Four Hundred And Twenty Seven

Four Hundred And Twenty Seven
James’s POV

The sound of her scream is something I’ll never forget. It still rings in my ears, sharp and desperate, and even as I stand here in the aftermath, I can feel the echo in my chest like a bruise. One second, I saw Ella clutching the window frame with every ounce of strength she had, her body dangling out into the void. The next, I was moving without thought, muscles straining, every nerve in me screaming one truth: don’t let go of her.

When my fingers closed around her wrists, they felt so small, so fragile. Her skin was slick with sweat, her nails digging into my hands as though she feared even I might betray her and let her fall. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. The thought alone makes my stomach churn violently. I yanked her back with everything I had, and when her body finally collapsed against mine, I swear my lungs forgot how to breathe. She was shaking, clutching at me, her breaths shallow and ragged.

It was over in seconds, yet those seconds felt like years.

And then came the shouting.

“Victoria Lopez, you’re under arrest—”

The officers moved in, their voices cutting through the haze as they wrenched Victoria’s arms behind her back. She was thrashing, cursing, her face twisted into something I can hardly recognize. This wasn’t the polished, elegant woman society adored, nor the soft, beguiling figure who once made me believe I cared for her. This was something raw, venomous,her eyes flashing hatred at Ella, at me, at the world.

I didn’t move. I couldn’t. My arms were still around Ella, grounding myself in the fact that she was alive, that I had not been too late. My pulse thundered in my ears, drowning out the rest of the noise, but one phrase from Victoria cut through, slicing straight to the bone:

“She ruined everything! It should’ve been her! She took Cecilia, she took you!”

The name—Cecilia. My sister’s name.

It hit like a gut punch. All the years of bitterness, the accusations, the whispers that Ella had pushed my sister into that pool. All the nights I replayed the scene in my head, thinking Ella was the reason Cecilia died. And now, hearing Victoria’s own words, I feel sick.

My throat tightens as the police drag her down the hall. Ella stirs against me, her body trembling, her breath unsteady. Slowly, as though afraid I might break her, I pull back just enough to look at her face. There’s a bruise blooming along her temple, and the wind has tangled her hair into a mess. But her eyes, those eyes, hold something I can’t quite name. Fear, yes, but also exhaustion. And something else.

Trust.

The realization nearly undoes me.

For so long, I’ve avoided her gaze for some days now. Yet here, after everything, after nearly losing her right in front of me, the truth settles heavy and undeniable: I can't live without her.

I let out a shaky breath, pressing my palm to the small of her back as though to anchor her to me. She doesn’t pull away. That alone feels like a miracle.

The officers are talking, voices blending together in a blur of words: evidence, attempted murder, hit-and-run, false testimony. All the threads of Victoria’s lies unraveling at last. My mother’s voice is there too, raw and shaken, apologizing to Ella, though whether it’s for believing the worst of her, or for siding with Victoria all these years, I don’t know. Maybe both.

But I can’t focus on any of it. My attention is fixed solely on the woman in my arms.

“Ella,” I whisper, my voice hoarse, almost broken. “I’ve got you.”

Her eyes flicker up to me, wide and searching. For a moment, neither of us speaks. It’s as if the world has narrowed down to the space between us, filled with everything unsaid, everything we’ve avoided for years.

I think of the day my sister died, how quickly suspicion fell on Ella, how easily I let doubt fester. I never asked her. Never gave her the chance to defend herself. Instead, I buried myself in coldness, in anger, in the arms of the one woman who fed my doubts like poison.

Victoria.

The bile rises in my throat. She’s gone now,hauled away in handcuffs,but the damage remains. She nearly succeeded in destroying Ella’s life. She nearly succeeded in destroying mine too.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” The words slip out before I can stop them. My voice trembles with the weight of everything,anger, regret, longing. “About the footage. About what she did. You could’ve—”

Ella shakes her head faintly, cutting me off. “Would you have believed me?”

The silence that follows is brutal. My chest aches because I know the answer. Back then, I wouldn’t have. I had already made up my mind, already let bitterness cloud every ounce of reason.

I look away, jaw tight, ashamed of myself.

The hallway is quieter now, the officers gone, leaving behind only the faint echo of Victoria’s curses as they fade down the stairs. My mother lingers at a distance, wringing her hands, her eyes red. For once, she doesn’t speak. She doesn’t lecture, doesn’t correct. She simply looks at us,at me,and the regret in her face mirrors my own.

I don’t know what happens next. I don’t know if Ella will ever forgive me for doubting her, for leaving her alone in a house full of ghosts and lies. But right here, holding her after nearly losing her, I know one thing with terrifying clarity: I don’t want to let her go.

Not again.

Not ever.

I tighten my hold on her, just slightly, enough that she leans into me instead of away. For the first time in years, I allow myself to breathe, to truly breathe, with the certainty that maybe, just maybe, it’s not too late.

I closed my eyes, breathing her in, and for the first time in years, I allowed myself to admit what I had been burying all along: Ella had never been the enemy.

I was.

Ella finally broke free from my arms.

It was just me and Ella now.

She sat on the edge of the sofa, her hair messy from the struggle, her blouse torn at the shoulder, her knuckles red and raw from clutching the window frame. Her eyes stared blankly ahead, unblinking, like she was still hanging there, still fighting for breath.

And I stood there, across the room, not moving. Because I didn’t know how.

Every instinct screamed at me to go to her, to kneel in front of her, to take her face in my hands and beg her forgiveness until my throat gave out. But shame rooted me in place.

For years I had told myself I hated her. I convinced myself she was guilty—of Cecilia’s death, of betrayal, of ruining everything good in my life. Because hating her was easier than admitting how much she still mattered to me.

And now?

Now I had seen the truth with my own eyes.

Victoria’s words, her twisted confession, the look on Ella’s face as she dangled out that window,it all replayed in my head like a curse. The narrative I had clung to all these years collapsed in on itself. And in the wreckage, only one truth remained: Ella had been innocent.

Innocent. And I had destroyed her anyway.

I forced myself forward, each step heavier than the last, until I was standing near the sofa. She flinched when I sat beside her. Just a slight twitch of her shoulders, but I noticed. God, I noticed.

“Ella…” My voice cracked on her name. It sounded foreign on my tongue, like I hadn’t spoken it properly in years.

She turned to me slowly, her eyes glazed with exhaustion but sharp with something else. Something guarded.

“Don’t,” she whispered. Not in anger, no, worse. In defeat.

The word cut deeper than any scream could have.

I raked a hand through my hair, leaning forward, elbows braced on my knees. “I need to—” The words lodged in my throat. I clenched my fists. “I need to say it. I was wrong. About everything. About you. About Cecilia. About that day.”

Her lips parted, but she didn’t speak. Just looked at me with those wide, wary eyes.

I forced myself to go on, my chest tight. “I let myself believe Victoria because it was easy. Because it fed the anger I carried after Cecilia died. Because,because I couldn’t look at you without…” My voice broke again, and I pressed my fists against my knees. “Without wanting you. Even when I hated you, I wanted you. And I thought wanting you was a betrayal. So I let hate win.”

Her breath hitched. A tiny sound, but it tore me apart.

I turned toward her, finally letting myself look fully at her. “You begged me to believe you. Back then. I remember your eyes, the way you were crying, the way you said you didn’t do it. And I didn’t even listen. I shut you down, over and over, because it was easier to paint you guilty than admit I had been wrong about everything.”

Her throat worked, her chin trembling. She still said nothing.

I leaned closer, my voice raw. “You hung off that window tonight, and for a second, I thought I was going to lose you again. I couldn’t breathe at the thought of it. Ella…” I swallowed hard. “I can’t keep lying to myself. I never hated you. Not once. I just hated how much I still loved you, even after I swore I wouldn’t.”

Silence.

Her eyes finally dropped, her hands wringing in her lap. “You don’t get to say that now.” Her voice cracked, tears spilling over her lashes. “Not after all these years. Not after you stood by and watched me get torn apart. Not after you let her,let everyone,make me the villain.”

“I know.” My chest felt like it was caving in. “I know, and I don’t deserve for you to believe me now. I don’t deserve—” My voice broke, and I dropped my head into my hands. “I don’t deserve you.”

Her breath shuddered. For a moment I thought she’d get up, leave me there in the suffocating quiet. But she didn’t move.

Instead, after what felt like a lifetime, she whispered, “Why now?”

I lifted my head, meeting her gaze. Her eyes were red, her cheeks wet, but her stare cut clean through me.

“Because tonight, when I saw you hanging there…” My throat tightened. “I realized I’ve already lost you once. And I can’t—” My voice faltered. I forced the words out anyway. “I can’t do it again. I won’t survive it.”

Her lips trembled. A sob slipped out, muffled behind her hand. And then she finally moved, standing up abruptly, pacing away from me, her arms wrapped tight around herself.

“Do you have any idea what you did to me?” she whispered. Her back was to me, her shoulders shaking. “Do you know how many nights I lay awake, wondering if I’d imagined everything between us? If all the love I felt was just in my head?” She turned suddenly, tears streaming. “You looked me in the eye, James, and made me feel like I was nothing. Less than nothing. Do you know what that does to someone?”

Her words hit like blows. And I took every one of them, because I deserved to.

I rose slowly, my body heavy with shame. “I know I don’t deserve forgiveness. I know words aren’t enough. But I swear to you, Ella,if it takes the rest of my life, I’ll prove to you that I was wrong. That I see you now. That I love you.”

The silence after that stretched long. Too long.

She stared at me, her expression unreadable. Then, finally, she shook her head, fresh tears falling. “I don’t know if I can believe you.”

The truth of it gutted me. But I nodded. “Then let me prove it. Not with words. With time. With actions. Just… don’t walk away. Not yet.”

Her arms tightened around herself. She didn’t answer. But she didn’t leave, either.

And for now,that was enough.