Diana rested heavily against Cassius's chest, her hair a tangled cascade clinging to her sweat-slicked skin, her breaths shallow and ragged from the ordeal her body had endured.
The faint red mark on her breast pulsed with a lingering sting, a silent testament to Cassius's earlier cruelty, yet her exhaustion seemed to melt into the warmth of his embrace. Her eyes also fluttered, half-lidded, as she leaned into him, her vulnerability laid bare.
Vivi, watching from the edge of the bed, should have felt a pang of fear or sorrow for her mother's suffering, but instead, a deep, aching longing bloomed in her chest.
The sight of Diana—her fierce, unshakable mother, so intimately entwined with Cassius, their bodies pressed close, stirred something primal in her. She didn't just want to witness their closeness; she craved it for herself, yearned to feel Cassius's warmth, his commanding presence, to be held as her mother was, wrapped in that electric intimacy.
