"Milly, you will marry Prince Clovis. Forget about Lelouch. Forget about that boy."
Lord Ashford's voice rang with cold finality, even as his eyes shimmered with something more complicated—guilt, resignation, maybe even regret—as he stared at his daughter.
Milly's expression froze. Her lips parted, trembling, her eyes wide in disbelief, her entire body stiff as if the words had physically hit her.
"Why… Father?" Her voice cracked, hurt bleeding through every syllable.
"You told me… You told me it had to be him. You said Lelouch was the one. You said I was meant to be with him, that he was my Prince, that this was our future! I tried… I tried so hard to believe it—to fall in love with him, to commit to him, to wrap my entire life around him like you wanted. And I did. I really did..." Her voice turned bitter, shaky.
"What changed? Have you forgotten what we stood for, what our family fought for? What happened to our ambition? Are you really going to forsake everything just like that?"
Her tone was bitter, furious, but underneath it all was pain.
Deep, gnawing pain.
Lord Ashford exhaled slowly, as if every breath was weighted.
"I haven't forgotten, Milly. I never will. But the world doesn't wait for sentiment." His tone was tired now, stripped of bluster. "Lelouch… he's not the same. He's not the prince we once believed in. He's done nothing to reclaim what was his. He's given up, resigned himself to playing a student, laughing with friends, pretending none of it ever happened. He's… soft now."
He paused.
"I actually wanted you to marry Earl Lloyd," he admitted bluntly. "He's eccentric, yes, but brilliant. A man with influence. But something happened... something bigger."
Milly's eyes narrowed slightly.
He continued, eyes sharp now. "Prince Clovis—he's changed. He's no longer the weak fool we thought he was. The man returned to the court with a spine, with presence. He's handsome, intelligent, charming. He has that... dangerous spark you always dreamed of in a prince. All the qualifications for your 'ideal man,' right? The kind you used to dream to in those silly fantasy books of yours."
Milly's breath caught in her throat, but she didn't speak.
Silence fell between them, thick with unspoken rage and shattered dreams.
He placed a firm hand on her shoulder, almost tenderly. "You'll meet him tomorrow. Get to know him. Who knows? You might actually like this one."
Then he walked away, not sparing her a single glance.
Left behind in that heavy silence, Milly just stood there.
Still. Shaking.
Her lips parted as if to say something—but nothing came.
Because deep down, she knew.
She'd been sold. Again.
...
"C.C., if I'm not mistaken, the nature of the Geass contract—and the powers granted—are shaped by the user's deepest desires, right? So then... why is my Geass linked to awakening desire in women?" Clovis asked, his voice low and laced with uncertainty. "I remember that what I wanted most in life was power... control. Not something that revolved around sex."
They were alone now, lying together in a secluded chamber, the air still heavy with the scent of lust. Both were naked under the blankets, their bodies still warm from the passionate sex they'd shared.
C.C. turned to face him, her expression calm but penetrating. "Then ask yourself honestly, Clovis. Deep down in your heart, what do you truly desire? What have you always lacked in your life? What gnaws at your confidence, makes you anxious, insecure—something you've never been able to control?"
She paused, brushing a strand of hair from his face. "Remember, Geass isn't just about power. It's also a curse. You always believed you were competent enough to obtain power and control on your own. That's why your Geass didn't manifest as something to help you get those things. You didn't need it for that. The power reflects not just what you want—but what you can't get on your own, what you're fundamentally incapable of achieving."
"It manifests in the cracks. The flaws. The hidden parts of you that scream for something you can't admit out loud."
"I believe your Geass is tied to obsession... to love. But not the kind you have to fight for or sacrifice for. You never wanted to pay the price for love, never wanted to earn it. You wanted women who would throw themselves at your feet, become addicted to you, obsessed with you—who would love you without reason, without expectations, without conditions. That's why your Geass took the form it did."
Clovis didn't respond. He just lay there, staring at the ceiling in silence. Her words had hit something raw inside him.
Yes. He had always failed to make women truly love him—not in the way he wanted. He could attract them, bed them, own them. But to be the center of their world? To be worshipped, adored, loved beyond all reason? That had always eluded him.
He was selfish. He knew that. He cared only for himself—his pleasure, his needs, his ambitions. He couldn't truly love anyone else.
Yet he still longed for women who would love him completely, obsessively, without complaint or resistance. He wanted total submission, utter devotion—but without giving anything in return. Without vulnerability. Without pain.
She was right. It might not have been his noblest desire, but it was something he could never get on his own. Because at his core, Clovis was an egoist.
A man incapable of forming any real, meaningful connection with anyone—yet still want everything they had. He didn't want to bleed for it, didn't want to suffer, didn't want to pay a thing. He just wanted to take, expecting the world to hand him intimacy, loyalty, and love on a silver platter while he gave absolutely nothing in return.
Selfish, wasn't it?
But that's just the kind of person Clovis was.
A true egoist at heart.
Moreover, it was never easy for him to fall in love with someone. Not when most women only seemed interested in the surface-level image he showed the world—his charm, his money, and his good looks—rather than who he truly was as a person.
They liked him because he was successful, attractive, and financially stable. He had a nice house, a few cars, and even some real estate businesses inherited from his late father. On paper, he was the full package. A dream man.
But once they got to know the real him? That illusion shattered fast. They pulled away. Because under the charm, beneath that polished exterior, he was a sexist, an asshole, a bit of a racist—maybe even a sadist on his worst days. And those weren't even all his flaws. Who knows how many of his so-called friends or women who claimed to love him ended up ghosting him the moment they caught a glimpse of what he really was behind the mask.
He could hide his darker sides most of the time—he'd gotten good at it—but occasionally, they slipped through. Especially when he lost control, when his rage boiled over, when the real him bled out through the cracks.
That's why he didn't trust affection that came easy. Sweet words and giggles didn't mean shit to him. He was only interested in one thing—intensity.
The kind of love that burned.
Because only an emotion that strong, that visceral, could cut through the bullshit. Only something that powerful couldn't be faked
And that's what he was chasing: a love too intense to lie.
Thinking about it, Clovis didn't waste a single second. He threw the blanket off their bodies with a rough motion, exposing C.C.'s completely naked form beneath him.
His eyes burned with raw hunger, pupils dilated with pure animalistic lust as he hovered over her, pressing her body into the bed with his weight.
"You're mine now," he growled, voice thick with dominance. "And I'm going to make sure you stay mine, C.C. No one else gets to have you. No one."
"I'd never try to escape, Clovis," she replied, smirking lazily, her fingers tracing his chest. "It's already too late for that. I belong to you."
That was all he needed to hear.
Without hesitation, without asking for permission—because he didn't need it—Clovis lined himself up and slammed his cock deep into her soaked pussy, burying himself to the hilt in one rough, claiming thrust.
"F-fuck!" she gasped, back arching as the sudden intrusion sent a shock of pleasure through her.
Clovis didn't hold back. Not tonight.
He gripped her hips and began to thrust into her with brutal rhythm, his cock pounding in and out of her slick, tight walls, each motion loud, wet, and heavy with unfiltered craving.
He wasn't making love—he was taking her, marking her, fucking her like she was the last woman on earth and he had to etch himself into every fiber of her being.
Her moans echoed through the room—lewd, high-pitched, and shameless.
She didn't even try to stay quiet. C.C. wanted him to hear it all—the way her body welcomed his cock, the way each thrust made her toes curl and her body tremble.
Their bodies moved together in a sweaty, frenzied rhythm—skin slapping against skin, bedsheets twisted, breath ragged, nails digging into flesh.
She pulled him deeper with her legs wrapped tightly around his waist, meeting each of his rough thrusts with eager desperation.
The night was long. And neither of them planned to sleep.
Clovis fucked her like he was trying to break her—and C.C. let him, because this was exactly what she wanted: to be owned, to be used, to be his.