Kamilah was about to cut the steak when Livia suddenly appeared, greeting them with her same acting skills that had fooled the family for years. She moved with the grace of someone who had practiced her entrance, her smile bright and her eyes sparkling with manufactured warmth.
"Hello, sister Kamilah!" She said excitedly, her voice was carrying across the restaurant with practiced projection.
Kamilah immediately lost her appetite, the fork in her hand paused mid-air as a wave of revulsion washed over her. Her expression was remained neutral, but Maeve noticed the subtle shift in her posture, the way her shoulders tensed and her jaw tightened.
Before, in her past life, Kamilah would have gotten excited whenever Livia greeted her. She would have smiled and blushed and stammered out a greeting, desperate for even a scrap of attention from the golden child. But right now, she hated every bit of it. Every syllable that fell from Livia’s lips felt like a knife scraping against her bones.
Speaking of the devil, she’s here again. How predictable.
The words ran through Kamilah’s mind with a tired resignation, and Maeve remained silent, her expression was carefully neutral even as she processed the internal commentary. She didn’t react, didn’t give any indication that she had heard anything unusual, but her eyes sharpened with interest. There was a history here, a depth of resentment that went far beyond sibling rivalry.
"Hello, Ms. Maeve. Mind if I join you?" Livia asked, her voice was dripping with practiced politeness.
Kamilah looked away, all of her teasing remarks and playful energy was gone, replaced by a cold, hollow shell. She stared at the wall, her eyes unfocused, waiting for what she knew was coming.
Yeah, and Maeve will let Livia sit beside her and then what... She will actually choose to sit with her and flirt with her not knowing what kind of person she’s choosing as her love affair in front of her fiancée, hahaha, how boring...
Kamilah let out a soft sigh, her breath was barely audible. She didn’t even bother to look at Maeve, didn’t want to see the inevitable moment when Maeve’s attention would shift to Livia. She had seen it happen a thousand times in her past life, had watched as the people she cared about chose Livia over her, again and again, until she had learned to expect nothing else.
Then her face lightened up when the waiter approached, a young man with kind eyes and a professional smile.
"Ma’am, would you like me to pour you some wine?" He asked.
Kamilah’s attention snapped to him, her expression shifted from hollow detachment to something sly and flirtatious. She smiled, the same honeyed smile she had given Maeve earlier, the one that had made Maeve’s heart race and her composure crack. But this time, it wasn’t directed at her.
"Of course, how nice of you," Kamilah said, her voice was still the same honey, warm and inviting and entirely inappropriate for a simple interaction with a waiter.
Maeve noticed. Of course she noticed. She noticed everything when it came to Kamilah, and this deliberate shift—the way Kamilah turned her charm on a complete stranger just to spite her—made something dark and possessive twist in her chest.
Why should I be sad when I can also have an affair, right? It’s not like Maeve will mind, and also... She’ll probably choose Livia so why should I care?
The words kept running through Kamilah’s head, a mantra of self-protection, a wall she was building to keep herself from getting hurt. And Maeve didn’t know what to feel. The assumption that she would choose Livia was an insult, yes, but the idea of Kamilah seeking comfort in the arms of others was intolerable.
The "douchebag" of the past life was gone; the Maeve of this life was a woman who had just found the only thing in the world she truly wanted, and she doesn’t share what she think what’s hers.
The temperature around the table seemed to plummet the moment Livia arrived. Maeve’s eyes didn’t even flicker toward Livia; her entire focus remained locked on Kamilah.
She felt the sudden shift in her fiancée’s energy—the way the playful, daring spark vanished, replaced by a cold, hollow exhaustion. The internal monologue about "how predictable" Livia was sounded like a weary sigh of someone who had already lived through a thousand of these performances.
But then, the trajectory of the game changed. When the waiter approached and Kamilah shifted that same honeyed, seductive tone—the one she had used to drive Maeve crazy just moments ago—to a complete stranger, Maeve felt a surge of something violent and possessive.
It wasn’t just jealousy; it was a visceral reaction to seeing a treasure she had just begun to claim being offered to someone so insignificant. She leaned in, her voice cutting through the air like a blade, directed at both Kamilah and the waiter.
"The wine is a lovely touch," Maeve said, her tone was dripping with a cold, territorial warning that made the waiter instinctively stumble back a step. Her eyes were fixed on Kamilah, burning with an intensity that demanded her full attention. "But I believe my fiancée has already had quite enough excitement for one afternoon. Pour the wine and leave us. Now."
The waiter felt the tension and nodded quickly, his hands trembled slightly as he reached for the wine bottle. But Kamilah kept looking at the guy with interest, her smile never wavering.
"May I ask what’s your name?" She asked, her voice light and curious.
Maeve immediately retorted, leaving no room for the waiter to speak. The waiter barely had time to open his mouth before Maeve’s voice sliced through the air, sharp and absolute. The sheer speed of her intervention was a testament to the possessive rage simmering beneath her skin.
"He is a member of the staff, Kamilah. His name is irrelevant to your afternoon," Maeve snapped, her voice was projecting a cold authority that silenced the entire surrounding area. She didn’t look at the waiter; she kept her gaze locked on Kamilah, her eyes narrowed and flashing with a dangerous light. The territorial display was blatant, bordering on aggressive.
The fact that Kamilah was still looking at the man with interest—actually daring to challenge her in front of Livia—was a provocation that pushed Maeve to the edge.
She didn’t care about the social grace of the restaurant or the presence of her sister-in-law. All she could think about was the way Kamilah was trying to push her away, to treat her as something replaceable.
"Try that again," Maeve breathed, her tone vibrated with a mix of fury and hunger, "and I will make sure this man never works in this city again. Do you understand me, Kamilah?"
Kamilah’s eyes flashed with something—anger, perhaps, or defiance—and she didn’t back down. She met Maeve’s gaze head-on, her voice cold and sharp when she spoke.
"Shut up, Maeve."
The words hung in the air between them, a challenge thrown down like a gauntlet. Livia, who had been watching the exchange with growing confusion, immediately seized the opportunity to insert herself into the conversation.
"Sister, why are you talking like that to Ms. Maeve? You shouldn’t disrespect her," Livia said, her voice was dripping with fake concern.
Kamilah smirked and looked at Livia, her eyes were glittering with a dangerous light. "Why? Do you want my fiancée, Livia? If you like her that much, you can have her." Enjoying the story? Read on at novelping.com.
Livia’s breath hitched, her eyes widened with shock. She hadn’t expected Kamilah to be this bold and this direct. The Kamilah she knew was meek and quiet, someone who would never dare to speak up for herself, let alone challenge anyone in public.
"I-It’s... Not... I mean... It-It’s not what you think, sister. I’m really just here to greet you both, nothing else," Livia stammered, her composure was cracking for the first time.
Maeve just observed, her eyes are flickering between the two sisters with a cold, calculating intensity. She knew what Kamilah was doing. She was trying to prove that the affair would happen, that Maeve would choose Livia over her. It was a test, a self-fulfilling prophecy designed to protect Kamilah from the pain of being abandoned.
And Maeve would defend her. Sigh... I probably should choose this waiter as one of my love affairs... Should I get five or ten paramours?
The words ran through Kamilah’s head, and she shook her head slightly as she felt the disgust rise in her throat. That’s absurd, I couldn’t even handle one person, how am I supposed to handle a love affair... Sigh, yeah, it’s a bad idea. I’m not like Maeve and Livia, their personalities are cheap.
Maeve’s expression remained a mask of cold indifference. To anyone watching, she was simply ignoring Livia’s stuttering excuses. But internally, Maeve was reeling. The casual way Kamilah had offered her up to Livia was one thing, but the thoughts that followed—the contemplation of a dozen paramours and the cutting dismissal of Maeve and Livia as "cheap"—hit her with a strange, burning intensity.
The insult should have enraged her, but the fact that Kamilah found the very idea of such a lifestyle "absurd" and disgusting felt like a victory. It meant that despite the masks and the flirtations, there was a core of integrity in Kamilah that couldn’t be corrupted. It made her even more desirable.
Maeve didn’t acknowledge the "cheap" comment or the thought of the waiter. Instead, she turned her gaze toward Livia, her eyes were so devoid of warmth that the girl visibly flinched. Maeve didn’t give Livia a single word of validation; she simply shifted her focus back to Kamilah, her presence looming and possessive.
"Livia," Maeve said, her voice was a flat, icy command, "I believe your parents are expecting you. You’ve overstayed your welcome at our table."
Without waiting for a response, Maeve averted her gaze back to Kamilah.
"As for you... Don’t look at others again, it doesn’t look good. At least stay civilized until we’re both alone."
Kamilah was absolutely shocked. Wait, why... Why is it changing? This isn’t what happened in my past life.
Livia frowned and nodded, her face was pale with humiliation. "Okay, Ms. Maeve. I’m going now, sister Kamilah."
Kamilah didn’t bother to say anything in return and just watched Livia go away, her expression unreadable.
How strange... Kamilah thought, her mind was racing. In my past life, Maeve would choose Livia. And the two of them will insult me nonstop. Hmph! What is going on? Why does everything keep changing... Sigh... Forget it, as long as my plan never changes, I don’t care!
Kamilah just continued eating her steak, her movements were mechanical and precise.
Maeve watched the flicker of genuine confusion that cross Kamilah’s face. The mask had slipped for a fraction of a second, revealing a girl who was utterly bewildered by the deviation from her expected script.
Hearing the internal monologue—the revelation that in another life, Maeve and Livia had spent their time insulting her—sent a wave of cold fury through Maeve’s chest. The thought of herself being the architect of Kamilah’s misery was a poison she couldn’t stomach.
She didn’t let the shock show on her face. Instead, she maintained her poise, though her gaze remained intensely focused on Kamilah as the other girl returned to her steak. The "plan" Kamilah mentioned was a mystery, but the determination in her thoughts was palpable. She was fighting for a freedom that Maeve was now increasingly reluctant to grant.
Maeve leaned back in her chair, watching the rhythmic, precise way Kamilah cut her meat. The silence between them was no longer just a void; it was a battlefield of unspoken secrets.
Maeve felt a predatory satisfaction knowing that she was the variable that was breaking Kamilah’s predictions. Every time she diverged from the "past life" version of herself, she felt the distance between them shrinking, even if Kamilah was fighting it with every breath.
"You seem distracted, Kamilah," Maeve remarked, her voice was smooth and devoid of the previous aggression, though her eyes were still dark with possessiveness. "Is the steak not to your liking?"
"Not really," Kamilah said, her earlier persona vanished, replaced by a detached woman. She set her fork down and pushed the plate away, her appetite gone.
How annoying. I really hate it when someone acts superior toward me, especially in public. I really want someone who’s a bit possessive but controlled... And someone who can act calm and then threaten me later with punishments, hahaha! But that person only exists in my books, whatever... It doesn’t even matter.
Kamilah thought about it, because she never liked how Maeve acted earlier with the waiter. The public display of possessiveness had been too raw, too uncontrolled. It lacked the subtlety that Kamilah craved, the kind of quiet dominance that didn’t need to shout to be heard.
Maeve paused, her glass of wine halfway to her lips. The sudden shift in Kamilah’s demeanor—from the provocative flirt to this cold, detached shell—was jarring, but it was the internal confession that made Maeve’s grip on the stem of the glass tighten.
The vivid description of the ’type’ of person Kamilah desired—possessive, controlled, someone who could mask their intensity with calmness only to reveal a darker, more punishing side—hit Maeve like a physical blow.
It wasn’t just a preference; it was a blueprint. A set of instructions.
Maeve stared at Kamilah, her eyes are narrowing as she processed the information. The fact that Kamilah found Maeve’s outburst with the waiter "annoying" because it lacked that specific, controlled restraint was a lesson Maeve was more than happy to learn.
If the loud, territorial displays weren’t working, she would simply change her approach. She would become the very thing Kamilah read about in those books—a predator who knew exactly when to tighten the leash.
Slowly, Maeve set her glass down with a soft, deliberate click on the tablecloth. The aggressive heat from before was gone, replaced by a chilling, polished composure. She leaned forward, not with a burst of anger, but with a slow, steady grace, her voice dropping to a level that was calm, smooth, and utterly devoid of emotion.
"You’re very quiet suddenly," Maeve observed, her gaze was sweeping over Kamilah’s face with a clinical precision. "I wonder... If you’re feeling this detached, perhaps you’ve forgotten that we still have a long drive home. And I find that I have very little patience for silence when I’m expecting a conversation." This story is hosted at novelping.com.
She didn’t shout. She didn’t snap. But there was a subtle, underlying threat in the stillness of her posture—a promise of a consequence yet to come.
"I’m probably just tired... I just recovered from my fever last night. So forgive me if I may seem a bit detached this time, I’ll try to engage." Kamilah said, then smiled and leaned over, her movements were deliberate and precise. "Ms. Maeve, listen carefully because I don’t think you get it..."
She made sure the glass was aligned properly and neatly on the table again, her fingers adjusting it with obsessive care. The small, ritualistic gesture was a silent punctuation mark to her declaration.
"What we had is an arranged marriage. I might as well take this time to remind you that I never loved you, so stop acting like I allow you to control my life because in case you don’t know... I hate people like that."
Kamilah stood up and sighed, her expression was cold and distant. "Excuse me, I need to use the restroom."
Then she left, her heels are clicking against the marble floor with a rhythm that echoed in the sudden silence she left behind.
Maeve sat frozen, her gaze were fixed on the space Kamilah had just occupied. The air in the restaurant seemed to thicken, the ambient noise of other diners was fading into a dull hum. The way Kamilah had meticulously aligned the glass—that small, obsessive tick—had been a silent punctuation mark to her declaration. It was a gesture of reclaiming order in a situation where Kamilah felt she was losing control.
The words "I never loved you" should have been an insult, but to Maeve, they felt like a challenge. The admission was honest, raw, and far more interesting than the flirtatious games Kamilah had played earlier. But it was the final line—the hatred for those who tried to control her—that made Maeve’s pulse quicken. The defiance was intoxicating.
Maeve looked down at the glass Kamilah had aligned. With a slow, deliberate motion, Maeve reached out and tilted it just a fraction of an inch out of place. A tiny, infinitesimal shift that would be invisible to anyone else, but an intentional disruption of Kamilah’s order.
She didn’t follow her to the restroom. Instead, she leaned back, her expression was one of dark, thoughtful contemplation. Kamilah thought she was drawing a line in the sand, but all she had done was provide Maeve with a map of her triggers. If Kamilah hated being controlled, then Maeve would simply have to find a way to make her crave it.
"You’re wrong about one thing, Kamilah," Maeve whispered to the empty chair, her voice was a low, predatory promise. "I don’t think you’ve even begun to understand how much I enjoy a struggle."
She picked up her wine glass and took a slow sip, her eyes were never leaving the direction Kamilah had disappeared. The game had just gotten infinitely more interesting.
Kamilah thought she could push Maeve away with cold words and sharp dismissals, but she was wrong. Every rejection, every attempt to create distance, only made Maeve more determined to close the gap.
She would learn Kamilah’s secrets. She would understand her pain. And she would prove to her that this lifetime was different.
No matter how long it took.
No matter what it cost.
The waiter returned, hesitant and nervous, but Maeve waved him away with a dismissive flick of her fingers. She didn’t need more wine. She needed time. Time to plan, time to strategize, time to figure out exactly how to dismantle the walls Kamilah had built around her heart.
And she had all the time in the world.
When Kamilah returned from the restroom, her expression was composed, her mask were firmly back in place. She sat down across from Maeve without a word, picking up her fork and resuming her meal as if nothing had happened.
But Maeve noticed the slight tremor in her hand, the way her fingers tightened around the fork before forcing themselves to relax. She noticed the way Kamilah avoided her gaze, staring instead at the plate in front of her.
"I apologize for my earlier behavior," Kamilah said, her voice was flat and formal. "It was unprofessional of me to speak to you that way in public."
Maeve studied her for a long moment, her eyes were unreadable. Then she smiled, a slow, dangerous smile that made Kamilah’s stomach clench with unease.
"Apology accepted," Maeve said, her voice was smooth as silk. "But let me make one thing clear, Kamilah. I don’t care about professional. I don’t care about appropriate. What I care about is you. And whether you like it or not, whether you believe it or not, I am not going anywhere."
Kamilah’s eyes widened, a flicker of something—fear, perhaps, or hope—crossing her face before she quickly suppressed it.
"You don’t even know me," she said quietly.
"Then let me," Maeve replied, her voice was soft but firm.
Kamilah stared at her, her breath caught in her throat. No one had ever spoken to her like that before, had ever seen through her so completely. It was terrifying. It was exhilarating. It was everything she had never known she wanted.
But she couldn’t let herself believe it. Not yet. Maybe not ever. "You’re wasting your time," she whispered, her voice was barely audible. Maeve reached across the table and took her hand, her grip was warm and steady.
"I have nothing but time, Kamilah. And I intend to spend it all on you."
Kamilah was about to softened when she remembered the past things that Maeve did to her in her past life. The cold detachment, the neglect, the insults, the way sometimes Maeve lift a hand on her, or the way Maeve let others bully her or leave her sore and aching after sex, constantly treating her a nuisance, burden object to be discarded had replay in her mind.
She withdrew her hand as her breath hitched and averted her gaze. Kamilah finished her wine and sigh, "no. I refuse to let you do that. I just don’t think we’re a good match. I’m sorry. Let’s just stick to this arrangement until we’re done with it." Kamilah stammered and tried finishing her steaks.
Maeve heard those thoughts and she realized that she haven’t fully understood her pain, that she had done something irrevocable or irreversible in Kamilah. And thinking about it makes Maeve frown. She felt a painful tug on her chest like something take the air away from her lungs, but then she have to stop herself from showing that vulnerability.