Weaponized Love: The Irresistible Devil Claimed Me

Back in her bedroom, Roselyn freshened up before collapsing onto the bed, the mattress barely cushioning the weight of the day.

Everything that had happened on her first day back pressed down on her chest, leaving her wrung out and hollow.

With her eyes shut, her thoughts blurred and scattered, drifting in uneven waves as she shifted restlessly beneath the covers. Long minutes passed before exhaustion finally pulled her under, and sleep carried her straight into a dream.

In her dream, the scene rewound to when she was sixteen.

Sunlight blazed over the basketball court, where teenage boys ran and laughed, their movements loose, loud, and brimming with careless youth.

When halftime came, Roselyn hurried over with bottles of water for Kevin and the others.

Tilting her head slightly, she wiped the sweat from Kevin's forehead with a towel.

A voice rang out nearby, playful and teasing. "Kevin, take a look at Roselyn—sweet, obedient, and beautiful. Just make her your future wife."

Heat rushed to Roselyn's cheeks, the color blooming as she froze in place, her hands hanging awkwardly at her sides, unsure where to put them or how to respond.

Across from her, eighteen-year-old Kevin met her gaze with an open, luminous calm, the corners of his mouth lifting into a soft, unguarded smile. "Of course," he said lightly. "Then you'll have to wait for me, Roselyn. One day, I'll marry you."

Laughter erupted around them, his friends hooting and clapping without restraint.

Caught off guard, Roselyn felt her emotions swell all at once, crashing over her without warning.

Back then, at sixteen, the feelings she had carefully tucked away finally broke free—what had once been a vague, shapeless pull sharpened and spread, quietly but relentlessly taking over her thoughts.

The phrase "wait for me" had carved itself deep into Roselyn's memory since then, sharp and unforgettable. She had sworn to be good, to wait patiently, and to carry the weight of that moment with her for the rest of her life.

Out of nowhere, the dream lurched sideways. Every image fractured at once, collapsing into nothing, until only boundless darkness remained.

Fear surged through her chest, and before she could react, a powerful arm locked around her. She was dragged against a solid body and held fast in a crushing embrace.

Hot breath brushed her ear as a voice murmured with a dangerous, possessive edge, "Roselyn, don't even think about running away from me."

When she lifted her gaze, Wesley's devastatingly handsome face filled her vision.

Nothing about him had changed—he remained defiant and untamed, the kind of man who never released what he claimed. With relentless strength, he pinned her in place and thrust into her, leaving her breathless and powerless beneath him. "Sweetheart, moan for me."

Roselyn snapped awake, her heart slamming wildly against her ribs. She bolted upright, dragging a shaky hand across her forehead as if to clear the lingering heat.

Only then did it sink in—it wasn't real, just a dream. Yet inside that dream, every touch and shift had felt terrifyingly real, and Wesley had been just as reckless and unrestrained as always by the end.

Covering her face with both hands, Roselyn lay back, throat dry, restlessness humming through her like an aftershock. Dreaming something like that made her feel completely unhinged.

After her breathing finally evened out, she rose, washed up, and changed into fresh clothes.

When she went downstairs, the dining room came into view—and with it Beth, already seated at the table, calmly eating breakfast.

At seventy-eight, Beth's hair had gone half-white, yet her back remained straight and her bearing steady, refinement and authority settling around her like an old habit.

Roselyn approached and halted beside the table. She didn't dare sit; instead, she lowered her head and stood neatly, murmuring, "Good morning, Beth."

Without looking up, Beth kept eating, her attention firmly fixed on her plate.

A tight line formed at Roselyn's mouth as she remained quietly off to the side.

Not until the last bite was finished did Beth place her fork and knife down and finally lift her eyes. "You returned without saying a word," she remarked coolly. "It seems you've gotten bolder."

Keeping her gaze lowered, Roselyn said nothing, her silence heavy and deliberate.

A sharp, assessing stare pinned Roselyn in place before Beth demanded, her tone icy, "So when exactly do you plan to return to Zoinbury?"

After a brief hesitation, Roselyn answered quietly, "I… I'm staying in Radena."

Beth's temper flared at once, her words slicing through the air. "Don't be ridiculous. Kevin's about to get engaged. What reason do you have to stay here?"

Forcing herself to meet Beth's eyes, Roselyn replied hoarsely, "Why does his engagement mean I'm not allowed to come back?"

She swallowed and added, the question trembling out of her, "Isn't this my home too?"

She felt that in everyone's eyes, once Kevin became engaged, she was supposed to keep her distance and preferably not stay in the same nation.

Ignoring the question, Beth scrutinized Roselyn for a long, heavy moment before warning flatly, "You'd better know your place, Roselyn. If you dare cause another shameful mess like the one three years ago, don't blame me for cutting you off and throwing you out!"

Color drained from Roselyn's face, a sharp flicker of humiliation crossing her features. That incident three years earlier had left her wounded from beginning to end, yet in Beth's version of events, she had somehow become the instigator—the source of the scandal.

Casting one last indifferent glance at Roselyn, Beth rose from her chair and walked off without looking back.

Left standing alone, Roselyn felt an icy weight settle deep in her chest. She shut her eyes briefly, steadying herself. When she opened them again and slowly took in the house she had lived in for fifteen years, every corner felt strangely foreign. So this place had never truly been her home.