breathing, the faint rustle of her robe against him, the beating of his heart echoing in his ears. But then her voice changed.

It slipped in like poison.

"Then why did you do it?" she whispered in his ear.

The softness was gone. The warmth vanished. Her words were sharp now, cold enough to pierce bone. His grip on her loosened without him even realizing.

"Lydia..." he said quietly.

She pulled back from his arms, her movements unhurried, almost graceful. She looked at him with an expression so calm it was terrifying. There were no tears in her eyes now, no trembling lip. Just coldness. Too much coldness for such a beautiful face.

Then she snickered, the sound delicate yet cruel.

"Is that what you expected me to say?" she asked. "You are so foolish."

Her fingers lifted and began to trace lightly over his skin — his jawline, down the side of his neck, slow enough to make him shiver.

"Oh, poor you," she said in a mocking tone, her eyes never leaving his. "You must think I am still that foolish girl. The one you threw away like garbage when you got bored."

She tilted her head, her smile sharp yet delicate. "How adorable."

Ivan’s body was tense beneath her, but he didn’t move. He couldn’t.

"I can tell," she continued softly, leaning closer to his ear, "you still have feelings for me."

Her whisper was almost sweet — almost — but it slid into him like a dangerous caress. The way she said it, the faint curl of her lips, the deliberate brush of her breath against his skin... it made him shiver despite himself.

"How sweet," she added, her voice low.

Her hand moved against his chest, slow circles that made his skin burn.

"You want me," she whispered. "I can see it in your eyes."

He swallowed hard but said nothing.

"You want me so badly," she breathed. "Don’t you?"

Before he could think, she leaned in closer, so close that her lips almost touched his. His breath caught.

"Then what is stopping you?" she asked in a tone so quiet, so dangerous, it was almost a challenge.

"You are my husband," she said softly. "And I am your wife. You know you can always have me if you want."

Her lips hovered a hair’s breadth from his own. "All you have to do is ask."

Ivan’s hands gripped the edge of the chair, his knuckles white.

But she wasn’t done.

Her mouth moved to his ear, her voice dropping even lower. "But in your case," she whispered, "all you have to do is beg."

Then her lips brushed his ear, soft enough to make his whole body jolt.

His hand shot to the edge of the table for support, his fingers digging into the wood. His skin was damp, not from the bathwater but from the heat she was stirring in him.

She didn’t stop.

Her lips pressed small, slow kisses behind his ear, trailing down the side of his neck. Every touch was light yet deliberate, her mouth lingering just long enough to make him lose focus.

"Beg me, Ivan," she murmured. "That’s all it will take."

She pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, her lips curling into a smile that was both sweet and cruel.

And God, he wanted to.

He wanted to beg. He would beg. Right now, he would fall to his knees, kiss her feet, and plead for her to stay, to forgive him, to let him love her again. That was how badly he wanted her.

His eyes dropped. The front of her robe had come loose.

He could see the smooth line of her bare skin, the curve of her breasts, the soft pink of her nipples. His chest tightened, his breath coming uneven.

But then... his gaze traveled back up to her face.

Her eyes.

For some strange reason, that was all he could see now.

They weren’t warm. They weren’t sparkling like they once did. He remembered how they used to light up when she laughed, when she smiled at him as if he was her whole world. He remembered how her eyes had once shone so brightly when she told him she was happy because of him.

Now they were empty.

Dead.

And in that emptiness, he saw something else — a memory of her, crying alone. Silent. Heartbroken.

The truth hit him so hard it made his chest ache.

He didn’t deserve her.

He didn’t even deserve to beg.

He didn’t deserve her forgiveness, her mercy, her love. He deserved to suffer for what he had done. He deserved to live with this pain.

He didn’t deserve to touch her.

His body, which moments ago had been burning with desire, suddenly went still. His hands loosened on the chair. His breathing slowed.

When Lydia noticed the change in him, her expression shifted. She scoffed lightly.

"You are such a coward," she said.

She got off his lap with an elegant, careless movement and walked back to the bed. She picked up the book she had been reading earlier, opened it, and leaned back as if nothing had happened.

Ivan sat there, frozen. His eyes burned. Tears began to slide down his face, slow and hot.

His chest felt tight, as if someone had reached inside and gripped his heart with an iron hand. This wasn’t just pain. This was worse than torture.

He had always feared that one day she would hate him. That fear had haunted him for years. But the reality... the reality was far worse.

Because now he knew. She hated him. And it was all his fault.

It was worse than death.

Lydia lay on the bed, her eyes moving across the page of her book. She looked calm, even peaceful. But inside, she was seething. She had wanted him to beg. She had wanted him to crawl for her love, her attention. But he didn’t.

And she hated that.

She didn’t notice the way he sat with his back to her, shoulders hunched, silent tears falling from his eyes. She didn’t see the way he gripped his own hands as if holding himself together, because deep down... he didn’t even believe he had the right to beg for her.