As Damian’s body lay motionless on the ground, the dust slowly settled around him. Lila stood tall, triumphant, her arms spread wide like a conquering queen. Her chest rose and fell with pride, and a slow smirk crept onto her face.
“This is what power looks like,” she whispered to herself.
Drawn by her own twisted thrill of taking a better look at his gorgeous body, she stepped closer—heels crunching softly over cracked earth. The world seemed to fade around her. The battlefield noise, the moans of the injured, even her own army—it all became a dull hum.
She crouched beside Damian’s still body, eyes roaming over his figure. His chest was sculpted, rising barely with shallow breath, his jawline sharp even in defeat. Her fingers twitched.
She reached out slowly, almost reverently, as if
