Chapter 77 TREADING THE LINES OF REALITY
MERRIELYNN.
I watched Cormac as he slept, the soft rise and fall of his chest almost hypnotic.
His face was so peaceful, far from the sharp and closed-off expression he wore when he was awake. His lips were slightly parted, and there was something almost boyish about him in that moment, as if all the weight he carried disappeared when he slept.
I stayed seated for a long time, just watching him, my thoughts drifting in circles.
Eventually, I stood and moved quietly around his apartment.
It felt strange, almost intrusive, but I couldn’t help my curiosity.
His home was minimalistic, with sparse decorations on the walls.
There were a few framed art pieces, but nothing personal. No family photos or memories of any kind, just abstract images that didn’t give anything away. It was like his space mirrored him—hard to read and intentionally closed off.
I found myself wandering into the kitchen and pulling open the fridge.
It was packed with food, most of it frozen. There were stacks of frozen pizzas and containers of frozen meat—so much meat, I couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow.
Among all of that, there were also random bags of candy.
it made me wonder if he had a sweet tooth. The idea felt oddly out of place, and I caught myself smiling faintly as I glanced back toward him, still asleep on the couch.
Leaving the kitchen, I wandered further into his space.
I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, but I let my feet guide me.
Eventually, I found myself standing in the doorway of his bedroom.
The room was massive but just as bare as the rest of the apartment. The walls were dark, the sheets a crisp white, and there was almost no decor in sight. There was nothing here that gave away who Cormac really was or what mattered to him.
It felt so… impersonal.
Like a space he existed in but didn’t truly live in.
My gaze landed on the bedside table, where something was wedged between it and the bedframe.
I stepped closer and bent down, tugging the object free. It was a thick book, and when I opened it, I realized it was a photo album. That alone surprised me—Cormac didn’t seem like the type to keep something like this, something sentimental.
I flipped the first page and saw a photo of him as a kid.
His hair was shorter, his grin wide, and there was sand smeared on his cheek. He looked carefree in a way I couldn’t imagine him being now. In the picture, he was sitting beside a younger version of his mother, and they both looked so happy.
I turned the page and saw another photo, this one of Cormac and Valtor.
They were both so young—this had to have been at least ten years ago. I stared at it for a long moment, my mind drifting back to the last time I’d seen Valtor.
He’d been cold, distant, like he barely tolerated my existence. Yet here he was, smiling beside Cormac like they ruled the world together.
I remembered something Cormac had told me at a party once.
That they were brothers, sans blood.
Seeing this picture now, I wondered how long they’d really known each other and what had bonded them so tightly.
Flipping to the next page, I paused.
The photo showed Cormac, a little older now, sitting beside a girl with dark hair. Her head was turned away from the camera, and her hand covered part of her face, like she didn’t want to be photographed. I studied the picture, wondering who she was. His sister maybe?
The nameless girl who I’d stupidly harbored resentment for just because her brother treated her right.
I shook my head slightly, feeling like a fool.
Before I could linger too long, a large hand suddenly slammed the album shut. I startled, my head snapping up to see Cormac standing over me, his expression unreadable.
“You’re awake,” I said softly, my voice breaking the tense silence.
“I am,” he replied, his tone flat.
“You fell asleep on me,” I pointed out, hoping to lighten the mood.
“And so you thought to snoop,” he said, cocking his head slightly. His voice wasn’t angry, but there was a sharpness to it that made me squirm.
I crossed my arms over my chest. “I had nothing better to do,” I shot back, trying to sound nonchalant even though I felt like a kid caught red-handed.
He didn’t reply right away, just stared at me, his dark eyes searching my face like he was waiting for something.
“What?” I asked defensively, frowning under his intense gaze.
He shook his head and looked away, taking the album from my hands. Without a word, he turned and disappeared into his closet. I heard the faint sound of something being placed on a shelf before he reappeared, now standing in the middle of the room with his hands in his pockets.
“Why did you ask me to come?” I asked, my voice quieter now. I couldn’t read him, and it was starting to unnerve me.
Cormac looked at me for a moment before answering. “I wanted to try something,” he said simply.
I tilted my head, confused. “Try what?”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he started moving toward me, his steps slow and deliberate. My breath hitched as he closed the distance between us.
And then his hand lifted, ever so slowly, and before I knew it, his fingers were gently wrapping around my throat.
It wasn’t tight—his touch was light, almost hesitant—but it sent a wave of heat through me all the same.
His thumb brushed against the pulse in my neck, moving in slow, deliberate strokes that made my heart race even faster.
He was so close now, his gaze locked onto mine, and I felt like I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.
Without a word, he leaned down, inching closer and closer, as my heart pounded like a drum behind my rib cage.
And then, he captured my lips with his.