Castor’s eyes shifted, alerting me of a presence creeping from behind.Fucking Ballard, likely.I could no longer see him in my periphery, and I would not put it past him to use this moment to attack.
“I will not die today,” I hissed, slamming Castor’s head against the concrete wall. His body hit the floor as I spun, using my speed and strength to pin Ballard’s body against the opposite wall.
But it was not Ballard I held in my arms.
“Hello,husband.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The world shifted. I felt unsteady, unmoored, torn from whatever illusion of stability I had clung to. My soul was kindling. That spark of hope ignited a full flame, rampantly spreading through every dry branch. It hit me with a physical force—I stumbled backward, eyes wide in shock, as I gaped at the woman before me. “Calia?”
She stood against the wall, sharp emerald eyes staring up at me from beneath furrowed brows. Her lips drew my attention toward that sinful mouth I loved so much. Long red hair fell over one shoulder, just as I remembered. The fragrance of sweet mint drifted through the stale air. I wanted to close my eyes—to take it all in, but I was too afraid to lose sight of her.
“Itwasyou,” I whispered. “That day in the atrium—it was truly you.”
She was real. She was here. She was fucking alive.
Merciful gods… My shock gave way to elation. There would be time later to think about the logistical aspects of her miraculous recovery, but I could not focus on trivial details.
I stepped toward her, needing to hold her in my arms again. I wanted to feel the thrum of her heart beneath my palm, a steadybeat keeping me grounded despite the maelstrom of questions whipping through my mind.
But Calia took a step back, keeping the distance between us. She looked down at my outstretched hands and then back up to my face, wary of my touch. The flicker of emotion I thought I had recognized in her eyes was gone; only the tension in her jaw remained, and that cutting gaze I knew held the ability to shatter me.
“Yes,” she said, clearing her throat. Her voice was soft, its cadence tearing memories of whispered words from my chest. “I—I hadn’t intended for you to be there, let alone to see me. I thought I could sneak away when I noticed you standing atop that balcony, but…” She trailed off, taking a deep breath. “But now you know.”
“Now I know?” I stalked closer, not caring that she shuddered at my approach. A faint voice from the recesses of my thoughts cried out, begging me to rein in my fury, but it was drowned out by the volume of my indignation. “That is all you have to say? I thought you were dead! When did you plan on letting me in on this little secret?” She looked away, biting her bottom lip to stop it from trembling. The answer was apparent in her silence—she never planned for me to know. “You had no intention of telling me, did you?”
“No,” she said, straightening her shoulders. Her eyes drifted closed, and I was unsure if it was from irritation or exhaustion.
Though I knew she would not continue, I waited, leaving space for the explanation I needed more than air. It never came. Instead, she stared at a spot on the floor, stubbornly refusing to meet my gaze. In that regard, she had not changed one bit.
While I did not want to startle her, I could no longer stand here and do nothing. The aching, desperate need I had faced since losing her finally gnawed through my resolve. I had held it all together, even if only to get my vengeance, but seeing herbefore me snapped that control. The freckles spread across her cheeks like stars called to me, begged for me to run my thumb across their constellations. It only took two steps to reach her, my fingers lifting her chin. If she wanted nothing to do with me, she would have to look me in the eye and say it. “I have spent every moment without you out of my fucking mind, mourning and grieving your loss with everything I have, and you cannot even look at me?”
She jerked out of my touch as though it burned her. “No.”
This was real, I told myself,and yet she wants nothing to do with you.
Could I blame her?
Castor groaned, and Calia moved swiftly to help him up. He slung one large arm over her shoulder to keep from falling. Surprisingly, he kept his balance relatively well for someone I was sure had a concussion.
“Fucking D’Arcy,” he muttered, touching the back of his head. His fingers came away smeared with blood. “I’m sorry, little star,” he said, kissing her forehead. “I should’ve thought twice before bringing him here.”
“It’s okay, Uncle,” she said softly, peering down at the floor. “What’s done is done.”
Ballard came bustling in from the hallway, reaching to take Castor from Calia. She thanked him, watching the two of them go. We were left standing opposite one another in suffocating silence.
“Calia—”
She held up her hand, stopping me from speaking further. “I know you have questions, but I have no answers. This isn’t just about me and you anymore. I don’t know if it ever was. But I can’t—” she gestured between us “—do this right now.”
Undiluted panic soared within me, rising to new heights as my newfound hope and joy faded. I had found her—she wasalive, standing right in front of me. Yet there was something inexplicably different about her. This was not the same woman I had mourned.
“So, what am I supposed to do, Calia? Go back home and pretend you no longer exist? Pretend that you are not standing in front of me, killing me each time you avert your eyes or shy away? I have missed you so godsdamn much, and I love you?—”
Calia scoffed, fracturing my barely beating heart. “You don’t love me, Rion. You only love yourself—your power and control over others.” She took a step forward, voice low like death. “If you loved me, then I wouldn’t have found out you had been in love with my sister—a sister I never even knew existed—and then killed her." She paused, regaining control of herself. "I shouldn’t have had to look to others for answersyoushould have given me.”
“I have many regrets about the things I kept from you, but make no mistake—I have beenagonizingover that night since it happened. I have tortured myself with the possibilities of hope and ‘what ifs,’ telling myself that if I had a second chance, I would make things right. I would grovel and beg and tell you everything you wanted to know. Just talk to me.Please.” With each passing second, I felt her slipping away. I found myself grasping for straws, any way to make her listen—to believe me. But that hollow look in her eyes told me she was prepared to shut down anything I said.
