The Lycan King’s Mark (Nevara) by Tiffanie L. Campbell novel Chapter 74

74 – Dilution

Chapter 74 – Dilution

Nevara

By dinner, I’d skipped two cups of tea.

Not loudly.

Not defiantly.

Just… quietly.

Clai

I ate everything Tobias put in front of me–smiled at the right moments, laughed when he joked, nodded when he told me stories about us that still didn’t feel like mine. I let him refill my water, accepted seconds, praised the seasoning like I always did.

And when he handed me tea?

I continued to accept it without protest.

After we cleared the dishes, I stretched and sighed dramatically, rolling my shoulders. “I think I might take a bath,” I said. “Hot water. Candles. A book. Really relax.”

His

eyes lit immediately, soft and approving. “That sounds perfect. You deserve it.”

I stood and gathered a book from the shelf, the weight of it grounding in my hands.

“I’ll bring your tea in,” he added automatically.

I looked back at him and smiled–warm, genuine, cooperative. “That would be lovely.”

And it wasn’t a lie.

A hot bath. Bubbles. A book. Tea.

On paper, it sounded like heaven.

The bathroom filled with steam as the tub ran. I added far too much bubble solution–thick foam rising

until it nearly spilled over the sides. I lit the candles Tobias kept stocked beneath the sink, their soft glow

turning the room amber and slow.

The tub tray was already there, settled neatly across the porcelain like it had been designed for moments like this. I set my book on it, then eased into the water with a sigh that felt real.

The heat wrapped around me immediately.

This, at least, was safe.

The bubbles crept up my shoulders as I leaned back, muscles melting, the world narrowing to candlelight and steam and the faint crackle of the fire beyond the bathroom door.

A minute later, Tobias appeared.

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< Chapter 74 – Dilution

He carried the mug carefully, like it was precious. Set it down on the tray beside my book with deliberate

gentleness.

“There you go,” he said softly.

I looked up at him through the haze of bubbles and steam and smiled. “Thank you.”

He reached out, brushing his hand over my damp hair, thumb resting briefly at my temple. The gesture was tender enough that it could’ve been innocent.

“I’ll leave you to relax,” he said. “I’ll clean up the kitchen.”

“I’ll be right here,” I replied.

That made him chuckle. “I know.”

He lingered for half a second longer than necessary, eyes sweeping over the bath, the bubbles, the tray, the

mug.

Then he turned and left.

I waited.

Counted to sixty in my head.

Listened for the sound of water running in the sink. Cabinets opening. The scrape of a plate being set aside.

When I was sure he was busy, I reached for the mug.

The tea steamed quietly, surface unbroken.

I tipped it slowly.

The liquid poured into the bathwater, disappearing almost instantly beneath the foam. The scent bloomed for a second–stronger now, sharper–then faded as the water swallowed it whole.

I stirred the bath gently with my hand, dispersing it further.

Thousands to one, I calculated.

Even if whatever was in it could be absorbed through the skin, the dilution alone should make it meaningless.

At least, I hoped so.

I set the empty mug back on the tray, positioned exactly where it had been, and sank deeper into the tub

My heart thudded–not fast, not panicked.

Focused.

This wasn’t rebellion.

< Chapter 74 – Dilution

Confirmation.

He took the mug from me without comment and carried it to the kitchen.

I watched him go, my pulse calm, my thoughts sharp.

Three cups now skipped.

Cla

I bent to grab the leggings I’d left folded on the counter, stepping into them one leg at a time, the cotton dragging softly against damp skin.

And then it hit me.

Not gently.

Not a whisper.

A snap.

Like a frayed wire catching fire behind my eyes.

It was nighttime.

I was dressed in something sheer. Silky. A nightgown I’d picked out because I thought maybe–just maybe -he’d see me in it and remember we were married.

It was our anniversary.

Three years.

Three years of silent dinners, cold beds, and the kind of loneliness that didn’t announce itself–it just slowly hollowed you out from the inside.

I had gone to his office with my heart in my throat, fingers curled around the silk hem nervously. I wanted to try. To feel something with him. For him.

That’s when I saw him.

One hand stroking himself.

The other holding a phone.

He hadn’t noticed me yet.

The image on the screen–crude, graphic, unmistakable–was a woman with dark hair, mouth parted in an

O, fingers spreading herself wide for the camera.

The kind of picture no woman should be sending a married man.

I froze, everything inside me spiraling and stopping at once.

He dropped the phone and saw me, yelled at me for not knocking.

14-0

I whispered, “Please please just touch me. Once, Just once. It’s our anniversary

Then he just screamed at me to get out while his dek was still in his hand. His wedding band visible.

Black with silver decorative engravings

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