Silk & Sabotage

You can only hide hunger for so long before it starts tasting like rage.

The palace was too quiet at night.

Too golden. Too obedient.

Even the wind didn't dare breathe without permission.

Lucas slipped out of the marital suite like a thief.

Barefoot, coat folded over his arm, wedding ring turned inwards on his finger. Shame lodged itself into the hollow of his back, like a blade he couldn't remove.

Behind him — a room perfumed with jasmine and silk.

A girl — no, a wife now — sleeping in the middle of a freshly sealed promise.

Mia's breath was slow, soft, and unconcerned. The kind of sleep you only fall into when you trust someone completely.

He hadn't even kissed her.

He couldn't.

Not when he still tasted someone else in the back of his throat.

And now — here he was.

Running like a sinner to confession, except he didn't want forgiveness.

He wanted the fire again.

The one person who made guilt feel like a drug.

Room 314.

The door opened before he could even knock.

Mino Kael stood there, shirtless, a scar running down the left side of his ribs. He leaned against the frame like he'd been expecting a storm — and Lucas was just the thunder showing up late.

The hallway light pooled behind Lucas's shoulders, casting Mino in half-shadow.

"You're late," Mino said, voice lazy, but his eyes — dark, alert, almost hungry — burned brighter than the sconces outside.

Lucas didn't answer.

He just stepped inside. Quietly.

Like it was a ritual.

Like the part of him that belonged here already knew the steps.

The room smelled like cloves, gunmetal, sweat, and something cruelly intimate.

Something that tugged at Lucas's memory.

Mino.

"I shouldn't be here," Lucas whispered, barely audible.

"That's the only reason you are," Mino murmured back. A smirk tugged at his mouth, but his hands were still at his sides. "Don't lie to me, Captain."

They didn't kiss right away.

Mino circled him instead, slow and deliberate. Like something wild, half-predator and half-lover, trying to decide whether to bite or beg.

Lucas stood still.

Each step Mino took was a pressure on his spine, an echo in his breath. The kind of gravity that made people forget who they were — or maybe remember.

Fingers brushed the edge of Lucas's coat.

Then slid under it.

Then pulled.

The coat dropped to the floor, forgotten.

"Did you kiss her?" Mino's voice was right at his throat now, warm breath skating along skin.

Lucas swallowed.

"No."

"But you wanted to," Mino said, barely a breath. His lips hovered just over Lucas's pulse — not kissing yet, just waiting to see if the truth would jump.

"I didn't," Lucas said, too fast.

Mino laughed then.

Soft. Low. Unkind.

"You're a terrible liar."

Then came the kiss.

Not sweet. Not gentle.

It was rough, possessive — the kind of kiss that tasted like punishment and need stitched together.

Mino's mouth crushed into his.

Lucas gasped against him, fists knotting in his hair, like Mino's lips were the only thing anchoring him to reality.

It wasn't love.

But it was something worse — memory.

Memory of every touch, every bruise, every whispered secret shared in hallways too narrow to breathe in.

"You're still mine," Mino growled against Lucas's skin, biting just below his jaw.

"Even when you pretend you're hers."

Lucas trembled.

"Don't say that," he whispered.

But Mino did. Again and again — not with words, but hands and teeth and sweat, until Lucas wasn't sure what name he was moaning anymore.

When they finally collapsed into the sheets, both of them bare and breathing hard, Lucas stared up at the ceiling like it could forgive him.

Mino lit a cigarette beside him, arm flung lazily over the sheets, eyes tracing the smoke like it held some prophecy.

"I didn't mean for this to keep happening," Lucas said after a long, aching silence.

"Liar," Mino said, not unkindly.

Lucas turned his face toward him. "I married her."

"So?"

"I said vows."

Mino gave a crooked grin, like the word vows was a joke he'd heard too many times.

"And yet you're here. Still crawling into my bed like you're starving."

Lucas said nothing.

"You think she's soft," Mino said suddenly. "But she isn't."

Lucas frowned.

"She's made of worse things than me. You just haven't seen it yet."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Mino took a drag, eyes still far away.

"She tasted like power. Once."

A beat. A crackle of ash falling.

"Now she tastes like you."

Lucas flinched. "Mino…"

"Now even I want to taste her," Mino said, turning to look at him, the cigarette burning between his fingers like a warning.

"Because she tasted what's mine."

The room went still.

Lucas sat up, sheets pooling at his hips. "You're not serious."

Mino didn't smile. Not really.

"Aren't I?"

Lucas left an hour later.

Shirt wrinkled. Collar bruised. Hair tangled like someone had pulled it hard.

He didn't look back.

The hall was colder now.

Or maybe he was.

He walked back to the marital suite like a man returning from war — the kind no one could see but everyone could smell on him.

The bed was still warm.

Mia's body curled lightly under the sheets, her breathing still soft, like the world hadn't shifted.

He slid in beside her.

Pretended it was okay.

Let her turn in her sleep and rest her head on his chest like he hadn't just given it to someone else.

But back in Room 314 —

Mino stayed awake.

He watched the smoke twist like ghosts in the dim light.

Thought about Lucas's mouth.

Thought about Mia's power.

Thought about what it would be like to break both of them — or belong to both of them — and which would hurt more.

He didn't know yet which one he wanted.

But he did know one thing.

He wasn't done.

Not with Lucas.

And not with her.