Fated To Not Just One But Three novel Chapter 466

Chapter 466: Make Me Forget

Olivia’s POV

Levi didn’t even flinch when I stepped closer. He just stared down at his glass, swirling what was left inside before taking another slow sip. I reached out quietly and took it from his hand. He didn’t fight me. He didn’t say a word.

"I think you’ve had enough," I said softly.

He let out a faint, humorless chuckle. "Since when did you start caring for me?"

I ignored the jab and set the glass down on the desk. "Since I realized we needed to talk."

At that, his eyes finally met mine—dark, heavy, guarded.

"Talk," he repeated flatly. "About what, Olivia? About how you think I’m jealous of my brother? About how you’re scared I’d hurt him?"

His words stung. I could hear the bitterness under them, the pain he tried to bury behind that calm tone.

"No," I said quietly. "About us."

He frowned. "Us?"

"Yes," I said, stepping closer. "You and me. Levi, we’ve been avoiding each other like strangers when we both know we can’t keep doing this."

He stared at me, his jaw tight. "You think a conversation is going to fix what’s already broken?"

My chest tightened. "Maybe not. But pretending it’s fine is breaking it even more."

Silence. The air between us felt thick—heavy with all the things we’d left unsaid for too long.

I moved closer until I was standing right in front of him. "Levi," I said softly, "I don’t love you less."

He froze.

"I need you to understand that," I went on, my voice trembling. "Just because I’m fighting to bring Lennox back doesn’t mean what I feel for you has changed. I love him too—maybe differently—but that doesn’t mean I stopped loving you."

His breathing hitched. For a moment, his eyes flickered with something raw, something vulnerable.

"I love you, Levi... you should never doubt that."

He didn’t answer. He just stood there, staring at me like he was torn between walking away and pulling me closer.

My chest ached, my voice trembling. "I hate that we’re like this. I hate that I can’t fix it. I hate that every time I look at you, I feel like I’m losing you, even when you’re standing right here."

His jaw clenched. "You’re not losing me," he said quietly.

"Then why does it feel like it?" I whispered.

That broke something in him.

He took one step closer, then another—until the space between us disappeared. His hand came up slowly, his fingers brushing a tear from my cheek. "Because," he said softly, "every time I look at you, I remember that I’m the reason you’re hurting."

My breath hitched. "You’re not—"

"I am," he cut in, voice low. "We both are. I shouldn’t have destroyed your bond with Lennox. I thought I was doing the right thing." He apologized.

He braced his hands on either side of me, trapping me. His eyes, dark and turbulent, searched mine.

"You’re sure about this, Olivia?" he asked again, his voice a low, rough murmur.

"Yes," I breathed, my hands sliding up his chest, tracing the hard lines of muscle beneath the now-open shirt. "I just need you. Right now."

The last remnants of his hesitation seemed to shatter. His control, the careful wall he’d kept up for days, finally gave way.

He moved between my legs, his hips pressing against me, sending a sharp, sweet wave of longing through my body. He tilted his head down, and his lips found mine in a kiss that was no longer desperate, but pure, raw need.

It was a silent admission of everything he couldn’t say: I miss you. I can’t live without you. Forgive me.

My fingers tangled in his hair, holding him close as the kiss deepened. The air was charged, thick with the scent of his skin and the ghosts of our past. I felt the heat rising between us, burning away the pain, the guilt, the confusion—for just this suspended moment.

Then, he broke the kiss, his breathing ragged. His eyes dropped from mine, moving slowly over my face, my neck, before focusing on the simple, elegant fabric of the gown I wore. With a shaky hand, he reached for the hem.

He lifted it slowly, deliberately, the silk whispering as it slid up my legs. The gesture was agonizingly slow, drawing out the tension until it was almost unbearable. His gaze followed the material, then drifted lower, settling on the skin he exposed. Then he went on his knees.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against the inside of my thigh, a feather-light touch that still made me gasp. "I love you," he whispered against my skin, a vow and a confession all at once. "More than I know how to handle."

I reached out, my fingers trembling as I cupped the back of his neck. "Levi," I choked out, a wave of emotion—not pain, but profound, complicated love—flooding my chest.

He parted my legs wider, resting his hands gently on my inner thighs. The simple, possessive act felt like coming home.

In this moment, there was no Lennox, no worry, no broken bond—only the profound, undeniable connection of two people who desperately needed to be reminded of what they were to each other.