Revenge amnesia upgraded to his brother novel Chapter 66

**The Goodbye That Never Reached You and My Life Chasing 66**

**Norah’s POV**

“Norah, what your body craves most is me.”

Lucien’s voice, a low rumble, was laced with a roughness that sent shivers down my spine. It was possessive, a claim that both thrilled and terrified me.

As he released my legs, his hands remained anchored on my hips, a firm grip that felt both comforting and possessive.

Without any warning, he slid two fingers deep inside me, a sudden intrusion that left me gasping.

They glided in effortlessly—I was already drenched, my body betraying me, yearning for him.

A broken sob escaped my lips, the sound raw and unrestrained as my hips writhed against the cold, unyielding marble beneath us.

“I can’t—I can’t, Lucien… please, have mercy…” I pleaded, my words a desperate whisper, yet my body arched toward him, betraying my resolve.

But he didn’t relent.

He covered my mouth with his, swallowing my cries, silencing my protests as he continued his relentless assault.

His fingers found their way to my clit, rubbing with a force that was both demanding and intoxicating.

I was losing control.

A bolt of lightning shot through me—sharp, blinding pleasure that consumed every thought.

I trembled, gushing against his tongue, utterly shameless in my release.

He pulled back, breathless, his eyes dark with desire.

“I didn’t know you could come like that,” he murmured, wiping the wetness from his nose and chin, a smirk playing on his lips.

I was left speechless, a boneless heap of vulnerability, completely exposed in front of him.

He stood tall, leaning down to kiss me—deep, possessive, as if he owned every part of me.

But then, the moment shattered. His phone buzzed, loud and obnoxious, cutting through the haze of our intimacy.

It lay discarded where he had tossed it, the screen illuminating with Damian’s name, a beacon of impending chaos.

A wicked glint ignited in Lucien’s eyes as he answered, placing the call on speaker, his focus unwavering.

And just as swiftly, he bent back down between my thighs, licking and nipping with a fervor that sent me spiraling once more.

“Lucien? You lost!” Damian’s voice echoed through the room, smug and self-satisfied. “Villard’s project is mine. I’ll take everything from you.”

Lucien took his time responding, his hand caressing my oversensitive skin with a tenderness that contrasted his fierce demeanor.

I bit my lip, trying to suppress a moan, but it escaped me—raw, involuntary, like a plea.

“What was that?” Damian’s tone shifted, suspicion creeping in.

“I’m busy.” Lucien replied, his voice as calm as the eye of a storm.

He slid his fingers back inside me, slow and deliberate, stretching me open in a way that made my breath hitch.

A cry tore from my throat—sharp, loud, undeniable.

“Damn it! Lucien, which whore is it this time?” Damian snarled, venom lacing his words. “Figures—a playboy like you will never understand real love. You’re only good for sluts begging to be screwed. A woman like Norah—you’ll never have her.”

“Lu—”

Before Damian could finish, Lucien hung up, tossing the phone aside with a clatter against the tiles.

The man—tall, silent, clad in black—accepted the materials with a slight nod. “Our Don will remember your allegiance.”

At the Calypso, violins played softly beneath a starlit sky, creating an atmosphere so romantic it felt surreal.

Damian had reserved the entire top floor; the sky garden was adorned with fragrant white Bulgarian roses, their beauty stark against the night.

He gazed at me with an aching devotion, his eyes shimmering with an intensity that made my heart race.

With trembling hands, he produced a velvet box, his nervousness palpable.

“Norah—marry me.”

He opened the box, revealing a massive pink diamond—gaudy, overpriced, and utterly meaningless in the grand scheme of things.

As he reached to slip it onto my finger, his touch sent chills down my spine, a sensation I couldn’t shake off.

Suddenly, the door burst open.

A dozen men in black suits stormed in, their faces as hard as stone, moving like shadows—efficient and silent.

“Who are you? Did Lucien send you?” Damian shouted, panic lacing his voice, convinced it was Lucien’s retribution.

No one answered him.

They seized him from his wheelchair with ease; his frantic struggles only revealed the truth—his legs were useless, a mere prop for the lies he had spun.

They dragged him away, his cries echoing down the hall, fading into silence.

The pink diamond rolled from the box, clinking onto the floor, glittering like the deceit it represented.

I stood there, alone amidst a garden of white roses, and didn’t look back.