Chapter 21 The White Queen Moves

His final words fall cold, deliberate, like a blade laid flat, not put away.

“So this one…” A pause, heavy as breath itself. “This one is on you.”

I meet him with a glare, unflinching.

“Just because I refuse to be used as some anthropological rook in your endless board game of power does not mean I’ve been chasing anything, Tarmo. I’ve only done what a white queen must—moved in the directions I can, and where I still find the strength to muster.”

Our eyes lock—my defiance against his control—and in that silence my body betrays me again. Golden liquid spills not only from my breasts but slides down over my belly, seeping into fabric until my thighs feel drenched.

Good, I think. Let it stain his perfect leather seats. Let his empire host something it cannot contain.

I.Ph.

© 2026 I.Ph. de Lange All rights reserved. Published by CYcrds OÜ.