Wait, What You Mean I Got Reincarnated As A Heroine In Another World? Chapter 16 - 12.31 - CLARISSA

I didn’t expect to ask him to stay.

Not him, not like this.

But the words were out before I could stop them.

"So Ferry, will you...?"

He looked at with an unreadable expression, as if he’d misheard , or perhaps, as if he desperately wished he had. There was a flicker of sothing in his eyes—surprise, maybe a hint of fear, but no judgnt. Just a stunned stillness.

"Ferry."

I repeated it, my voice quieter this ti, almost a whisper against the sudden silence in the room.

"Will you stay with ? Tonight."

He hesitated.

Of course, he did.

He was a good man, perhaps too good for soone like . He possessed a kindness, a fundantal decency that felt alien to my own hardened existence.

This was our first night together, and I had already lied to him about my na.

My true identity, the monstrous deeds I had committed, remained a hidden darkness. Yet, despite all of that, he still nodded. It wasn’t a quick, eager nod, but a slow, deliberate one, as if he were carefully considering the weight of my request and his own answer.

He didn’t rush forward. He didn’t pounce or make any sudden moves.

Instead, he simply walked to my side, his movents deliberate and unhurried. His hands were careful, almost reverent, as if he were approaching sothing fragile. And the mont his skin brushed mine, a strange sensation washed over .

It wasn’t the fiery heat of lust that I was accustod to manipulating, nor the cold, sharp adrenaline of a power struggle. It was sothing else entirely: warmth.

A gentle, pervasive warmth that settled deep within my chest. It was unsettling. It was foreign. And it made acutely aware of my own vulnerability in that mont.

When his lips t mine, I didn’t resist. There was no calculated pushback, no defensive instinct kicking in. I simply allowed it, allowed his kiss to deepen, to explore.

When he began to remove my robe, I let him. There was no fight in , no desire to assert control or maintain my usual emotional distance.

I simply stood there, a silent acknowledgnt of my surrender.

I should have been in control.

That was how I had always survived, how I had navigated the brutal landscape of my life. I had perfected the art of manipulation, using my body as a lure, a tool to tempt demons, to draw them close before I dispatched them like the refuse they were.

Lust had always been a weapon in my arsenal, my body a finely honed instrunt of death and deception. That was its sole purpose, its only function, for as long as I could rember.

But now, here I was, lying beneath soone who was unequivocally not a monster. Soone whose touch was gentle, whose gaze held no malice, no hunger for power. He looked at as if I mattered, as if my very existence held value beyond my utility as a killer.

This revelation, this unexpected tenderness, scared more profoundly than any demon ever had. The fear that twisted in my gut wasn’t the fear of death or pain; it was the terrifying prospect of being truly seen, of being vulnerable to a genuine connection.

Ferry touched as if I were sothing precious and easily broken. His hands, though strong, trembled slightly as they moved over my skin.

He kissed my shoulder first, a soft, hesitant press of his lips, before tracing a path along my neck. A sound escaped then, sothing caught between a breath and a moan, a sound I didn’t recognize as my own.

I wasn’t accustod to being perceived in this way.

Not as bait for a kill.

Not as a cold, efficient slayer.

Just... a woman. A woman who was allowing herself to be seen, perhaps for the first ti, without artifice or pretense.

"Are you sure?" he asked quietly, his voice raspy with emotion, his eyes searching mine in the dim light.

He wasn’t pressuring , not in the slightest.

It was a genuine question, an offering of an escape route should I choose to take it. He wanted to be certain of my consent, certain that I was truly ready for this intimacy.

I nodded, the movent small but firm.

"Yes, take ." I confird, my voice steadier than I expected.

He entered slowly, carefully, his movents deliberate and considerate. My body tensed at first, not from fear, but from the sheer unfamiliarity of this kind of intimacy.

There was no rough force, no hurried penetration, no assertion of dominance. This wasn’t about control; it was about connection. It was a gentle exploration, a tentative joining of two bodies that felt entirely different from any experience I had known before.

And when I moaned his na—"Ferry..."—it ca from sowhere deep within , a raw, involuntary sound that surprised us both. It was as if I had been holding it in for years, a suppressed cry of longing finally finding its release.

It felt strange, this effortless giving of myself to him, this overwhelming urge to be close, to bridge the distance that had always defined my relationships. As we moved together, sothing inside cracked. It wasn’t a painful fracture, but rather a softening, a yielding of sothing old, sothing hardened that had encased my heart for so long.

It was as if a protective shell, built layer by layer over years of survival and self-preservation, was finally dissolving, revealing a raw and tender core.

I held onto him tightly, my fingers digging into the muscles of his back, my legs instinctively pulling him closer, wanting to feel every inch of his body pressed against mine.

His breathing beca uneven, a ragged sound that conveyed his own uncertainty, his lingering concern that he might sohow hurt . He moved with such exquisite care, as if he were constantly checking for signs of discomfort or pain.

But he didn’t hurt . Not once. There was no pain, only sensation, only this profound, overwhelming warmth that had taken root within .

I looked up at him in the dark, his silver hair falling into his eyes, obscuring them slightly. He was beautiful in a way I didn’t know how to process. His features, softened by the low light, held a quiet strength, a gentle intensity that captivated .

And I hated how much I wanted to stay like this, suspended in this mont of vulnerability and unexpected comfort.

After we finished, he remained with , his arms wrapped around my shoulders, our bodies still pressed together, radiating a quiet heat.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t ask questions about my past, about my na, about the lies I had told. He simply held . And that—more than the physical intimacy, more than the unfamiliar warmth that still perated my being—was what truly undid .

Because I used to be the Dreadnight Maker.

A killer, a weapon, a woman who devoured demons without a second thought, without a flicker of remorse. My life had been defined by violence, by control, by a relentless pursuit of vengeance.

And now, I was just soone... who didn’t want to be alone by loving soone.

Soone so gentle. Soone so sincere. And soone so innocent.