The Predator’s Touch

The Roy Estate at night felt like a different world. While Hazel was locked in a psychological battle of wits with William in the dining hall, Freen was wandering the dark corridors of the East Wing—Becky’s territory.

Freen caught her reflection in a floor-to-length mirror. She looked breathtaking tonight. Her slim waist was accentuated by a silk slip dress, and her striking blue eyes looked almost electric in the dim light. Her red lips trembled slightly, not just from the cold, but from the adrenaline of being where she shouldn't be.

She reached a heavy oak door. The scent of leather and expensive bourbon told her she had found it. Without knocking, she pushed the door open.

Chapter 10: Into the Lioness's Den

The room was dimly lit by a fireplace. Becky was sitting in a velvet armchair, cleaning a chrome-plated handgun with terrifying precision. She didn't look up, but her voice cut through the silence like a blade.

"I told you what happens to lambs who wander into the woods, Freen."

Becky stood up, setting the weapon aside. She moved with the grace of a panther, closing the distance between them until Freen was backed against the closed door. Becky was dressed in a dark silk robe, her presence overwhelming.

"You look... beautiful," Becky whispered, her voice dropping to a dangerous rasp. Her eyes traveled over Freen’s features—from her blue eyes down to the curve of her waist. "Too beautiful for a place this ugly."

Chapter 11: The Point of No Return

Becky reached out, her hand—scarred and strong—grabbing Freen’s waist and pulling her flush against her. Freen let out a soft gasp, her hands instinctively landing on Becky’s shoulders. The height difference made Freen feel small, protected, and completely trapped all at once.

"Are you afraid of me?" Becky asked, her thumb tracing the edge of Freen’s red lips, blurring the color.

"I should be," Freen whispered, her heart racing against Becky’s chest. "But I'm not."

Becky’s gaze darkened. "You don't know what I am, little girl. I don't love. I possess. I consume. If you stay in this room tonight, there is no going back to your sister. There is no going back to your innocent life."

Freen looked up into Becky’s cold eyes and saw a flicker of something raw—a loneliness that matched her own craving for excitement. "Then don't let me go back," Freen challenged.

Becky didn't hesitate. She lifted Freen easily, as if she weighed nothing, and carried her toward the shadows of the massive bed. That night, the boundaries of the Armstrong family didn't just blur—they shattered. Freen wasn't just a guest anymore; she had become the obsession of a woman who didn't know how to play fair.The atmosphere in Becky’s private suite was thick with the scent of sweat, leather, and raw desire. Becky was a woman who didn't believe in half-measures; she wanted to break Freen and rebuild her as her own. After pushing Freen onto the sofa, she took her time staring at the girl’s perfect, slim frame. The contrast between Freen’s innocent blue eyes and the dark, predatory hunger in Becky’s gaze was electric.

Becky’s hands were rough and demanding. She gripped Freen’s chest with a bruising force, her fingers marking the pale skin as she claimed them. Every gasp that left Freen’s red lips was like fuel to Becky’s fire. For a full hour, Becky’s mouth was locked onto Freen, sucking and biting with a desperate intensity that made Freen’s body arch uncontrollably. The sounds of Freen’s cries and frantic breathing filled the room, echoing the madness of their connection.

Becky then forced Freen’s legs apart, ignoring any shred of hesitation. She moved down, her tongue and mouth becoming a weapon of pure pleasure and dominance. She didn't stop, even when Freen was shaking and begging for mercy. Becky stayed there, relentless, until Freen finally shattered, reaching a violent climax right in Becky’s mouth.

But Becky’s thirst was unquenchable. For the next hour, her fingers worked with a rhythmic, punishing speed, exploring every hidden depth of Freen’s body. Every thrust was a reminder of who was in control. Finally, Becky pulled Freen into a tight "scissor" lock, their bodies grinding against one another with a primal, desperate energy that lasted for another sixty minutes. Skin slapped against skin in the quiet room as they pushed each other to the very edge of physical endurance.

When it was finally over, Freen lay paralyzed, her body covered in bite marks and bruises—the map of Becky’s obsession. She was no longer the girl who had walked into the Roy Estate. She had been consumed.

"Look at me," Becky whispered, her voice a dark, jagged rasp as she looked at the wreckage she had made of Freen. "From this night on, every breath you take belongs to me. You are the shadow to my soul, and I’m never letting you go."

Chapter 13: The Mask Slips

The next morning, the sun was too bright. Hazel was already at the breakfast table, her eyes sharp and suspicious. When Freen finally entered the room, her walk was heavy and unsteady, her clothes slightly rumpled.

But it was the dark, unmistakable mark on Freen’s neck that made Hazel’s fork hit the plate with a loud clatter.

William Roy sat at the head of the table, calmly cutting his steak. He looked up at Freen, then at Hazel’s horrified face, and a slow, dark smirk spread across his lips. "Sleep well, Freen?" he asked, his voice dripping with hidden meaning.

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