Chapter 154

Chapter 154

His gaze swept the sour-smelling room and finally settled on Clio's haggard face.

Clio didn't notice anything was off.

She looked up at him, her eyes gleaming with a feverish, toxic kind of madness.

"Dean, you have to help me." Clio's teeth were clenched, her face contorted. "Hestia did this to me. I can't let her get away with it. Go deal with her for me. If she's dead—or crippled—William won't protect her anymore. Then I can turn everything around. You love me that much, don't you? You'll help me. Right?"

She stared at him, expectant. Entitled.

She wielded his love like a tool, as if asking him to destroy someone's life was nothing more than a minor errand.

Dean looked at the face in front of him.

This face had once been pure and kind and untouched in his mind.

Now it was twisted. Venomous. Filled with calculation and greed.

He felt his heart being torn apart with bare hands.

"Clio." Dean's voice came out so quiet it was barely a whisper, drenched in exhaustion and despair.

He didn't answer her demand. Instead, he reached out and closed his hand around her wrist.

"Do you remember college?" His voice was raw. "That winter, I had an asthma attack by the lake. You saved me. You left in a hurry and dropped a hair clip. That was the first time our paths crossed."

Clio blinked, clearly caught off guard that he'd bring up ancient history at a time like this.

Her eyes flickered. She forced a dry laugh. "Of course I remember. That was my most precious hair clip. I searched everywhere for it—never imagined you'd picked it up. Dean, why are you bringing this up now? We need to figure out how to deal with Hestia—"

"The crystals on the clip." Dean cut her off, his eyes boring into hers. "Did you set them yourself?"

Unease stirred in Clio's chest, but she nodded, doubling down. "Yes, I did them by hand. You always loved that letter 'N,' didn't you?"

"Did I." Dean's mouth twisted into a smile uglier than tears.

He released her wrist, pulled out his phone, and opened the video Donna had sent him. He held the screen directly in front of Clio's face.

On screen, Donna sat with tweezers in hand, carefully setting crystals, laughing: "See this one? I accidentally set it a little crooked..."

Every drop of color drained from Clio's face. Her breathing stopped.

"You told me you set those crystals yourself?" Dean advanced, step by step, his voice shaking with barely contained rage. "You told me you were 'N'? You told me that silhouette was you?"

Clio backed away until her spine hit the cold wall.

"Dean, let me explain! That video is fake! Hestia fabricated it to drive us apart!" Clio grabbed frantically at his hands. "She's jealous of me—jealous that you treat me so well!"

"Enough!" Dean flung her off like something vile stuck to his skin.

His eyes were red-rimmed. He pointed straight at her face. "Even now—even now you're still lying! You can't dance ballet. You can't even hold a basic relevé. That hair clip—you stole it from Hestia. You stole her belongings, stole her identity, and sat back enjoying every ounce of devotion I poured into you without a shred of guilt!"

Cornered, Clio's last thread of composure snapped.

"So what if I stole it?" she screamed, all pretense gone. "Why does Hestia get to have everything? Why was she born beautiful, rich, and talented? She left that clip sitting on a table like it was nothing—what's wrong with me picking it up? You're the one who was blind! You're the one who insisted on thinking I was her, following me around like a dog! How is that my fault?"

Silence crashed down on the room like a guillotine.

Clio slapped a hand over her mouth, realizing what she'd said. Her face went ashen.

Dean stood frozen.

Those words—'You're the one who was blind'—drove into his heart like a blade and twisted.

The salvation he'd believed in. The flawless woman he'd worshipped. From beginning to end, it had all been an elaborate theft.

He had hurt the girl who'd actually saved him—the girl who'd taken his breath away—for the sake of a vain, vicious thief.

"You make me sick." Dean looked at her. Every trace of love had vanished from his eyes, replaced by nothing but bone-deep revulsion and contempt.

He turned toward the door.

"Dean! Don't go!" Clio panicked and lunged, wrapping her arms around his leg. "I was wrong! I really was wrong! Don't leave me—you're all I have left!"

Dean kicked her off without a second's hesitation.

The door slammed shut behind him.

Clio collapsed on the filthy floor, her last lifeline gone.

---

That afternoon. The ballet company studio.

Hestia had just finished rehearsal and changed, ready to leave.

She stepped through the front doors and saw Dean standing at the bottom of the steps, looking like a man whose soul had been hollowed out.

His hair was a mess. His eyes were mapped with red veins. He looked like every drop of life had been drained from his body.

When he saw Hestia emerge, he walked toward her quickly.

"Hestia." His voice was wrecked.

Hestia stopped. Her gaze was cool and detached. "What—still not thinking straight? Here to demand justice for Clio again?"

"I'm sorry." Dean bent at the waist in a deep, sudden bow.

His voice was thick, choked with regret. "I know everything now. The person who saved me by the lake in college—that was you. The dancer—that was you. I was stupid. I was blind. Clio lied to me for years, and because of her... I did terrible things to you. I'm sorry."

Hestia watched him in silence. Not a single unnecessary emotion crossed her face.

"Are you done?" Her tone was perfectly level.

Dean straightened up, his eyes pleading. "I know an apology can't fix anything. If you're willing to forgive me, I'll do whatever it takes. I—"

"Dean, you think far too highly of yourself." Hestia cut him off, her voice cold as steel.

She looked at the man weeping before her and felt nothing but how absurd it all was.

"You think your apology has value?" Hestia's voice was barely above a murmur. "You were fooled by Clio because you only ever believed what you wanted to believe. You hurt me because, at your core, you're a self-righteous fool who can't tell right from wrong. Now that you've realized you had the wrong person and your little fantasy has collapsed, you come running to me to apologize—just to ease your own guilt."

She took one step closer, her gaze sharp enough to cut. "Your remorse. Your devotion. They're worth nothing to me. Stay away from me. You make me sick."

She walked past him without another glance and headed for the car parked at the curb.

Dean stood rooted to the spot as cold wind cut through his coat.

He watched Hestia's retreating back—absolute, unyielding, final—and the tears he'd been holding back broke free at last.

He had lost her completely. The girl who could have been the light of his life.

Every bit of it was his own doing.