Page 104 of Brutal Crown
Yet, I still feel a storm rumbling at the pit of my stomach.
I can’t describe exactly what I feel. Rage? Emptiness? Hunger?
The grappling needs to have her by my side.
Eventually, I can’t stand it anymore.
It’s well past midnight, and yet I find myself wandering through the estate, craving something—maybe water, maybe company.
Maybe her.
My steps lead me to the kitchen tucked away in this long-forgotten wing of the house. I step inside. It’s quiet, barely lit—the main lights are off, and only a soft amber glow spills from beneath the cabinets, tracing the edges of the counters and casting the room in a warm, muted hush.
But she’s the first thing I see.
Lia.
She’s just now closing the back door, careful with the latch like she’s trying not to exist too loudly.
This wing is detached from the main estate—a forgotten guest house buried behind the western garden, far from the eyes and ears that monitor everything else.
No staff comes here unless specifically summoned, and no servant is allowed near it without permission. The place is practically off-limits. A dead zone.
She must be seeking isolation. Trying to escape the life she’s trapped in now.
And god, I can’t lie—it feels like I wished her into existence.
I’ve been thinking about her every damn minute. Wanting her. Needing her.
In the quiet moments, in the noise—I’ve been aching for her without even realizing how bad it had gotten.
And now she’s here.
Standing there like some fever dream finally answered.
She’s barefoot. Her hair is tangled, like she’s run her hands through it too many times trying to make a decision she already regrets.
Her eyes are rimmed with exhaustion. Her lips are parted, like she’s just caught her breath—or lost it entirely.
And then she sees me.
I’m leaning against the frame of the hallway door, silent, and half-swallowed by the dark. Her body jolts at the sight of me, a quiet, instinctive flinch.
Like she forgot I existed. Like she didn’t expect to be seen. Like being seenhurts.
Well, it’s the fucking opposite for me.
“You should be asleep,” I grit out, walking into the kitchen.
“I can’t sleep.”
I walk past her, heading toward the refrigerator. Her scent follows me, clinging to my skin and seeping into my lungs.
Thank god there’s still water here.
I grab a bottle, unscrew the lid, and in a few large gulps, the bottle is empty.
I’m still thirsty, but it’s not water I fucking want.
