Chapter 102: Hate Is Greater Than Love
Ivan and Lydia were still kissing, their mouths moving softly, hungrily, but not rushed. There was no anger or haste in their touch, only longing and quiet desperation. Lydia’s fingers slid into his hair, pulling him closer as she felt the weight of his pain pressing against her. Ivan kissed her deeper, breathing into her, as though he wanted to get lost inside her and never return.
His breath was hot and shaky, brushing against her cheek like a whisper. She felt him tremble slightly—not just from the wine, but from everything he had kept buried for so long. His kiss tasted like longing, like sorrow, like the need to forget.
She slowly pulled off her cloak and let it fall to the floor. Ivan, though drunk, handled her like she was something fragile. His hands trembled a little as he took her gloves off, one by one. Then he kissed each of her fingers gently, his lips lingering on them, as if thanking them for holding him through the night.
She felt her heart ache as he did that. It wasn’t lust that filled the room, not at first. It was sadness. Love. Something deeper than either of them could name. He kissed the inside of her palm and then moved up to her wrist, and then her arm, soft and slow, until he reached her neck. He paused there, breathing her in. Then he undressed her, pulling down the straps of her dress with care, kissing every bit of exposed skin. Lydia helped him too, unfastening his coat and pulling off his shirt. His body was warm, his skin marked by old scars, and she kissed each one as she undressed him.
Each scar she kissed told a story—stories he never spoke about, pain he never shared. But she could feel it all under her lips. He didn’t need to explain. She already knew.
Ivan lifted her gently and placed her on the bed, lying beside her. He kissed her again, softly this time, like he didn’t want to hurt her. He kissed her neck, then her collarbone, then lower, his lips moving to her chest. He kissed the curve of her breasts, then her nipples, soft and slow. She gasped lightly, her hands tangled in his hair. He moved lower, to her stomach, then lower still, between her thighs.
He kissed her there too, gentle and slow. His mouth on her made her tremble, and when he started sucking her clit, she moaned softly, her legs shaking. She was wet, her body already ready for him. He looked up at her, eyes heavy but still focused. Then he climbed over her and entered her with a soft groan. His thrusts were slow, gentle, almost lazy from the wine, but they were full of feeling.
He kissed her breasts again, holding her close as he moved inside her. His hands held her face sometimes, sometimes her waist, like he was holding on for dear life. His breath was shaky, his forehead pressed to hers, their eyes locked. He didn’t speak much, just soft sounds escaping his lips as he moved.
Lydia wrapped her legs around him, letting him in, letting him take what he needed. Her hands stroked his back as he made love to her slowly. It wasn’t just sex. It was something else. Something deeper. She let him use her body to drown his guilt. And he loved her as if loving her could save him from everything he had done.
She whispered his name over and over, holding him close as he made love to her. He kissed her as he moved inside her, whispering broken words of love and apology. He was drunk, but still gentle. Every thrust felt like a plea. Every kiss felt like a thank you.
He held her tightly, like he never wanted to let go. And she let him. She gave him all of her, not just her body but her heart too. In that moment, it felt like maybe they could both be okay. Maybe love could be enough.
The next morning, the sun had already risen. Ivan and Lydia were tangled in the sheets, their arms wrapped around each other. Lydia woke first. She lay still, watching him sleep. He looked peaceful, but there were faint lines on his face, like the pain never really left him.
She watched the way his eyelashes brushed his cheeks. The way his chest rose and fell, steady and calm. There was something boyish about him in sleep, something innocent. The man who had carried the weight of so many sins... now looked like a boy who had finally found a little peace.
His chest rose and fell gently against hers. His hand still rested on her waist, fingers curled in her skin like even in sleep, he didn’t want to let go. She reached up slowly and brushed the hair from his forehead. Her fingers lingered on his skin, soft and warm beneath her touch.
For a moment, she just watched him. Listened to the quiet. The silence in the room was soft and golden, almost sacred. His mouth was slightly parted, and he made a small sound as he shifted closer in his sleep, pulling her tighter.
Her heart ached at the sight. She kissed his temple and let her lips rest there for a while, eyes fluttering closed. She could stay like this forever—wrapped in him, hidden from the world.
Then he stirred, groaning lightly and holding his head. He had a throbbing headache. Lydia quickly sat up and reached for a jug of water on the table. She poured him a glass and brought it to him. He drank it slowly, sighing as he leaned back.
"Are you okay?" she asked gently.
He nodded, but his eyes looked far away. He didn’t say anything for a while, just stared at the ceiling like he was trying to remember everything from the night before. Lydia stood up and reached for her clothes. She started dressing silently, and he just watched her.
There was something tender in the way he watched—his gaze following every movement. She tucked her hair behind her ear, then turned her back to him to pull on her corset.
When she struggled to tie the ribbons of her corset, he got up slowly and helped her. His fingers were a little clumsy, but careful. He took his time with each knot, making sure it wasn’t too tight. She didn’t say anything, but the way her hands rested over his, just for a second, said enough.
Then he helped her with the rest of her dress. After he finished, he leaned in and whispered, "Thank you for being here."
She turned to him and hugged him tightly. "I’m here for you, Ivan. I’ll never leave you."
And in that moment, something inside him shifted. For the first time in eight years, he felt like a piece of his guilt had been lifted. He held her tightly, breathing her in, and kissed her forehead.
"I love you, Lydia. Very much."
"Me too," she whispered back.
He cupped her face. "I’m really hungry. Let’s go have breakfast."
She smiled. "Okay."
They walked through the corridors together, hand in hand. They were quiet, but the silence was peaceful. Lydia felt light, like a burden had been taken off her shoulders. She had confessed everything to Ivan, and he hadn’t gotten angry. He still loved her.
She smiled to herself and then giggled quietly. Ivan glanced at her.
"Did I do anything embarrassing last night while I was drunk? You’ve been giggling since."
Lydia chuckled. "Not exactly. I’m just happy."
"Are you sure?"
She nodded. He paused. "I must have told you everything that happened eight years ago."
He sighed. "I really don’t remember anything that happened last night."
Lydia stopped. She turned to him. "You don’t?"
He shook his head. "No. I really don’t remember anything when I drink."
She whispered, "So that means you don’t remember what I said."
"What did you say?"
She was just about to speak, but then she saw something.
Olga.
Standing near one of the corridor windows. Her black hair falling around her shoulders, her expression calm but cold.
The softness in Ivan’s eyes disappeared. His face turned dark. His gaze hardened with hate.
And then, like a blade, the memory returned to Lydia.
Olga. The deal.
During their visit to the palace, Olga had reminded her of their deal. That she was to spy on Ivan. That she had until the end of the month.
And now the month was almost over.
Everything came crashing back.
The guilt.
The fear.
The shame.
For a moment, Lydia thought she was free. That maybe Ivan’s love was strong enough to protect them both. But now she knew. His hatred for Olga burned brighter than anything. And if he ever found out about the deal...
Lydia looked away. Her smile faded. Her fingers slipped from Ivan’s hand.
The peace she thought she had found was gone.