Diana’s lips curled into a slow, deliberate smile, one that carried the weight of centuries and the quiet confidence of soone who knew exactly where she stood.
The corners of her eyes crinkled just slightly, as if she were savoring the mont, the way one might relish the first sip of a fine wine.
"I am his aunt," she said, her voice smooth, almost musical, but with an edge that demanded attention. "And his official wife."
The words hung in the air like a blade suspended above silk. Angela’s breath caught. For a heartbeat, the room seed to still—even the droplets of water clinging to Angela’s skin paused their descent.
She didn’t lash out. Didn’t snarl or bare her teeth. Instead, her shoulders relaxed, just a fraction, as if she’d been handed a truth she couldn’t argue with, no matter how much it stung. Her fingers, still resting possessively on my waist, tightened almost imperceptibly before loosening again.
"Official wife..." she repeated, the words tasting foreign on her tongue, as though she were testing their weight, their aning. There was no anger in her voice, only a quiet, reluctant acceptance, as if she’d just been outmaneuvered in a ga she hadn’t even realized she was playing.
I turned my head to look at Angela, my expression unreadable. The air between us was thick with unspoken questions, with the kind of tension that only exists when two forces of equal will collide. "Yeah," I said, my voice low, almost casual, as if I were confirming the weather. "She’s the wife chosen by my mom. I brought her back from my tiline."
Angela’s grip on faltered for the first ti. Her dark eyes, usually so sharp and knowing, widened as the implications of my words crashed over her like a wave. "Your tiline?" Her voice was barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile reality unfolding before her.
"You an... You can travel back and forth between different tilines?" The question wasn’t just disbelief—it was awe, laced with the faintest thread of fear. She had seen do the impossible before. She had felt the impossible in the way I moved, the way I commanded the world around . But this? This was sothing else entirely. This wasn’t just power. This was control over the very fabric of existence.
I didn’t answer with words. A single, slow nod was all it took.
Angela’s breath hitched, her chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven rhythms. She had always known I was more than human—more than anything she had ever encountered.
She had felt it in the way ti seed to bend around , in the way the soldiers outside snapped to attention at my re presence. But ti travel? The ability to pluck soone from another era, another reality, and bring them here? That wasn’t just godlike. That was the kind of power that could unravel the universe if wielded carelessly.
For a mont, she just stared at , her mind racing. Then, as if the weight of it all had finally settled into her bones, she exhaled a shaky breath.
"Oh, my god..." The words escaped her in a rush, barely more than a sigh. Her fingers, still damp from the shower, trembled slightly where they rested against my skin. She wasn’t just shocked—she was humbled, in a way she hadn’t been in a long, long ti.
Diana watched the exchange with a satisfied glint in her eyes, as if she had just witnessed the final piece of a puzzle click into place.
There was no triumphant smirk, no gloating—she didn’t need to. The truth of her position, of our position, was written in the way Angela’s confidence had wavered, if only for a mont.
It was in the way Angela’s fingers had trembled, in the way her breath had hitched, as if the ground beneath her had shifted ever so slightly. Diana’s satisfaction was quiet, almost serene, the kind that ca from knowing she held a power no one could take from her.
And ? I just stood there, watching them both, a faint smirk playing at the corners of my mouth. Because this was only the beginning. The real ga was just getting started.
Angela pulled back slightly, her arm still loosely wrapped around my waist, as if she were reluctant to let go completely. She turned her gaze to Diana, her expression a mix of defiance and curiosity, as though she were sizing up a rival she hadn’t expected to respect.
"I... I am Angela," she said, her voice steady but laced with a hint of vulnerability. "I am Dexter’s woman." The words weren’t a challenge—they were a statent, a reminder of her place in my world, in my life.
Diana tilted her head slightly, her eyes tracing Angela’s form with an appraising gaze. There was no malice in it, no jealousy—just a quiet acknowledgnt of sothing she couldn’t deny.
"Oh, I know who you are, Angela," Diana said, her voice warm but carrying a teasing edge. "Dexter has told so much about you." She let the words hang in the air for a mont, watching as Angela’s grip on tightened ever so slightly. "Though I have to say, he didn’t do you justice."
Angela’s eyebrows rose, a flicker of surprise crossing her face. "Oh?" she said, her voice sharp but intrigued. "And what exactly did he say?"
Diana chuckled softly, a sound that was both playful and knowing. "Oh, you know Dexter. He’s not one to gush. But I can see why he’s so... attached to you." Her gaze dropped for a mont, lingering on Angela’s chest, where the delicate black lace of her bra struggled—and failed—to contain the fullness of her breasts.
The fabric was damp, clinging to her skin, and the sheer material did little to hide the soft curves beneath. "Though I have to admit, I didn’t expect you to be this... well-endowed." She smirked, her eyes flicking back up to et Angela’s. "They are as big as mine."
Angela’s cheeks flushed at the boldness of Diana’s words, and she instinctively crossed her arms over her chest, as if she could suddenly shield herself from Diana’s gaze.
But it was futile. The lace was too thin, too sheer, and the dampness only made it worse. The fabric clung to her like a second skin, outlining every curve, every swell, in a way that was impossible to ignore. "You’re... quite direct," Angela said, her voice a mix of amusent and discomfort. "I wasn’t aware Dexter had a habit of comparing his won."
Diana laughed, the sound rich and warm. "Oh, he doesn’t have to. A woman knows these things." She stepped a little closer, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Tell , Angela, do you always walk around like this when Dexter’s away? Or is this a special welco-ho outfit?"
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