Chapter 94: Chapter Ninety Three

Athena

The fight was brutal and relentless, with James appearing to gain the upper hand. I gritted my teeth, blocking his next punch with my forearm as pain surged through my body like wildfire.

My breaths came fast and shallow, my heartbeat roaring in my ears. This wasn’t just any fight. This was the fight—the one that would decide everything.

James’s fists were relentless. Every strike reminded me of everything he’d taken from me. My childhood. My peace. My sister. I staggered back, my foot slipping slightly on the blood-slick floor.

Then I saw it.

The glint of metal on the floor beside me—the gun. My fingers moved on instinct, scrambling for it before James could realize what I was after. Somehow, in a stroke of luck, I managed to grab the gun and aimed it directly at him.

He froze, chest heaving, a cruel smirk still playing on his bruised face. “You won’t do it,” he growled. “You’re too much like her.”

Too much like her?

He didn’t get to explain. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of movement—Lysander. He was creeping forward from behind a broken pillar, his eyes wild with desperation.

No.

Without hesitation, I turned the gun on him and pulled the trigger. The sound was deafening in the enclosed space. He staggered, looking down at the crimson bloom spreading across his chest.

His mouth parted slightly, but no words came. He crumpled to the floor, his body twitching once before going still.

I’d shot my husband.

But he wasn’t my husband anymore. Not truly. Not since the day I found out the truth.

The momentary distraction cost me. James lunged, his weight slamming into me. I lost my grip on the gun as we crashed to the floor. He was stronger—always had been. His fingers closed around my throat, his face inches from mine, filled with murderous rage.

“You should’ve stayed out of it, Athena,” he hissed.

I clawed at his wrists, gasping, struggling—but then—

Bang!

A gunshot rang out. The window behind James exploded into shards, and a bullet tore into his hip. He screamed, the pressure on my throat easing as he collapsed to the side.

I scrambled to my knees, coughing, eyes wide with confusion. What just happened?

Gunshots rang out again—sharp, precise. James’s remaining men dropped one by one, their bodies hitting the ground like sacks of meat. I spun toward the window, heart pounding.

Two snipers.

Perched on the roof of the outhouse across the yard, weapons raised, scanning the room. Our backup?

I didn’t know. I didn’t care.

James lay groaning on the ground, clutching his hip. His blood spread across the floor like an inkblot, staining everything it touched. He was vulnerable now, and I could’ve ended him.

But I needed answers more than revenge.

I moved closer, gun retrieved, aimed at his chest. My hand trembled—not out of fear, but out of everything else. Rage. Grief. Desperation.

“I need to know,” I said, my voice barely recognizable. “Tell me who did it.”

James looked up slowly, his mouth twisted in pain but not defeat.

“Who killed my sister, James?”

It was the question that had haunted me for years. That had kept me awake on too many nights, whispering through my nightmares like a curse. My twin—Aurelia—had died in a hit and run that was never an accident.

And deep down, I always believed someone powerful had made it disappear from the news, from police files, from our lives.

James’s gaze shifted.

He wasn’t looking at me anymore.

He was looking at him.

Eros.

I followed his line of sight, heart stumbling in my chest. Eros stood behind me, gun drawn, his dark eyes locked on James like they held the weight of a thousand secrets.

Then James laughed.

A low, twisted sound that crawled under my skin.

And then he said it.

“Leonardo Belmonte.”

The name sliced through me like a blade.

My fingers went numb. My heart stopped.

No. It couldn’t be.

The name hit me like a bullet straight through the soul. Leonardo Belmonte. Eros’s father.

I couldn’t breathe. My ears rang, my vision blurred, and the ground felt like it was crumbling beneath me.

My voice cracked. “You’re lying.”

James chuckled through the pain, blood on his teeth. “Ask him. Ask your beloved golden boy. He knows exactly what his family did.”

I turned slowly, barely able to breathe, the gun falling from my grip.

Eros’s expression didn’t change.

But something in his eyes did.

And that was all the confirmation I needed.

As the chaos settled and the dust from the gunfire began to clear, I stood frozen, my mind racing. The name "Leonardo Belmonte" echoed in my head like a poison, but it wasn’t just the revelation that haunted me—it was the look in Eros’s eyes when he met my gaze.

The weight of everything I had learned, the betrayals, the lies, and the brutal truths, all came crashing down on me.

I refused to believe anything James said.

Even as his blood pooled beneath him and the last embers of his arrogance flickered in his pain-wracked groans, I clung to denial like a life raft. James had always been a liar, a manipulator—he’d kill a child and smile through it. There was no way I could take his word as truth.

I wanted to scream, to lash out, to demand answers, but all I could do was stare at Eros. His face remained unreadable, but his presence was suffocating.

Was he involved? Did he know more than he had ever let on? Was he still the man I had come to trust, or was he part of the web of deceit that had torn my world apart?

He stood motionless, his broad frame framed by the shattered window and the distant wail of sirens. His face was devoid of emotion—no anger, no denial, not even pity. Just that cold, impenetrable mask he wore when he didn’t want to be known.

And I found myself at a loss for what to think.

I had trusted him. Loved him, in a quiet, unspoken way I never dared confess. He had been my sanctuary, the one person who hadn’t demanded anything from me but had offered everything. Or so I thought.

“Eros,” I whispered, the name foreign on my tongue now.

Eros stepped forward, his hand reaching out, slow and careful like I was a wounded animal he didn’t want to startle, but I took a step back, the distance between us seeming wider than ever.

For a moment, everything was still—except for the beat of my heart, echoing in my ears. His outstretched hand hovered in the air, and I hesitated.

“Athena—”

I took another step back.

Don’t touch me.

"I never meant for any of this to happen," Eros’s voice was soft, broken, but I didn’t know what to think anymore. “I didn’t know how to tell you,”

His voice cracked on the last word, and for a moment, I almost believed him. But the image of my twin sister—lifeless, broken, gone—rose behind my eyes. I saw her face in every memory I had tried to bury, and I remembered how I had begged for answers all these years while he said nothing.

I swallowed hard, the question on my lips more dangerous than any weapon. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth?” I asked, tears stinging my eyes. “You knew what I was going through.”

Eros lowered his hand.

He remained silent.

The truth was a ghost in the room, thick in the air, choking me more than James ever could. I stared at Eros, willing him to say something—anything—that would justify the silence, the betrayal, the look of guilt I saw now too clearly on his face.

But all I got was silence. Eros’s eyes darkened, and his silence answered me more than words ever could. He must’ve thought a second time would be enough to change my mind, because he reached out for me again.

But I pulled away, my heart aching even as I ignored the flicker of pain in his eyes. I couldn’t let his hurt matter—not when mine was drowning me.

And then—flashing lights, doors slamming, footsteps. The police had arrived.

James groaned as they rushed past me, two officers pinning him down and shouting commands. Someone called for a medic. But I didn’t care. Not anymore.

It took me a moment to realize where they had brought me—the house I’d grown up in. A cruel twist of fate. After all these years, it still stood untouched, unsold, haunted by the memory of that night nearly twenty years ago.

No one wanted it, not after what had happened. So James, in one final act of twisted irony, decided to use it for his last hurrah.

This house had always been the bane of my existence, a place where nightmares festered behind every wall. And now, just like before, it reeked of blood and truth—only this time, it shattered my world even more than the night James murdered my mother.

More than the night I became an orphan.

Without another word, I turned away. Whether I still loved Eros, or whether I ever could again, I didn’t know.

As I walked into the unknown, my heart torn between the man I had once trusted and the lies I had just uncovered, I knew one thing: Some questions were never meant to be answered.

I didn’t look back.

\~~~~~

Eros

She walked away, and I let her.

I didn’t stop her. I didn’t run after her. Maybe I should’ve. But I couldn’t move. My legs were rooted to the ground, my hands still outstretched like a fool who had forgotten how to let go.

I saw it in her eyes. The disbelief. The heartbreak. The betrayal.

And I couldn’t say anything that would make it better.

Because I had known. Not everything—not the full extent of Leonardo’s crimes—but I knew enough to question him. I knew enough to dig deeper. And I didn’t. I stayed silent, afraid of what the truth might do to Athena. Afraid of what it might do to me.

So I did nothing.

And that silence became my guilt.

Watching her retreat into the shadows, I realized I might’ve lost her forever—not because of what I did, but because of what I didn’t.

And there was no one to blame but myself.