Revenge Tastes Like His Body

Delphine’s POV

They say true love makes a woman beautiful and noble.

But my relationship? It was nothing more than a long, slow exercise in self-deception.

Three years with Lucian taught me to step back, to endure, to swallow my pride. Even at a yacht party he'd planned for another woman's birthday. Even when I watched him lick cream from her fingertips. I stayed silent.

Until the boat swayed—and my knee brushed against Theodore Sinclair.

He didn't pull away.

When his burning palm slid beneath the tablecloth to grip my thigh... when his low, magnetic voice murmured against my ear, "When we reach the shore, I'll give you everything you want"—

I was lost.

He's the most powerful man in Sylvan City.

He's the man my boyfriend desperately tries to impress but will never measure up to.

He's the birthday girl's stepfather.

But when he kissed me, I couldn't help thinking:

Revenge tastes just as intoxicating as his body feels.

The waiter set down an elegant appetizer, but I had no appetite whatsoever.

Because Scarlett was feeding Lucian.

She speared a piece of tiramisu with a silver dessert fork and brought it slowly to his lips. Her fingertips lingered at the corner of his mouth a moment too long—seemingly accidental, yet undeniably deliberate.

"Lucian, you have to try this. It's divine."

Not only did Lucian not pull away—he actually licked her fingertip.

I watched the scene unfold, my stomach churning with nausea. I lowered my gaze and tried to cut into the steak on my plate, only to find my hands trembling.

The man beside me remained silent throughout.

Theodore Sinclair—Scarlett's stepfather, CEO of Sinclair Group, and the most powerful business magnate in Sylvan City.

This yacht trip had been Lucian's idea. Our destination was Richmond Island, a private retreat a hundred nautical miles offshore, where we would celebrate Scarlett's twenty-third birthday.

I hadn't expected someone as busy as Theodore to come along.

In my experience, he rarely attended private gatherings. Rumors painted him as "cold-blooded" and "utterly indifferent to women"—a reclusive man who existed solely within the walls of his business empire.

Today he wore a charcoal gray shirt, sleeves rolled to his wrists, revealing the defined muscles of his forearms. His eyes were a deep blue, like the frozen surface of a winter lake—the kind that warned you not to get too close. An aura of unapproachability radiated from him, as if he were completely out of place at this festive birthday celebration.

Three years. I had given everything to this relationship. I had accommodated Lucian's preferences, tended to his moods, and chosen to believe his explanations every time things between him and Scarlett became suspiciously intimate.

And this was my reward—public humiliation.

The yacht swayed gently.

My knee brushed inadvertently against the firm thigh pressed close to mine. I instinctively moved to pull away—but in that moment, my gaze happened to catch Scarlett's neck.

There was a faint red mark there.

Even a fool would recognize it—a hickey. No need to guess who had left it.

Something inside me snapped. A fierce wave of defiance surged through me.

I froze. My knee stayed where it was. I didn't move away. In fact—I pressed it closer.

I felt Theodore pause. He stopped cutting his steak and glanced at me. Those deep blue eyes seemed to see right through me, yet he said nothing.

I kept my gaze straight ahead, feigning indifference. But my heart was pounding so hard I thought it might burst from my chest.

Only a thin layer of fabric separated us. I could feel the taut muscle of his thigh, the heat radiating from his body—seeping into my skin wave after wave, igniting every nerve.

"Delphine." Scarlett's voice cut through my chaotic thoughts.

She rested her chin on her hand, a glint of triumph in her eyes, though her tone remained soft and sweet. "Lucian is like family to me. You don't mind him taking care of me like this, do you?"

I lifted my head and met her seemingly innocent gaze.

"Your only family," I said evenly, "should be Mr. Sinclair."

Scarlett's smile froze for an instant.

But she quickly recovered, slipping back into her wounded-victim persona. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, her voice trembling with hurt.

"Delphine... ever since my mother passed away, I just wanted someone else to care about me. That's why I think of Lucian as family... How could you say something so cruel?"

She sounded so pitiful, so wronged. As if I were the one bullying her.

I opened my mouth to retort, but Lucian cut me off with a frown.

"Delphine." His voice was low, heavy with displeasure and reproach.

"That's enough. This trip is supposed to be about celebrating Scarlett's birthday. We're all here to have a good time." His gaze flickered pointedly toward the man beside me. "Besides, Mr. Sinclair is present. Could you please show some basic courtesy? Stop being so confrontational."

His meaning couldn't have been clearer—Theodore was Scarlett's stepfather, the most distinguished person on this trip. By clashing with Scarlett in front of him, I was disrespecting him. I was out of line.

At his words, Scarlett's lips curved upward, a flash of satisfaction in her eyes.

She turned to Theodore, as if waiting for him to come to her defense.

After all, in front of others, surely Theodore would protect his own stepdaughter?

But—

Theodore said nothing.

He maintained that same air of cold detachment, as if none of this concerned him. He didn't even glance at Scarlett. He simply picked up his wine glass and took a slow sip.

Scarlett's smile turned to stone.

And in that same moment, I felt something unexpected.

Beneath the tablecloth, a scorching hand slid over and gripped my thigh.

I went rigid.

It was Theodore.