CHAPTER 71
ARIA
I couldn’t breathe.
The moment his words left his mouth, the air seemed to vanish from the hall.
“Professor Lian,” Dr. Evers said smoothly, his voice carrying across the room like poison dressed in silk.
“It would be an honour if you could join me later for a private discussion. I believe your insights would be… invaluable.”
My pulse roared in my ears.
For a second, I was sure I’d misheard.
Surely he hadn’t just singled him out, not here, not in front of everyone.
But the way heads swivelled, the ripple of whispers spreading through the auditorium, confirmed it.
He had.
No. No. No.
My stomach twisted so sharply it felt like I’d been punched.
The sound of his voice alone was enough to rip me back into memories I’d buried under years of silence.
I could still hear the steel doors of the laboratory slamming shut behind me, the smell of bleach stinging my nose, the echo of screams that never really left the air.
And him—always him—walking between the cages like a god inspecting his subjects. Smiling sometimes.
Cold other times.
Always cruel.
And now here he was.
Calling him.
Professor Lian.
My eyes darted instantly to Lian, my pulse a frantic drumbeat in my ears.
He sat there, straight-backed, dignified, his face unreadable as ever.
Calm, collected.
As though this wasn’t the single most dangerous man in existence addressing him.
A flicker of acknowledgement passed across his features, but nothing more.
No sign of hesitation.
No shadow of fear.
It was unbearable.
Didn’t he see?
Didn’t he recognise the danger in front of him?
I pressed a hand hard against my stomach, trying to quiet the sick twist coiling deeper and deeper.
Panic swelled so quickly it hurt to breathe.
No.
No, this couldn’t happen.
Not again.
I knew what Evers was capable of—what he did to my Lean, what he did to people like me who stumbled too close to the truth.
The way he cut, prodded, dissected lives in the name of science.
He didn’t see people—only test subjects.
And the way his eyes lingered on Lian now, sharp and calculating, was the same way I remembered him staring down at Lean in that sterile, fluorescent hell.
It was the look of a man already taking mental notes, planning what piece to peel apart first.
And what made my blood run cold was that Lian didn’t react.
Not even a flicker of discomfort.
He inclined his head ever so slightly, acknowledging the invitation as if it were no more than an ordinary professional courtesy.
My fingers dug into the fabric of my dress, wrinkling it.
I wanted to leap to my feet right then and shout—don’t go with him, please, don’t you understand who he is?
But the words stuck like barbed wire in my throat.
No one here would believe me.
I’d sound hysterical, maybe even unstable.
I forced myself to wait until the conference dissolved into its usual rhythm again, everyone distracted by slides and data and theories about immortality.
But my body wasn’t in that room anymore.
My mind was already racing ahead, imagining what Evers might do if Lian agreed to meet him.
The flashes of old memories burned in—steel tables, restraints, the acrid scent of chemicals, screams swallowed by thick walls.
I couldn’t let it happen.
By the time the last presentation ended, my legs felt unsteady beneath me.
I waited until most people had filed out before I moved, weaving quickly through the thinning crowd until I caught sight of him—Professor Lian, straight-backed and composed as always, gathering his notes into a neat stack.
He looked so untouchable, so unreachable, like he belonged to a different world entirely.
And yet, last night…
My throat closed.
I shoved the thought aside.
This wasn’t about me.
This was about keeping him safe.
“Professor Lian,” I blurted, too loudly.
A few stragglers turned their heads before moving along.
He glanced up at me, his expression unreadable.
“Yes?”
My heart hammered so violently I thought it might crack my ribs. I lowered my voice.
“Please—don’t meet with him.”
For the first time, something shifted in his face.
Not much, but enough.
His brows drew faintly together.
“Dr. Evers? Why not?”
Because he’ll destroy you.
Because he already did once.
Because you don’t know what he’s capable of.
“I… I worked there,” I whispered, the words tumbling out before I could stop them.
“At his lab. Years ago. I know what he is, what he does. You can’t—” My voice cracked, and I shook my head, blinking fast.
The ground seemed to tilt beneath me.
“You don’t understand,” I insisted, stepping closer, heat prickling the back of my neck.
“He isn’t what he pretends to be. He doesn’t care about people, or science, or ethics—he’ll use you. Hurt you. I swear I’m not making this up.”
His gaze didn’t waver.
Cold, steady—the kind of gaze that made you feel small without him even trying.
"Please, just trust me. Don’t go.”
His eyes lingered on me, unreadable for a breath, before his expression sharpened, cutting through any notion of softness.
“Enough,” he said, voice sharp as ice, with a faint, mocking tilt.
“Really, Miss Aria… do you imagine I’m going to let a little paranoia run my life? Or that I need babysitting?”
I flinched at the cold certainty in his tone, the way his words cut through the panic coiling in my chest.
He took a deliberate step closer, gaze unblinking, piercing.
“Your concern is noted, of course,” he said, each word measured, precise, like a scalpel.
“But the world does not revolve around your fears. I am perfectly capable of making my own decisions—without guidance, without warnings, without… dramatics.”
My hands tightened into fists, nails digging into my palms. My voice trembled, half from fear, half from desperation.
“You don’t understand! He’s not… he’s not what you think. He will—he’ll use you. He’ll—”
“Ah,” he interrupted smoothly, voice icy, almost amused.
“Yes. I see. The villainous monster from your imagination, the one you’ve conveniently painted in broad strokes of horror. How reassuring. Truly.”
I swallowed hard, heart hammering, tears threatening.
“I’m not imagining it. I’ve seen what he can do. I—”
He shook his head slowly, a faint, cruel smile tugging at his lips.
“Really, Miss Aria… do you imagine I’m going to let a little paranoia run my life? Or that I need babysitting? That your fears somehow dictate my actions?”
My chest tightened as if someone had wrapped iron bands around it.
“I appreciate your concern, truly,” he continued, voice almost silky in its cruelty,
“But the world doesn’t bend to warnings whispered in hushed panic. Decisions are mine to make, and consequences—whatever they may be—are mine to bear. I have nothing to hide, and I don’t need your permission. I will meet him.”
“You can’t just go there like it’s another meeting. You—”
I stopped, choking on the words, my hands balling into fists at my sides.
“You don’t know what he’s capable of!”
I wanted to grab his arm, shake him, drag him out of here if I had to.
But he stood like an immovable wall, calm where I was all storm and fracture.
“If you go with him, I… I don’t know what he’ll do to you. But I do know what he’s done before…”
He tilted his head slightly, his eyes scanning me with that same clinical precision that made my blood run cold.
“Miss Aria,” he said, his tone deceptively calm, almost amused,
“You sound positively hysterical. And yet… somehow, I feel compelled to assure you that I am quite capable of making my own decisions.”
I took a step closer, my hands trembling, desperation sharpening every word.
“Just—don’t go. Not alone. You don’t understand what’s at stake. He’s… dangerous.”
His lips curved into a faint, almost contemptuous smirk.
“Dangerous, you say? How quaint. Thank you for the warning, really. But I’ll take my chances.”
His expression didn’t change.
Not a flicker of hesitation, no sign of worry.
He brushed past me with a casual indifference that made my stomach twist.
“Miss Aria, enough of the dramatics. I’ll be fine,” he said, his tone harsh now, leaving no room for argument.
“Fine?” I echoed, my voice cracking.
“He’s a monster! You can’t just—”
“I can,” he interrupted coldly, cutting me off like a knife.
“And I will. Now, please, step aside.”
I froze, my chest tightening so sharply it was hard to breathe.
“Please. Just… trust me this once. I—”
He didn’t answer.
He didn’t even glance at me. Only the faint shuffle of papers under his arm, the measured click of his shoes on the floor.
He was already moving toward the exit, toward him.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to run after him, to throw myself at him and never let go.
But my legs felt like lead, my voice trapped behind a wall of panic and fear.
All I could do was watch him go, my heart tearing against my ribs, every pulse a reminder that I was powerless.
And then, as the door clicked shut behind him, I whispered to the empty room, almost to myself,
“Please. Don't go. Please…”
My legs rooted to the ground, my chest aching with the weight of dread.
The memory of Lean’s tortured eyes in that lab flashed through my mind, colliding with the image of Lian’s composed figure walking away from me now.
They were the same.
They had to be.
And I was watching history repeat itself, powerless to stop it.
“Please,” I whispered again, though no one could hear me anymore.
Not him.
Not again.