The Bride Of The Devil-Chapter 237: The Broken Kiss Pt2

Lydia’s skin burned as Ivan’s lips pressed against her ankle.

It was such a fragile kiss, yet it carried the weight of a thousand apologies.

He kissed her like he wanted to take all her pain away. Every single one of it. Like he was worshipping her, not as a Grand Duchess, not as a woman wronged, but as Lydia. His Lydia.

Her breath shook in her throat. Her heart pounded so hard she thought it might break through her ribs. She wanted to scream, to laugh, to cry. She wanted to tell him to stop, yet at the same time she wanted him to never stop.

Her body trembled, her skin on fire from that single touch of his lips.

But then Ivan froze. Slowly, almost unwillingly, he lifted his face. His voice was rough, uneven.

"I am sorry," he whispered. "I did not... I got carried away."

The silence between them was unbearable.

He turned his eyes away, forcing himself to continue massaging her ankle as if nothing had happened. His big hands moved gently, his thumbs pressing slow circles into her sore skin, but his whole body was tense, trembling as though he was holding back a storm inside him.

Lydia’s mind was spinning.

Everything inside her felt torn apart.

When she looked at him, she didn’t see the cold stranger who had left her, the man who had broken her. She saw the man she had once loved with her whole soul. The man who had loved her so fiercely, so tenderly, the man who once made her believe she could fly.

Her chest tightened until she couldn’t breathe. The ache was too much. The confusion, the longing, the anger, the desperate love that refused to die even after everything.

And then the tears came.

Hot, painful tears streamed down her face before she could stop them. She tried to hold them back, but it was useless.

Ivan’s eyes lifted instantly. His whole body froze. His hands stilled against her ankle.

"Lydia," he breathed, panic in his voice. "Did I... did I make it worse?"

Lydia shook her head quickly. Her voice came out broken. "I’m okay... please, just leave."

But Ivan didn’t leave.

He leaned closer instead, his face shadowed with worry. His hand rose slowly, almost afraid, and then his fingers brushed against her cheek. He wiped her tears with a softness that made her break even more.

"Stop crying," he whispered. His voice was tender, aching. "Please, stop crying."

His fingertips lingered against her skin. Warm, careful. They burned into her like fire, yet soothed her like rain.

She couldn’t think anymore. She couldn’t fight anymore.

Her heart screamed, and her body moved before her mind could stop it.

She leaned forward and kissed him.

It was not gentle. It was not calm. It was wild, desperate, full of pain and longing.

Her lips pressed against his like she was drowning and he was her last breath. Like if she let go, he would vanish forever. Her hands clutched at him, pulling him closer, needing him, hating him, loving him all at once.

Ivan froze for only a second, shocked by the force of her kiss. But then the truth of it hit him. Her tears on his skin. The pain he had caused. The love still burning inside her despite everything.

And he couldn’t hold back anymore.

His lips moved against hers, rough, hungry, desperate. He kissed her back as if he had been starving for years and she was the only thing that could save him.

But then guilt struck him like a blade.

Her tears... her trembling... the hurt he had given her...

He pulled back, breathless, torn apart inside. His mind screamed at him to stop, to not cause her more pain. But then he looked at her.

At the way her lips trembled. At the way her eyes—wet, broken, yet full of love—looked at him the same way they did in the past.

He couldn’t stop. He couldn’t.

If he stopped, he thought he might never breathe again. If he stopped, he would lose her all over.

And that would kill him.

So he leaned back in and kissed her. Harder this time. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her against him. His hands gripped her waist like he was terrified she would vanish.

Lydia gasped into his mouth, but she didn’t push him away. Her body pressed against his, trembling just as much as his.

His lips moved frantically, pouring every unsaid word, every broken apology, every hidden love into her mouth.

And then his kisses softened.

His lips trailed to her cheeks, brushing away the tears that still fell. He kissed them like he wanted to erase her pain.

Then he kissed the tip of her nose, soft and fleeting.

Then her closed eyes, his lips gentle against her trembling lids.

Then her chin. Then her jawline. Each kiss softer, slower, like he was rediscovering her.

He moved to the curve of her neck. His lips pressed behind her ear. Lydia shivered, her hands clutching his shoulders tightly.

Her breath came in shallow gasps. Her body burned everywhere he touched. Her mind screamed at her to resist, to not give in, but her heart drowned that voice.

And then his lips returned to hers.

He kissed her deeply, slowly now, as if he wanted to savor every second, as if this was a dream he never wanted to wake from.

Their bodies trembled together. Neither of them could stop.

The world outside ceased to exist. The palace, the trial, the whispers, the pain—they all faded.

There was only this.

Only them.

Only two broken souls clinging to each other, desperate for the love that had been denied for too long.

Neither of them stopped.

They could not stop.

Because this was not just desire. This was years of silence. Years of pain. Years of love buried under ashes. And tonight, it was all spilling out like wildfire.