LUMENN now operates directly under government supervision, ever since our collaboration with the DTY—Division for Tactical and Yaw Enforcement—was made official. We share resources, missions, and intelligence, all bound by the same goal: neutralize VARAK and its leader, Aurelius Valemont.
It was already late at night. The world outside the LUMENN lair was still and silent, but inside my room, the soft glow of my laptop screen lit up my face. Arthur, now four years old, was fast asleep on my lap, his tiny hand still clinging to the edge of my hoodie. His soft breathing was my only anchor in this sea of chaos.
I was still tracking Aurelius. Always tracking.
Every step he made, every whisper from the shadows—if it existed, I found it. My desktop was a digital shrine—cluttered with folders named under codenames, encrypted messages, intercepted calls, and yes… dozens of photos. I scrolled through one of them. My heart clenched.
He looked… so different.
Still him, but not the same. His features were sharper now, mature, deadly. His jet-black hair was slightly longer, tousled as if he didn't care anymore. And those eyes—deep blue, almost violet under certain lighting—remained as cold and unreadable as the day I left. But something about them… told me he hadn't forgotten.
God, I'm still so in love with my fiancé. Even if we're enemies now.
Even the government failed to capture him. The man is untouchable. Every attempt to corner him ends with a trail of ashes and a mocking smile on some encrypted broadcast.
I sighed, exhaustion weighing heavily on my spine. Just as I leaned back, my system pinged—another Intel just dropped.
My eyes widened.
"Aurelius Valemont—Last Seen: Tokyo, Japan. Intel suggests successful acquisition of the final mafia syndicate. VARAK's command is now global. Estimated influence: 98% underworld control."
I choked on my tea.
Right below that intel… was a freshly uploaded picture.
Half-naked. Scarred. Muscled. Lean. Cold expression. His hand gripping a glass of whiskey while sitting like a damn king. The tension in my body short-circuited between frustration and something else entirely.
I groaned into my palm, whispering, "Why do you have to be so dangerously hot and ruin my life at the same time?"
It was already past midnight, and I was still choking over those freshly baked photos of Aurelius like some teenage girl seeing her crush for the first time.
"What the—?!" I sputtered, slamming my mug down and coughing into my arm as if the photo itself just sucker-punched me in the lungs.
Cough. Cough. Cough.
I couldn't stop. The sight of him—half-naked, his chiseled form bathed in low amber light, his usual cold expression dripping with danger and dominance—was too much.
"Crap," I wheezed, fanning my face dramatically. "I need holy water. A firewall. A priest."
My coughing must've been too loud, because a small voice stirred on my lap.
"Mama?"
I looked down. Arthur had woken up, rubbing his eyes with his little fists, his messy black hair tousled from sleep. He looked up at me with those same hauntingly deep blue eyes. His father's eyes.
"What's wrong?" he mumbled, half-asleep.
I cleared my throat, straightened up, and forced a smile.
"Nothing, sweetheart. Mama just... swallowed her tea the wrong way."
He blinked slowly. "You always swallow it wrong when you look at that man."
I froze.
"Wha—Arthur!" I gasped, scandalized, half-laughing and half-mortified. "You've been watching me?"
He nodded like the wise little prophet he was. "You stare at him like Mia stares at Felix. But you cry more."
I felt my heart twist at that. He was observant. Too observant. I leaned down and kissed his forehead gently.
"Go back to sleep, baby," I whispered. "Mama's okay."
He nodded and curled against my chest. As I held him close, I glanced one more time at Aurelius's photo on the screen.
"Why are you doing this to me, Aurelius?" I whispered, brushing Arthur's hair back.
And the screen stared back, silent and cold.
I gently laid Arthur down onto the bed and tucked him in, making sure his little hands were wrapped around his favorite stuffed bear. I slipped under the covers beside him, still coughing softly from earlier, trying to calm myself down.
But then it hit me—that memory.
The moment when Aurelius and I made Arthur.
My heart skipped. My face flushed a deep crimson as I recalled every breathless second, every desperate touch, the intensity in his eyes, the overwhelming closeness that had once existed between us. I still remember his holy 8 inches or more. The red velvet with veins as it shoved inside me...hard and rough...I buried my face in the pillow and groaned quietly.
Ugh. Stop. Not now, brain. Please, not now.
I pulled the blanket over my head, ashamed of how vividly everything returned. My heart thudded against my chest, my thoughts a mess of nostalgia, longing, and undeniable heat.
Seriously. What's wrong with me? I sighed internally. This is not the time to be thinking about his... everything.
I turned over. Then again. And again.
Nothing helped.
The ghost of his touch still lingered, the sound of his voice echoed somewhere deep in my mind. Even the blanket felt too warm now, like my body was reacting to something that wasn't even there.
And to make it worse, the peaceful breathing of our child right beside me only reminded me that Aurelius was not here. That he chose not to be here.
By the time the first light of morning filtered in through the curtains, I was still wide awake, staring blankly at the ceiling.
"…Damn you, Aurelius," I whispered hoarsely.
Sleep never came. But maybe the day would bring distraction.
To be continued...