Lust System: Conquering the World Beauties-Chapter 249 More Than A Crush

The first thing Liam did as he stepped further into the quiet house was check if Lana’s parents were home.

He didn’t want awkward encounters—not today. Especially not after what happened earlier with Lana kneeing him like a crazy assassin. His pride still hadn’t fully recovered.

He moved quietly, scanning the living room, the kitchen, and even peeking into the hallway that led to her parents’ bedroom. No sign of them. The place was dead quiet except for one thing—the soft, constant sound of water running upstairs.

Shower.

He smirked faintly.

That had to be Lana.

He followed the sound, heading up the creaking wooden stairs with light steps until he reached the second floor. He paused in front of a door that was slightly ajar—the sound of water coming from behind it.

But instead of barging into the bathroom, his eyes drifted to the door directly beside it.

Lana’s room.

It was closed, but unlocked. Curiosity tugged at him. He wasn’t usually the type to snoop, but he didn’t know what came over him.

He pushed the door open slowly.

It was his first time inside Lana’s personal space.

And the moment he stepped in, the scent hit him.

It was soft. Sweet. Feminine. That kind of subtle perfume mixed with shampoo and something else he couldn’t name—but it was intoxicating. The scent clung to the air, the bedsheets, even the walls. It was undeniably her.

The room was almost too clean—like it had been scrubbed obsessively. The kind of tidy that didn’t come from habit, but from needing to control something.

Everything was neatly arranged: books on the shelf in order of size, cosmetics in a clear box on her dresser, and small decorative pillows stacked on her bed. There were soft pink curtains hanging beside a large window, allowing sunlight to bathe the entire room in a golden hue.

But what stood out most were the traces of someone else.

Dolls.

Stuffed animals lined one shelf—old and slightly faded.

A child’s picture frame beside the bed, cracked.

Small toys that didn’t belong to a teenage girl or young woman. No, they belonged to someone much younger.

Her sister.

Liam’s chest tightened as the memory hit him. Lana had once mentioned losing her younger sister when they were kids. Now, being in her room, he could feel the weight of it.

He sighed, stepping carefully around the room, not wanting to disturb anything.

His eyes caught a half-open drawer near the bed. Inside were books—some journals, others just sketchpads. He reached in and pulled out the first one.

A drawing book.

He raised a brow, flipping through the first few pages.

Lana could draw?

And not just doodles either—real drawings. Skilled. Detailed. Emotive. There was a quiet elegance to the way she sketched, but what surprised him even more was what she had drawn.

Her parents.

One drawing showed her father—slumped in a chair with a bottle in his hand, eyes hollow.

Another captured her mother—stiff posture, lips drawn into a hard line, a storm of disappointment in her expression.

There was no joy in the drawings. No smiles. No warmth. Just coldness. Silence. Pain.

Liam closed the book gently and placed it back into the drawer. That wasn’t something he wanted to mess with. Whatever that book held, it was private. A window into things Lana hadn’t said out loud. Things she probably never would.

He reached for another one. This one was different—thicker and bound with a simple string.

Photos.

The cover was worn, the edges slightly bent. His fingers moved automatically, untying the string and opening it as he dropped onto her bed.

The mattress was soft, the covers plush and inviting. And they smelled like her.

God, he thought as he exhaled. Even her damn bed smells perfect.

He lay back casually, flipping open the first page.

And froze.

His mouth parted slightly.

It was a photo of Lana.

Here.

In this room.

Her hair was damp—like she’d just gotten out of the shower. She was wearing a loose tank top, and her gaze wasn’t posed or smiling. It was raw. Vulnerable. Sexy in a way that wasn’t intentional. The kind of photo a girl takes when she’s feeling lonely... or just wanting to feel seen.

He turned the page slowly.

More photos.

More Lana.

One with her sprawled on the bed, legs crossed and eyes on the ceiling. Another with her leaning against the window in nothing but an oversized T-shirt, biting her lip like she was caught in some fantasy.

He swallowed.

These weren’t for social media.

These weren’t for anyone but her.

Shit.

They were beautiful. Too beautiful. He could feel heat pooling in his chest, his body reacting automatically, and he had to grip the book tighter to stop his hands from shaking. Some of them were even more revealing, hinting at curves and skin he hadn’t seen yet.

His nose nearly bled just from the temptation alone.

He turned another page.

And everything stopped.

"What the hell..." he whispered.

Because these weren’t pictures of Lana anymore.

They were of a boy.

A very good-looking boy.

Different angles. Some candid. Some clearly taken in secret.

The way they were arranged...

It looked like stalking.

Dozens of pictures.

Dozens.

Liam sat up slowly, the book still open in his lap, his eyes wide.

She hadn’t just taken a few random pictures.

No. This was obsession.

His lips parted slightly as he stared at the page.

"This is..."

What made Liam freeze wasn’t just the number of pictures, or how obsessively they were arranged. No.

It was who was in the pictures.

Him.

Not someone who looked like him.

Him.

A younger version. Maybe two, almost three years ago. His hair was shorter, messier. He looked thinner back then, less muscular, still growing into the man he would become.

But it was definitely him.

His jaw clenched slightly, mind spinning with confusion.

What the actual hell?

She had photos of him—dozens of them. At school. Walking on the street. Sitting at the back of a classroom. Leaning against his locker. Talking with people. And even a few taken from some kind of distance, like she’d used a zoom lens. Like... she’d been following him. Quietly. Constantly.

Lana had been stalking him.

It hit him like a punch in the gut. Not in a bad way—but a shocking way. The girl who always looked so composed, confident, and untouchable... had been watching him all this time.

This changed everything.

He sat on the bed, stunned into silence, still holding the photo book in his hands when he heard the click of the door behind him.

He turned.

Lana stood at the threshold.

Her body was wrapped tightly in a white bathrobe that hugged her curves, and her hair was wrapped up in a towel. Droplets of water still ran down her smooth skin, glistening under the morning sunlight. Her cheeks were flushed, either from the heat of the shower or the shock on her face.

Her eyes widened.

Then her gaze locked onto the photo book in Liam’s hand.

That book.

She froze.

As if all the blood drained from her face at once.

"Let me explain that," she said quickly, her voice a little too high, a little too nervous.

Liam stood up immediately, still gripping the book, his expression unreadable. "Okay," he said, stepping closer. "Explain."

She swallowed, her lips parting as she fumbled for words. "I-I... um... that was... I don’t... I mean—"

She couldn’t form a full sentence.

Her hands clenched into the robe at her sides, knuckles pale.

But Liam suddenly broke into laughter.

A loud, unrestrained, belly-aching laugh that filled the room. He laughed so hard his stomach began to hurt, his body nearly doubling over.

She blinked, confused. "Liam...?"

He clutched his sides, grinning like a madman. "So you’ve been stalking me since two years ago?"

The look on her face was somewhere between mortified and frozen in horror. But then she slipped—her mouth opened, and she said the words before her brain could stop them.

"Five."

Silence.

Liam stopped laughing.

His smile slowly faded as his eyebrows lifted. "...What?"

Lana covered her mouth immediately, eyes wide. She hadn’t meant to say that.

"Five years?" Liam repeated, his tone caught somewhere between shock and disbelief. "Five years, Lana?!"

She looked like she wanted to disappear. Her fingers tightened around the edges of her robe as she stared at him, completely exposed emotionally. "I—You weren’t supposed to see that."

"Obviously," Liam muttered.

But the atmosphere in the room shifted.

His laughter had relaxed her just enough, and now that the worst had been blurted out... she looked away, cheeks burning with shame.

"I was scared," she said softly, walking over and snatching the book out of his hands, hugging it to her chest protectively like it was part of her soul. "I always wanted to talk to you. But I was scared you’d reject me. You were always so... cool. Every girl liked you. And me... I was just..."

Liam stared at her.

She wasn’t "just" anything.

She was Lana.

She was the girl who turned heads effortlessly. The girl who men dreamed of. The one who made people pause in the hallway just to take in her presence.

And she thought he would reject her?

Was she crazy?

"Wow," he said, blinking in disbelief. "You actually thought I would say no?"

She didn’t answer. Just turned her face away, clearly embarrassed.

"Lana..." he muttered, almost in disbelief. "You were literally the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. Still are."

She looked back at him slowly, her eyes widening.

"You think I would’ve said no?" he scoffed, shaking his head. "If you had asked me out back then, I’d probably be running around the damn world just to impress you."

Her lips parted slightly, her breath caught.

He stepped closer, eyes still locked on hers.

"To think..." he whispered. "My crush had a crush on me. What a waste."

Her brows furrowed, and she tilted her head. "Waste?"

Liam stopped in front of her, close enough that he could feel the warmth of her wet skin through the robe. He didn’t break eye contact.

"It could’ve just been me and you," he said quietly, his voice like silk. "Going to places... doing all the things we never got to do. Wasting time, together."

Her breath hitched.

He reached down and gently wrapped his arms around her waist, drawing her into him.

The book between them pressed into his chest as she looked up at him, her lashes still wet from the shower.

Her heart pounded.

She couldn’t look away.

Not anymore.

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