Revenge amnesia upgraded to his brother (Norah and Lucien) novel Chapter 172

Chapter 172

Norah’s POV

“My queen,” he said, his voice low. “I obey.”

I picked up the soft measuring tape from the desk, my face all business.

“Take it off.”

“What?”

“Your shirt. Your pants. Everything down to your underwear.” I held his gaze. “I need

measurements.”

Irina and Katarina stared, probably sure they’d misheard.

Lucien didn’t hesitate.

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your

His fingers went to the buttons of his shirt. One. Two… revealing the hard lines of his chest and stomach.

Then his belt. His trousers.

Soon, he stood before us, powerful and wildly masculine, clad only in simple black briefs that did little to hide the desire straining against the fabric.

“Wow,” Irina whistled. Katarina watched, arms crossed, keen interest in her eyes.

I walked up to him, my expression neutral.

My fingertips traced a path down his burning chest. He shuddered.

“Lucien.”

“Hmm?”

“Stand straight. Don’t move.”

I got to work.

The soft tape slid over his waist, his hips. Every touch was like striking a match.

I felt the tension coiling in his muscles, his breath growing ragged.

“Norah.” He grabbed my wrist, his voice rough and strained. “Enough.”

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“I’m working, Mr. Constantine,” I said coldly, pulling my hand back.

When the tape reached the apex of his thighs, my fingers brushed against the searing heat beneath the fabric.

His body locked up,

breath catching.

I just noted the number calmly in

my book.

Finished, I stood and walked away.

“Norah…” he called after me, voice thick.

I didn’t look back. I heard his heavy, controlled breathing.

I returned to the sewing table and picked up the ruined lace. I would sew this myself.

“Your hand can’t handle it,” Irina said, pressing down on my injured one. “I’ll get the best craftsman from the atelier.”

“No.” I pushed her hand away. “Broken Vows‘ gets made by my hands. Only mine.”

I put on the finger guards and magnifying glasses, clumsily picking up the embroidery needle with

my left hand. It was awkward. The stitches went crooked. I nearly punctured the lace.

“Tch,” I snapped in frustration, putting the needle down. I glanced at my bandaged right hand and made a decision.

I switched the needle to my right hand. The familiar control returned instantly. But the concentration, combined with the old injury’s lingering numbness, made fresh blood bead along the new cut.

“Enough!” Lucien was suddenly beside me, trying to take the needle.

“Don’t touch me!”

“Norah! Your hand is bleeding!” He held my hand tight, refusing to let go.

“Let go!”

“No!”

As we struggled, a single drop of crimson blood fell from the wound.

It landed, perfectly centered, on the black lace–right on the pistil of the eerie, gold- embroidered iris.

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The office fell silent.

Everyone stared, stunned by the strange, dark beauty of it.

The blood soaked into the black lace, intertwining with the gold threads like a beating, burning heart.

Lucien stared at the blood, his eyes filling with a feverish obsession.

He slowly released my hand, lowered his head, and kissed the blood from

my

skin.

I pulled my hand away, ignoring him. I picked up the needle again, dipped the thread into the remaining blood, and began stitching it into the iris’s heart. Fine, tight stitches, locking that touch of red inside.

my

“This is what it was meant to be,” I said softly. “Broken vows. A king crowned with blood.”

“Tsk, so damn sexy,” Katarina whistled.

I tossed the finished piece to Lucien. “Go put it on. My model.”

He caught the lingerie stained with my blood, gave me a deep look, and walked into the dressing room.

Irina and Katarina looked at me, their expressions a mix of amusement and something more complex.

I walked to the liquor cabinet, poured a whiskey, and threw it back. The burning liquid sent heat through my numb body.

Five minutes later, Lucien emerged.

When he stepped out, even Irina and Katarina–used to top male models–gasped.

‘Broken Vows‘ on him was a thing of divine beauty.

The black lace hugged his muscular lines. The golden iris veins snaked across his taut lower abdomen, that single drop of dried blood sitting precisely at the base of his length.

Restrained, seductive, holy, decadent… all these contradictions merged perfectly on him.

“Tsk, Mr. Constantine,” Katarina said, her eyes roaming over him. “What a waste of a body like that, not being a model.”

I walked up to him. I reached out, tracing a path from his hip bone, down, my finger skimming over the black lace, following the gold thread until it rested on that spot of red.

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He sucked in a sharp breath.

“Not bad,” I said, lifting my eyes to meet his, now dark with raw desire. “The fit is perfect. Go change.”

He held my gaze for a long moment, then turned back to the dressing room.

Ten minutes passed.

Lucien still hadn’t come out.

Frowning, growing impatient, I walked over and knocked. “Lucien?”

No answer.

A bad feeling washed over me.

“Lucien! Open the door!” I banged on the door panel.

Still nothing.

“Something’s wrong!” Irina and Katarina sensed it too.

The door was locked from the inside.

“Get the spare key!” I shouted at the assistant.

My hands trembling, I shoved the key into the lock.

The door swung open.

The dressing room was empty.

Only ‘Broken Vows‘ lay discarded on the floor.

The window was open, cold wind whipping the curtains wildly.

And at that exact moment-

My phone rang. An unknown number.

I answered. A processed, electronic voice came through..

“Miss Norah Hawthorne. We’ve borrowed your model.”

“If you want him back, come alone to the abandoned warehouse in the west district.

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Remember. Alone.”

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