Sevika had always been a woman of action—practical, decisive, and rarely given to moments of playful indulgence. But right now, in the dimly lit room, as her fingers danced expertly over her lover’s sides, there was no mistaking the gleam in her pale, stormy eyes. The corner of her mouth curled up in a dangerous smirk, the faint purple glow of her left eye flickering as if to signal just how far she was willing to take this. Revenge, after all, was an art, and she was nothing if not an artist when it came to retribution.

Her broad, muscled form loomed over her lover as they squirmed beneath her, trapped in the bed with nowhere to escape. She’d never been one to laugh much—too serious, too focused on the grind of survival—but the satisfied glint in her gaze said it all. She had been the target of an ice cube down the back of her shirt not long ago, and while she could have easily handled it in a more typical Sevika way—by smashing something—this time she had opted for a different approach. A lesson in humility, she liked to think.

The prosthetic arm, gleaming copper in the dim light, hovered near her lover’s ribs, its metallic fingers poised with a calculated precision. There would be no mercy—she wasn’t the type to let something like a cold, wet nuisance slide. The delicate pressure of her touch and the steady tickling started slow, but there was something in the way Sevika’s gaze never wavered, her control unwavering, that made it clear this wasn’t about play. This was payback. And with a woman like her, payback always had a way of making its point.

No words were needed. The tension in the air said it all—no one escaped Sevika’s revenge unscathed. As silly as it was well her lover giggled and laughed- begging for mercy.