Revenge amnesia upgraded to his brother (Norah and Lucien) novel Chapter 186

Chapter 186

Norah’s POV

Finished

I dialed Lucien’s number. The line rang and rang. Just as I thought it would go to voicemail, he picked up.

“What?” His voice was a shard of ice.

“I want to see you.” I kept my tone soft, pouring every ounce of controlled vulnerability into it, fighting to keep it from trembling.

Silence screamed from the other end.

“Lucien, I…” I let a sniffle escape, layering my voice with a raw, wounded quality. “I can’t hold on anymore.” A sharp, quiet inhale. “You win.”

“Tomorrow night. Nine o’clock. Dusk Bar. Just the two of us. Let’s talk.”

I ended the call before he could reply. My spine gave way the moment the screen went dark. I leaned against the wall, sliding down to the floor, my body going slack.

Lucien, you forced my hand.

This game is only beginning.

8:50 PM. I was seated in a shadowy private booth at the back of Dusk Bar.

I wore the red, backless silk gown. A birthday gift from him, from another life. Motherhood had changed my body, filling out my curves. The dress was tighter now, clinging to my hips and chest, making my waist seem narrower. The high side slit revealed a long line of my thigh.

Under the bar’s low, amber lights, my skin glowed pale and smooth.

A half–finished Martini sat on the table. A little alcohol was necessary–enough to make my gaze hazy, my movements languid, but my mind remained a shard of sharp, clear ice.

At precisely nine, the door chime sounded.

He walked in. Dressed in a deep charcoal suit, no tie, the top buttons of his shirt undone. His stride was confident as he moved toward me, but his steps faltered for a fraction of a second when he saw the dress. His eyes darkened.

“You’re late,” I said, lifting my eyes to meet his, deliberately drawing out the words.

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“Traffic.” He settled into the chair opposite me.

His gaze dropped to my glass, then returned to my face, intense and assessing. “How much have you had?”

“Not much.” I picked up the glass, took a small sip, letting the liquid wet my lips. “Just enough… to find some courage.”

He signaled the waiter, ordered a whiskey on the rocks. When it arrived, he swirled the glass, the ice clinking softly in the intimate space between us.

“What did you want to talk about?” he finally asked, his voice low.

A bitter smile touched my lips. “What else is there to talk about?” I put my glass down and slowly placed my hand over his on the table. “My studio. My brand… Lucien, you win.”

His fingers twitched under mine, but he didn’t pull away.

“So?” His voice was deceptively calm, but I saw the subtle bob of his Adam’s apple.

“So…” I leaned forward, elbows on the table, closing the distance between us. “I surrender.” I let my voice drop to a weary whisper. “I’m so tired, Lucien… I can’t do this anymore.”

I rose and moved to his side of the table, leaning against him, letting my body go soft and pliant against the rigid line of his.

His entire frame instantly stiffened.

I pressed closer, my breath a soft warmth against the side of his neck. “Norah. Do you know what you’re doing?” His voice was a gravelly whisper, thick with a desire he was trying to control.

“I know. I’m begging you. Let me go.”

His hand shot up, fingers gripping my chin, forcing my head up. “Begging me?” he sneered, his eyes searching mine. “Or are you here for someone else? Mateo Vega. Did he send you? Is this his idea of a honey trap?”

Tears welled in my eyes–this time, they were real, born of a sudden, sharp terror that our plan was exposed. “No…” I shook my head, the tears falling in earnest. “I just… I don’t know what else to do…”

He stared into me for a long, unbearable moment. Then, he released my chin abruptly, leaning back in his chair as if to create a safe distance. He picked up his whiskey and drained it in one

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“Prove it to me,” he said, his voice cold.

“What?”

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He pulled a small box from his inner jacket pocket and slid it across the table.

Inside, nestled on black velvet, was a small, discreet

egg vibrator.

“If you want me to believe you’re really back… prove it.” Each word was a deliberate blow, stripping away my dignity. His eyes held no warmth, only a challenging coldness. “Put it on. Dance for me.” A pause, heavy with intent. “Like you used to. Just for me.”

Lazy jazz music wrapped around us.

The saxophone sighed with promise.

I sat frozen, my body rigid with shame.

He didn’t just want my submission; he wanted my complete humiliation.

I closed my eyes.

When I opened them, a broken smile was on my lips. “Alright.”

I picked up the cold, impersonal device and turned away.

“Turn around,” he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument.

I froze, then slowly turned back to face him.

My hands trembled as I lifted the hem of my silk dress. Inserting it was difficult, uncomfortable.

I was too dry.

I bit my lip against the discomfort, pushing it deep with my fingertips.

The coldness made me shudder.

Lucien watched from his chair, a king observing his subject, a remote control now in his hand. He pressed a button.

A low vibration started deep inside me, an intense, overwhelming hum. My legs weakened instantly, and I grabbed the table edge to steady myself.

I took a shaky breath and began to move to the music.

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At first, my movements were stiff, jerky, like a marionette with tangled strings. He pressed the button again.

The vibration intensified sharply.

A soft gasp escaped me, and my hips involuntarily softened their sway.

“Keep going,” he said, his voice flat.

I closed my eyes, trying to lose myself in the rhythm. My arms lifted above my head, my body swaying like something untethered.

The skirt of my dress flared with each turn. He increased the intensity again.

My breathing grew ragged.

The device stirred something deep within, awakening waves of shameful pleasure.

Wetness seeped from me.

A trickle of sweat traced a path from my temple into the hollow of my collarbone.

Just then, his phone rang on the table.

Gasping, fighting the dizzying sensations, I walked toward him on unsteady legs. I picked up the still–vibrating phone and, without glancing at the screen, pressed the power button until the screen went black.

“Tonight,” I breathed, my voice husky, “I don’t want to hear any other sounds.” I tossed the phone onto a distant sofa.

Lucien’s eyes darkened with pure, unadulterated desire.

He pressed the remote once more.

The vibration spiked to an almost unbearable frequency.

A sharp, electric current seemed to shoot through every nerve ending.

“Ah-” My back arched violently, my hands clutching the table edge for support. My vision. whited out completely.

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