Chapter 82: Fractured Desires

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Verbena's body tensed under Theodore's touch, her mind warring against the fire surging through her veins. She should push him away. She should remind herself of all the pain he had caused her.

But gods, his kiss burned.

It wasn't gentle, nor was it careful—it was hungry, desperate, demanding. As if he was trying to brand himself into her soul.

She clenched her fists, caught between wanting to give in and wanting to shove him away. The contradiction tore through her, leaving her breathless.

Finally, with all the willpower she could muster, she broke away.

"Stop," she gasped, her lips tingling.

Theodore's golden eyes burned with unspoken words, his breath heavy. "Why?"

"Because this… this doesn't change anything."

His jaw clenched. "Does it have to?"

"Yes," she snapped, shoving at his chest. "You don't get to kiss me like that and expect me to forget everything."

His fingers twitched at his sides, as if restraining himself. "Then tell me, Verbena. What do you want?"

She opened her mouth, but no words came out. What did she want?

Her heart screamed for the love he refused to give her. Her mind demanded justice for the pain he had inflicted.

"I…" she hesitated.

Before she could answer, a knock on the door shattered the tension.

"Your Grace, the carriage is ready for the banquet," a voice called from outside.

Verbena straightened, composing herself. "We should go."

Theodore didn't move at first. His eyes traced her face, searching, pleading. But when she refused to meet his gaze, he sighed and stepped back.

"Very well," he murmured.

She turned sharply, hiding the confusion on her face as she walked toward the door.

She would not let herself be weak. Not now. Not when she was so close to finally gaining the upper hand.

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Later, at the Grand Banquet…

The hall was breathtaking—crystal chandeliers cast golden light across the room, illuminating the polished marble floors and the luxurious velvet curtains. Nobles in extravagant gowns and tailored suits filled the space, their laughter and whispered conversations weaving together in a symphony of wealth and power.

Verbena walked in, her head held high, her deep crimson dress hugging her figure in a way that made every eye in the room turn to her.

But it wasn't just the dress that commanded attention.

It was her presence.

The once-forgotten duchess was now the center of every whispered rumor, every lingering glance.

And she would use that to her advantage.

"Quite the entrance," Duke Sinclair murmured, appearing at her side with a smirk. "You certainly know how to captivate a room."

She gave him a sharp smile. "Was that a compliment, Your Grace?"

"A truth," he corrected, offering his arm. "Care for a dance?"

Before she could respond, a firm hand wrapped around her waist.

"No," Theodore's voice was dark, possessive.

Sinclair arched a brow. "Jealousy doesn't suit you, Duke."

"Stay away from my wife," Theodore growled.

Verbena turned, her own anger flaring. "Excuse me?"

Theodore met her gaze, his expression unreadable. "You heard me."

She yanked her arm away. "I'll dance with whoever I damn well please."

Sinclair chuckled. "It seems your wife has a mind of her own."

Theodore's eyes darkened. "That's never been in question."

The tension between the three of them was palpable, drawing curious glances from the surrounding nobles.

Then, before Verbena could retaliate further, a new voice cut through the air.

"The duchess truly is the jewel of the evening."

She turned—and froze.

Standing before her was none other than Prince Adrien.

The very man Theodore considered his greatest political rival.

And the man who was now looking at her with blatant admiration.

A slow smile curved on Verbena's lips.

This night just became far more interesting.

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