Chapter 27
HEART
Seyren's POV
"It's been awhile, huh..."
The voice of the man accompanying me now resonated in my ear, a sound both familiar and unsettling.
It carried a weight that I had long been accustomed to, yet it never ceased to send a shiver down my spine.
We find ourselves in a strangely deserted restaurant, our gazes locked in a silent exchange that spoke volumes.
His eyes bore into mine with an intensity that was both unnerving and compelling, and I returned his stare with equal fervor.
The ambiance of the restaurant, dimly lit and eerily quiet, seemed to amplify the tension between us.
Those eyes are not unfamiliar to me. They are the same eyes I have seen before, filled with a lingering fear that seems to have only deepened with time.
The fear is almost palpable, a living, breathing entity that clings to him, and by extension, to me.
"You look too young to be pregnant and too ripped to be one,"
"Dr. Kevin Carter. I saw you at the hospital earlier,"
"I'm not pregnant,"
"Is it your girlfriend then?"
"Bone marrow"
"Male gentile,"
"That's a good joke,"
"You know whatâs the joke? Your feet," I shot back, my grin widening as I shifted my position. I knew him. He was Liam's closest friend, and his presence here was no coincidence.
And I knew that he recognized me as well.
"It's been a year, Doctor," I said, a smirk spreading across my lips.
The memory of our last encounter played vividly in my mind, a montage of confusion, fear, and reluctant understanding.
The fear in his eyes was unmistakable, and seeing it again brought me a twisted sense of pleasure.
It was as if nothing had changed, yet everything had.
I've been under a lot of stress lately, juggling the demands of my job while maintaining the facade of diligence.
The charade was exhausting, but necessary.
Thereâs no one left to deceive; the two brilliant detectives who once challenged me are no longer in the picture.
Their absence is a testament to my skill, and a dark reminder of what I am capable of.
One lies in a coma, and the other has fallen to the very bottom.
Both because of me.
Do I feel guilty?
Obviously not.
Guilt is a luxury I could afford but I don't want to.
"Why are you looking at me like that? Are you surprised I'm still alive? Didn't you see me on the news?" I said with a sarcastic lilt, laughing as I watched him swallow nervously.
The sight of him, struggling to maintain his composure, was almost comical.
"What the fuck are you doing?" I exclaimed, my eyes wide with shock at the sight before me. The scene was surreal, like something out of a nightmare.
I had just witnessed Liam murdering my target. He had beaten me to it, striking while I was momentarily distracted. I had stopped stalking him for just a brief moment, and in that time, he had acted.
"Oh fuck, you're here too. How's my surprise for you, bitch?" Liam taunted, throwing his knife at me.
I tilted my head slightly to avoid it, the blade slicing through the air where my head had been moments before.
He laughed as he approached me, his face and clothes smeared with blood.
Blood that wasnât his but that of his victim. The metallic scent of it filled the air, sharp and nauseating.
"How is it, huh? How's my kill?" he gloated, reaching out to touch my arm. I stepped back, avoiding his grasp with ease.
"What the hell are you saying?" I asked irritably, the sight of pain and regret in his eyes grating on my nerves.
It was clear he regretted what he had done, and that angered me. His weakness was infuriating.
"How's my kill, you stupid bastard!!" he shouted, throwing a punch that failed to connect as I stepped back again.
His frustration was palpable, his movements increasingly erratic.
He looked pathetic, his aggression driven by some deep-seated frustration.
I could see the cracks in his facade, the vulnerability that lay beneath his bravado.
"It sucks. The man's still alive," I said, pointing to the man lying on the ground, miraculously still breathing after receiving ten stab wounds.
His survival was a testament to his resilience, or perhaps just sheer luck.
His blood had pooled around him, thick like mud, staining the ground with its dark, viscous presence.
Liam straightened up, and I watched as he retrieved the knife he had thrown at me.
He stabbed it into the victimâs chest with a deliberate, almost ritualistic motion.
He placed a Bible in the victimâs hand, and as he did so, I tossed aside a severed finger.
The juxtaposition of the sacred and the profane was striking, a grim reminder of the chaos that had unfolded.
"What do you have that I don't, and why does Azara want you?" he asked, opening the victimâs hand to place the Bible.
His voice was filled with a desperate need for understanding.
"A big ass dick nearly ten inches. While you got six at the age of 30+," I said jokingly, smiling as he turned to face me.
The look of shock on his face was priceless.
"You're proud of it? Fuck, you're weird. A woman with male genitalia is a monster in disguise," he said, looking at me with disgust.
I laughed genuinely, relishing his revulsion.
I love being called a monster.
It is a badge of honor, a testament to my power and control.
"You're right. I'm a fucking monster, so stop messing with me or copying me," I said confidently, staring into his eyes, which were blazing with anger.
His fury was almost palpable, a living, breathing thing.
An emotion that truly weakens a person.
"Why are you doing this, Seyren? Why? I thought... We thought you were not like him. Why?" he asked, and I immediately knew who he was referring to, causing my smile to vanish.
The mention of that name brought a chill to the air.
"I'm no human, Liam. I'm fucking heartless, and I fucking love it. This world is my domain, you should be happy I let you live in this... I am the Devil and those who have sin will be punished, but those who lie will die. I will judge them all." I whispered, driving him further into madness. My words were like a poison, seeping into his mind.
I could see the mix of emotions playing across his face.
Fear, anger, confusion â they were all there, warring for dominance.
"You're crazy."
"No, I'm crazy in lo-" I hadnât even finished speaking when something suddenly struck me hard on the head.
The pain was blinding, a sharp, searing agony that brought me to my knees.
The pain was so intense that I fell to my knees. When I looked behind me, I saw Dr. Carter holding a baseball bat.
He had hit me on the head, causing me to lose consciousness.
The last thing I saw was his grim, determined expression.
"Come on, stop looking at me like you've seen a ghost," I said jokingly, attempting to break the tension.
The memory of our past encounters hung heavy in the air, an unspoken presence that neither of us could ignore.
"You are indeed unbeatable..." I snicker and laugh right after.
For me, it's an honor; it feels as delightful as winning the lottery.
"Were you scared that I might point you out as one of those who tried to kill me?" My voice dropped to a deeper register, not intentionally, but as a natural reaction to the intimidation I was projecting.
He didn't answer immediately.
He averted his gaze, taking a deep breath.
He looked out the restaurant window just as the waiter arrived with our order.
The waiter even asked for a picture with me, and I played along, smiling angelically for the camera.
After that, I began eating without waiting for him.
I meticulously cut the steak with a small knife, savoring each bite.
"Turn yourself in, Seyren. Stop your madness," Dr. Carter pleaded as he turned his tear-filled eyes back to me.
I met his gaze, my head tilting slightly as I took another slice of my steak.
I could see the distrust in his eyes, as if he was expecting me to attack him at any moment.
"Why should I? Are you going to report me? Can you?" I asked simply, and his pupils immediately dilated with fear.
"I-I can do that, but you're not the one who will be imprisoned... So please, turn yourself in if you don't want someone who knows you to reveal your deep, dark secret." I straightened up in my seat and stopped eating.
I raised an eyebrow, finding his plea quite astonishing.
"You know the people who know me, don't you?" He nodded at my question.
"Tell them to try and exploit me. They will see what happens to those who try... I'm not scared of what will happen next," I said coldly, then stood up and left.
Unexpectedly, a sense of fear gripped me. The first person that came to my mind was Azara, so I quickly drove home.
When I arrived, in the dimly lit garage, a small light illuminated the center where a car was parked, and it seemed to be undergoing some work.
Azara was there, looking at the engine, appearing to do some mechanical work, dressed in a bodycon dress that hugged her figure perfectly, as if she were going to a party.
"Azara," I called out, just loud enough for her to hear, my voice echoing softly in the garage.
I walked closer to her, and as she turned around, I pulled her into a deep, unexpected kiss.
One of my hands snaked around her waist, pulling her closer.
My other hand cupped her jaw.
She seemed taken aback by my sudden action.
She initially tried to push me away, but when I sucked on her lip, she responded to my kisses.
We shared a passionate and intense kiss.
She wrapped her arms around my neck, and I pulled her even closer, as if I wanted us to meld into one.
I bit her lower lip as my hands traveled down to her buttocks, squeezing them firmly.
She moaned, parting her lips, allowing my tongue to invade her mouth.
I lowered the trunk of her car and lifted her onto it.
Our tongues clashed in a battle for dominance.
She tugged on my hair, her legs wrapping around my waist.
My hardened member, still confined within my pants, pressed against the front of her car.
When I emerged victorious in our tongue battle, she sucked on my tongue.
I raised my hand to knead her soft, supple breasts.
"Mmhh~" When she moaned into our kiss, I realized what was happening.
I was losing control again. Before things went too far, I pulled away from her.
"Wha-"
"I'm sorry," I said quickly, closing my eyes tightly in frustration.
I didn't understand why I felt nervous and scared about Dr. Carter's words.
I wasn't pleased with these confusing emotions.
"You know what, fuck you and your fucking dick," Azara spat out, annoyed.
She slid off the car and was about to get inside, but I grabbed her arm and stopped her.
I pinned her against her car, my vision darkening with anger as I looked at her.
"Azara, don't you dare do something unpleasant again, you understand me?" I said coldly, pressing her firmly against the car.
She rolled her eyes, almost as if they were about to roll back in her head, because I ground my hardened member against her abdomen.
She smiled wickedly at me.
"Why not? You like it when I'm useful, and I get to touch your big fucking dick whenever I'm useful to you." She matched my craziness, challenging me head-on.
I got annoyed and took her hand, placing it inside my trousers, making her grasp my throbbing erection.
"This is all yours, take it whenever you want. Just don't do anything that isn't pleasing ever again." My voice deepened as she looked at me with half-lidded eyes.
"Why? Do you feel like a weak booboo now?" She asked sarcastically, pulling her hand out of my trousers.
"What?" I asked, not understanding the slang.
"Take off your trousers, booboo," she ordered.
"Will you obey my words?" I asked, but she shook her head.
"Then no." I rolled my eyes, turned around, and walked away.
"What do you mean, no? You turned me on and left me alone. Get back here."
"I said no, Azara. It's either you obey me or I'll really force you." I said, stopping and looking at her angrily.
"I'm being gentle with you, don't make me change my attitude towards you." It was an empty threat.
This was just me being me, but for some reason, it felt so wrong.
"Fuck it, fine. Urgghh! Bye, I'm going to a party!" She answered irritably, got into her car, and drove off.
I just let her go and went inside the house.
The house was nearly empty as most of the maids were already resting, so no one greeted me when I entered.
The silence was almost unsettling, amplifying the faint creaks and echoes of my footsteps against the polished marble floor.
It felt as though the house itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.
With each step I took inside this house, I felt increasingly consumed, not by a myriad of emotions but by a single one: anxiety born from fear and dread.
The opulence and grandeur of the surroundings did little to comfort me; instead, they seemed to heighten my sense of unease.
The ornate chandeliers, the plush carpets, and the antique furniture all seemed to close in on me, as if the weight of history and expectation pressed down on my shoulders.
I couldn't pinpoint why I felt this way, but I continued to endure it.
As I ascended the grand staircase, the polished banister cold under my hand, thoughts of Azara crossed my mind.
The shadows cast by the dim lighting seemed to dance and flicker, playing tricks on my eyes, making me see things that weren't there.
I worried about herâher future, her present, and what had happened in her past.
The unknowns and uncertainties gnawed at me, a relentless tide of concern that I couldn't shake off.
What had she endured?
What secrets lay buried in her heart, too painful to speak of?
And what trials awaited her on the road ahead?
A heavy feeling settled over me, making me fear what might happen to her in the coming days.
The future loomed large and uncertain, a dark and stormy sea, and I felt ill-equipped to navigate it.
Every decision, every action felt fraught with potential peril, not just for me but for her as well.
As I walked past my child's room, she suddenly began to cry.
The sound pierced the heavy silence, a raw and immediate demand for attention.
I entered, approached her crib, and cradled her in my arms, feeling the warmth and fragility of her tiny body against mine.
"Don't cry, my love, Ms. Valencia is here," I whispered, trying to soothe her tears. Her cries gradually subsided, replaced by soft whimpers as she nestled closer to me.
Rocking her gently, I hummed a lullaby, not stopping until she fell asleep.
The melody was a simple one, something my mother had sung to me in my own childhood, and it seemed to weave a spell of calm and comfort around us both.
Unfortunately, I must have looked like a clown to her because instead of sleeping after her tears, she just laughed at me.
Her laughter was bright and infectious, a sudden burst of joy that filled the room.
"Woah. You're laughing at me again. What do I look like to you, hm?" I asked sweetly, smiling genuinely. Her response was a happy gurgle, her tiny hands reaching out to touch my face.
I scrunched my nose a bit and rubbed it against hers, making her giggle even more. With her tiny arms, she tried to reach for me, her eyes wide with wonder and delight.
When I kissed her forehead, she touched my chin with her small, delicate hand.
The simple gesture was filled with such trust and affection that it nearly brought tears to my eyes.
She laughed again for no apparent reason, and the sound of her laughter softened my heart.
It felt as though she entered my body and embraced it, extinguishing the fire and ice within.
Her presence was a balm to my troubled soul, a reminder of the pure and uncomplicated love that a child can offer.
"Even though I'm not your real father and you didn't come from me, I promise to love you with all my heart," I said to the child, feeling a pang in my heart at the mention that I wasn't her father.
The words were a vow, a solemn pledge that I would protect and cherish her no matter what.
I imagined Azara with someone else for just a few seconds, but it felt like a billion swords piercing my heart.
The thought of her in the arms of another man was almost too much to bear, a sharp and bitter ache that settled deep within me.
"Mommy's not here, but she will be soon, so I'll hold you through the night." I knew she didn't understand yet.
Her innocent eyes held no knowledge of the complexities and heartaches of the adult world.
She had no conscience, and her awareness was still asleep.
But I already wanted to talk to her, to hear her voice when she spoke, and to hear from her words I had never heard from anyone else.
There was something profoundly moving about the idea of witnessing her first words, her first steps, and all the milestones that lay ahead.
"Don't worry, baby. I'll do everything to protect you and your mother. If I have to send someone to heaven, I will gladly do that. If I have to go to hell, I would. I will raise you right and let you live in the daylight side of the world," I said, my voice filled with determination and resolve.
The promise was both a comfort and a burden, a responsibility that I accepted willingly.
I tried to get her to sleep again, but she seemed unwilling.
Rocking a baby can be tiring, so I sat down on the single couch and placed her on my lap.
The soft cushions enveloped us, providing a cozy nook where we could both relax.
I reached for the pacifier and gave it to her. After that, I saw a fairy-tale storybook on the bookshelf near where I was sitting and reached for it.
The colorful cover depicted a whimsical scene of enchanted forests and magical creatures.
"Do you want me to read this?" I asked, and she seemed to understand because she nodded.
Her eyes sparkled with curiosity as she looked at the book.
I adjusted her position and opened the book, starting to read to her.
The pages were filled with vibrant illustrations and enchanting stories that transported us to far-off lands.
"This book is all about the siblings Hansel and Gretel who lived in a damp little cottage on the dark side of the Long Lost Wood," I read, showing her the images in the book.
Her tiny fingers reached out to touch the pictures, tracing the outlines of the characters with fascination.
My voice was soft, my hand held her firmly but gently, as she was just a baby after all. I made sure to hold her securely, feeling the steady rhythm of her breathing against my chest.
I poured a lot of strength into holding her with one hand.
She was restless, wanting to tap the images in the book.
Each touch was tentative and exploratory, a small but significant step in her journey of discovery.
I felt no irritation and even felt as if I were in a comfortable home.
The sense of peace and contentment that filled me was a rare and precious gift, a moment of tranquility in an otherwise tumultuous world.
I feel like I'm home.
After reading the book to her, I grabbed another one. It's all about the three little pigs.
I yawned before I could open it, the day's weariness catching up with me.
I felt sleepy but fought it off. I read to her again because she seemed sleepy.
Her eyes were drooping, and her movements were slower, signaling that she was finally ready to rest.
I noticed that she was no longer as restless. Her little body relaxed against mine, her breathing becoming slow and steady.
I didn't expect to fall asleep before she did.
I woke up to the sound of a car outside. When I awoke, I found the baby sleeping soundly on my chest, hugging my waist as if she could reach my back.
The warmth of her small body against mine was a soothing presence, a reminder of the precious life I was entrusted with.
I had dropped the book, and it was now on the floor. Her pacifier had fallen on my lap, but she was still pouting as if sucking on it.
The scene was both endearing and amusing, a testament to the innocence of childhood.
I removed it and placed it on the mini table next to the crib. I then lowered her into the crib and arranged her bedding.
The soft, fluffy blankets enveloped her, creating a cocoon of warmth and safety.
"Sleep tight, baby," I whispered before leaving the room. I went downstairs to greet Azara, who had just arrived home.
In the living room, I saw her being carried by her manager.
The sight of her in another man's arms sparked a mix of emotions within meârelief that she was home safe, but also a pang of jealousy and protectiveness.
"Take it slow... Take it slow!" Her manager repeatedly said.
When our eyes met as I approached them, Azara suddenly let go of her manager and ran towards me.
The sight of her running towards me, her face lit up with joy, made my heart swell with love.
"Hubby!!!" she said joyfully, wrapping her arms around my neck and smiling widely while her squinting eyes stared at me.
Her embrace was warm and familiar, a balm to my weary soul.
Her eyes weren't squinting anymore; they were closed.
Her face was flushed, smelling faintly of tequila, her hair disheveled, yet she was still beautiful.
The scent of alcohol on her breath mingled with the sweet fragrance of her perfume, creating a heady mix that was uniquely hers.
"Oh, Seyren. Take care of your wife," the man said to me, smiling as he glanced at Azara.
There was a hint of regret and longing in his eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the bond we shared.
I saw how his eyes traveled down, and there I noticed Azara's buttocks were protruding.
The sight filled me with a surge of possessiveness and protectiveness.
"You can leave now," I ordered coldly, looking at him with no emotion.
I saw the bulge in his pants, and it made
I saw the bulge in his pants, and it made me feel irritated.
The sight of his thinly veiled arousal filled me with a surge of protectiveness and possessiveness.
He left as I wanted but muttered that I was rude, as if he hadn't been lusting after Azara in his mind.
His departure, however, left me with a lingering sense of unease, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken tension between us.
As he walked away, I suddenly felt as though a hand was wandering inside my shirt.
Startled, I looked down and noticed that Azara had slipped her hand inside my long sleeve. Her eyes were half-lidded, a mix of drunken haze and something more primal, as she gazed up at me.
Her touch was light and teasing, her fingers tracing lazy patterns against my skin.
Her eyes, heavy with desire, met mine, and I gasped when I felt her hand massaging my chest.
The sensation was both intimate and electric, sending shivers down my spine.
It was a moment that hung suspended in time, charged with a potent mix of emotions.
"You like that, hubby?" she asked with a seductive smile, her voice a sultry purr that sent heat rushing to my face.
Though it felt undeniably good, I shook my head, trying to regain control of the situation. This wasn't right, not like this.
I gently removed her hand from inside my shirt and wrapped it around my neck again, hoping to redirect her attention.
Her skin was warm to the touch, a reminder of the vibrant life that pulsed beneath the surface.
I lifted her in a bridal carry, feeling the weight of her slender frame against mine.
Her response was a delighted laugh, a sound that was both infectious and endearing.
There was something childlike in her joy, a pure and unguarded happiness that tugged at my heart.
"This feels like we're married... I love it," she leaned into my ear and whispered seductively again, her breath hot against my skin.
The words were a tantalizing promise, a glimpse into the depths of her affection and desire.
I just ignored her flirtation because I knew she was drunk. Her breath was heavy with the scent of tequila, her movements slightly uncoordinated.
I shouldn't be tempted by someone who isn't in their right mind and whose thoughts and actions are controlled by alcohol.
The responsible thing to do was to care for her, to ensure she was safe and comfortable, and to wait until she was sober to have any meaningful conversations.
Carrying her, I walked toward the living room, where the soft glow of the lamps cast a warm and inviting light.
The plush furniture and rich tapestries provided a backdrop of luxury and comfort, a stark contrast to the turmoil I felt inside.
"Let me ask tou something personal, Seyren" she murmured, I hummed as a response to her words.
"Do you actually want to have a normal life with me where we're a family?" She asked.
"Yes, I badly want it." And of course I answered without a hesitation.
Azara went silent, she snuggled closer to me, her head resting against my shoulder, her breath a soft and steady rhythm against my neck.
"I want it too... I want to be a great mother and a wife and have a happy normal family" her voice was soft and gentle, touching my heart and making it throb with jealousy.
"That's why you tried it with Liam." I murmured.
"What?"
"Nothing."
Despite the chaotic emotions swirling within me, her presence brought a sense of peace and purpose.
She trusted me, relied on me, and that was a responsibility I took seriously.
As I gently placed her on the couch, she reached out, her fingers brushing against my cheek in a tender gesture.
"Stay with me, hubby," she murmured, her voice a soft plea that tugged at my heartstrings.
There was a vulnerability in her eyes, a silent request for reassurance and comfort.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. Are you? Do you want to be with me?"
I nodded, sitting down beside her and taking her hand in mine.
"I would want to" I said softly, squeezing her hand gently.
The warmth of her skin against mine was a grounding presence, a reminder of the bond we shared.
Yet I went out of her side, grabbing stuff I needed and comes back with it. Wiping off her make-up and bodies.
"Why are you doing this? Hindi ka naman mahilig sa aftercare ah" she commented, laughing and finding her words a funny.
For me?
It was like a riddle.
"I just felt like it? Do you want me to stop?" Staring into her pretty face, she pouted and shook her head. She reminds me of her daughter.
"I hate your soft side" she murmured as I took off her dress and saw her almost bare body.
I changed her clothes and after that, I stayed by her side.
For a moment, we sat in silence, the only sounds the distant hum of the city outside and the soft ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner.
It was a peaceful interlude, a moment of quiet connection in the midst of the storm.
"Let's start over again, Seyren. Let's be a happy family with no chaos brought into this world where myânoâwhere our child will grow."
My heart raced at the idea, but I couldn't tell if she was serious or just saying it because she was drunk.
The hope in her voice clashed with the uncertainty in my mind, leaving me torn between longing and doubt.
As her words lingered in the air, I gazed into her eyes, trying to discern the truth behind her inebriated plea.
The sincerity I saw there, mixed with the haze of alcohol, made it difficult to know for sure.
But the mere thought of a peaceful, happy family with her and our child filled me with a warmth I hadn't felt in a long time.
"I would want that" i said with a soft voice and leaned in just to kiss her forehead.
Azara's eyes fluttered closed, her breathing slowing as she began to drift off to sleep.
I watched her, a sense of tenderness and protectiveness washing over me.
She looked so peaceful, so innocent in sleep, a stark contrast to the vibrant and sometimes tumultuous woman I knew.
As she slept, I gently brushed a strand of hair from her face, marveling at the softness of her skin.
She was a complex and multifaceted person, and I loved her for all her contradictions and complexities.
Her strength, her vulnerability, her passionâall of it was part of the woman I had come to care for deeply.
Eventually, I felt my own eyelids grow heavy, the events of the day catching up with me.
I settled back on the couch, still holding Azara's hand, and let the soothing rhythm of her breathing lull me into a light sleep.
When I awoke, the first light of dawn was beginning to filter through the curtains, casting a soft, golden glow across the room.
Azara was still asleep, her head and arm resting on my body, a serene expression on her face while she used my arm as her pillow.
I carefully extricated myself from her grip, not wanting to wake her, and stood up, stretching out the stiffness in my muscles.
I've never slept so well before.
My heart?
It skipped a beat.
I have a HEART and I think it's malfunctioning.
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