Chapter 186 There's still time
Chapter 186 There's still time
Elara's POV,
The library door closes behind me with a quiet click, and I keep walking.
One step.
Then another.
Then another.
Somewhere, someone greets me, and I don’t answer. Someone else smiles. I think I smile back.
I’m not sure.
The corridors blur together until I no longer remember where I’m going. My feet simply carry me, because if they stop, I have the horrible feeling I’ll throw up right here on the polished marble floor.
Levi.
Lucien.
Brothers.
The words refuse to fit together.
No.
Not refuse.
They fit perfectly, and that’s what terrifies me. I remember their eyes. Blue. No, the photograph showed his eyes were green. Were my memories mixing up?
But still, how didn’t I see it?
How...
How did I never see it?
I press a trembling hand over my mouth.
No. No, I don’t want to think. Not now.
Not...
Ever.
I stop in front of a window and stare at my own reflection. The woman staring back looks pale, lost, and afraid.
A coward recently. Elara of ten months ago would be ashamed. I should ask him. I should march straight into his office, slam the laptop in front of him and ask—
Did you do it?
Did you kill him? Did you kill your own brother? The question burns against the inside of my skull.
But another one follows almost immediately.
What happens after?
Suppose he tells me. Suppose he looks me in the eye and says...
“Yes, I killed him.”
Then what? Do I scream? Cry? Leave? Pretend everything is fine? I mean, the evidence already exists.
There are articles, photographs, and witnesses, so this isn’t a question of whether he did it.
It’s...
I close my eyes.
It’s the fact that he did, and a question of why he did it.
My stomach twists so violently I have to grip the windowsill.
How could he? How could the man who kisses my forehead every night… The man who steals half my coffee… Who brushes my hair...
How could that same man stand over Levi’s broken body? For what? And the same day he killed his father? How?
My breathing becomes uneven.
No.
This...
This isn’t the Lucien I love.
Except my traitorous heart doesn’t hesitate and answers immediately.
It is him. It is the same man, the same smile, the same hands, the same heartbeat I fall asleep listening to every night.
The realization hurts more than the headline ever could.
Because I don’t stop loving him.
God.
I still love him.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
Is this what he felt when he found out I’d lied to him? When every truth I’d built between us collapsed in front of him?
Did his chest feel like this? Like someone had reached inside and squeezed until breathing became optional?
A bitter laugh escapes me.
Serves me right.
Maybe this is what loving someone actually means.
Not finding out they’re perfect.
Finding out they're capable of breaking your heart and loving them anyway.
I hate that. Especially since Noemi was right. I guess I don’t doubt that I can love Lucien’s demons too, but this is… My first love killed by the one I love now. The one I couldn’t love fully because of said first love.
God, what do I do?
~~
Lucien comes back long after midnight. I hear the bedroom door open. His footsteps are quieter than usual, and careful.
I keep my breathing slow and even, pretending sleep has claimed me hours ago, and for a long moment, I hear nothing. Then the mattress dips beneath his weight.
He doesn’t touch me immediately. Usually, he’d wrap an arm around my waist without asking.
Tonight, he hesitates.
As if afraid I’ll wake up, remember that I know he killed his father (and brother) and pull away.
The thought nearly breaks me.
Eventually, his fingers brush my hair away from my face, so gently. Like I’m something precious.
“I missed you today,” he whispers. “God, it was awful. The eyes…I wish you were…”
He stops, then sighs, “I know you’re asleep.” His thumb traces my cheek. “I’ll tell you everything one day.”
Then, just like every night, he rests his forehead against my shoulder.
“My love is forever.”
My lips part, and the words sit on the edge of my tongue.
Mine too.
I almost say them. God… I almost do. Instead, I lie perfectly still until his breathing evens out beside me.
Only then do silent tears slip beneath my closed eyes and disappear into the pillow.
I should ask him, but I already know why I won’t. Because I’m terrified of what it will do to us.
To me. To the quiet mornings. To our stupid arguments over coffee. To the way he whispers against my chest every night—
“My love is forever.”
If I ask… our forever ends tonight, I lose the happiest thing I’ve ever had, and I lose him.
My fingers curl into fists, and I do what I’ve done for the past three days whenever the fear creeps back in.
I lie to myself.
There’s still time.
I’ll ask tomorrow.
After breakfast.
Perhaps after he’s back from work.
Or after the operation.
After...
There's still time.
I tell myself that until sleep finally takes me. And somewhere deep inside… I already know I’m lying.