The Remiro estate was cloaked in the serene quiet of the night. In her cradle beside Mona's bed, baby Mirelle slept soundly, blissfully unaware of the world around her. The soft glow of moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting silvery patterns on the walls, as if blessing the innocence of her dreams.
Yet, mere rooms away, a storm of passion was unfolding, far from innocent.
Thorne's sweat-drenched body gleamed in the faint lamp light, his movements deliberate and primal. His hips snapped forward with relentless intensity, each thrust drawing cries from Noelle that echoed through the walls. Noelle was on his knees, his back arched beautifully as he braced himself against the headboard, his raven hair clinging to his damp skin. The sound of skin meeting skin filled the air, accompanied by Noelle's pleas and gasps that any servant wandering nearby would struggle to ignore.