Chapter 26 - Adrian

I sat alone in the dimly lit living room, the glass of whiskey in my hand nearly empty. The golden liquid swirled against the edges as I stared at it, my mind replaying every moment I'd spent with Seraphina since we reunited. Every stolen glance, every soft smile, every touch I longed for but couldn't reach.

The distance I'd put between us was supposed to protect me. Protect her. Yet, it was tearing me apart. She was right there, within reach, and still, I couldn't let myself have her—not fully.

The thought of her with Nick only made it worse. I hated how easily they laughed together, how she seemed to let her guard down with him in ways she didn't with me. The jealousy twisted in my chest like a knife I couldn't pull out.

I took another sip of the whiskey, its burn a poor distraction from the storm inside me. But I didn't stop. I poured another glass, convincing myself it would dull the ache. The truth was, no amount of alcohol could silence the thoughts of her or the suffocating weight of what we used to be—and what we could never be again.

I finished the drink, the numbness spreading through me like a shield. But the moment I thought of her smile, her eyes, the way she said my name, that shield cracked. I was unraveling, and I didn't know how much longer I could hold myself together.

I poured another glass of whiskey, watching the amber liquid fill the tumbler. The warmth it promised was nothing compared to the fire burning inside me. My chest felt heavy, constricted, like I was suffocating under the weight of my own emotions.

Every time I saw her, it was a battle—a fight to keep my composure, to pretend like her presence didn't pull me apart and stitch me back together all at once. She was a storm, beautiful and devastating, and I was caught in her winds with no way out.

The distance was supposed to make it easier, to keep my head clear, but all it did was make me feel like a fool. I wanted her to come to me, to break the silence, but every moment she didn't, every second she stayed close to Nick, chipped away at whatever control I thought I had.

The thought of her laughter with him clawed at me, the sound haunting even in its absence. She'd smile at him so freely, her guard down in a way it never was with me. And why would it be? After everything I'd done, after all the ways I'd hurt her—why should she trust me?

I drained the glass in one long gulp, the burn spreading down my throat and into my chest, momentarily replacing the ache with a sharper kind of pain. But even the whiskey couldn't dull the truth: I missed her. I missed the girl who'd once looked at me like I was her entire world.

I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head as I poured another drink. The whiskey bottle was half-empty now, its contents vanishing as quickly as my resolve. I didn't want to think about her anymore, but she was everywhere—her scent still lingering in the hallway, her voice echoing in my mind.

She was my undoing, and no matter how much distance I tried to put between us, I couldn't escape her. I wasn't sure I even wanted to.

I stumbled toward the bedroom, my head heavy with whiskey and regret, my thoughts clouded. The door was slightly ajar, and I paused, hearing her voice. At first, I didn't recognize it as much as I wanted to ignore it—just another one of her conversations, probably with Lyra. But something in me stayed, frozen in place, the tension in my chest growing as the sound of her words filtered through.

"Adrian... he never deserved it. I never told him the truth..." Her voice was soft but laced with an underlying guilt I couldn't escape. "I thought I was protecting him, but I ended up hurting him more than I could've ever imagined."

My breath caught in my throat, and for a moment, I forgot how to move. It was like the knot I hadn't realized had been growing inside me over the past few days—this unbearable tightness between us—was finally loosening. But the release wasn't comforting. It felt like a dam had cracked open, and the flood of emotions that followed left me gasping for air.

I leaned against the doorframe, the cool wood against my back doing nothing to ease the heat building in my chest. My heart pounded, not from the whiskey, but from the weight of her confession. She hadn't told me. She hadn't told me why she'd betrayed me. And here I was, thinking the distance was my fault. I had no idea that the guilt was hers to carry too.

It was like a thousand pieces of a puzzle I never even knew existed had suddenly clicked into place. I wanted to go in there, to pull her into my arms and tell her everything would be okay. But I didn't. I couldn't. Not when I realized just how much she'd been carrying on her own.

My legs felt like they were made of lead, my mind spinning as I stood there, listening to her, unable to stop myself. She blamed herself. But I was the one who'd pushed her away, the one who'd let the walls between us grow too high, too thick. And now, as the truth slowly seeped in, I wondered if I'd ever be able to put things back together.

The door creaked open slightly as she hung up, and the space between us seemed to widen even more than before. I stepped back, wiping my face with a shaky hand, trying to collect myself before I did something I couldn't take back. But I was too far gone. The words I should've said, the questions I should've asked, they all churned inside me like a storm waiting to break.

I couldn't let her keep feeling this alone, couldn't let her bear this burden on her own anymore. But I wasn't sure how to bridge the gap that had stretched between us, not after everything that had happened.

I leaned in closer, the words now piercing through the haze of alcohol in my mind. I could hear her voice, softer now, but the rawness in her confession hit me like a punch to the gut.

"I... I should've told you everything, Adrian. I should've told you back then. But I was scared—scared of what my father would do." Her voice trembled slightly, but she pressed on, as if speaking the words out loud was the only way to release them. "He forced me. He made me choose between you and him, and I couldn't lose him. Not then. I thought I was doing the right thing, keeping you out of it, protecting you from the mess that he'd made. But I was wrong. So wrong."

I closed my eyes briefly, my heart sinking with each word that came through the door. The guilt in her voice was suffocating. It had been seven years, and I never knew the truth. The betrayal, the lies... none of it had been her fault, not the way I'd always assumed. She had been a victim, just as much as I was, caught in the crossfire of her father's manipulation.

"I thought if I followed his orders, everything would work out," she continued, her voice small, almost like she was afraid of what she was admitting. "But it didn't. It ruined everything. It ruined us. I should've told you sooner. I should've fought for us. I regret it every day, Adrian. Every single day."

Her words broke through the last of my resolve, and for a moment, I forgot where I was. Forgotten was the anger that had kept me distant, the hurt that had driven a wedge between us. The weight of what she had endured, the fear she must have felt in that moment of betrayal—it all hit me with a force I couldn't escape.

I wasn't sure when it happened, but I was already moving before I even realized it. My feet carried me toward the door, and I barely stopped to think before I swung it open. I saw her then, standing in the middle of the room, her back to me, the faintest traces of tears in her eyes.

She was still so guarded, so closed off, even after everything she'd just said. But it was clear to me now—everything she had done, everything she had been forced to do, had come from a place of fear, of being trapped. And the love she still felt for me? It was buried, hidden behind layers of guilt, and I knew she had never stopped loving me.

I took a step toward her, not caring anymore about the distance I had tried so hard to maintain. "You don't have to carry this alone, Seraphina," I said softly, my voice cracking as I closed the gap between us.

She turned to face me, her eyes wide, filled with surprise and something else—maybe relief. Maybe hope. But I didn't wait for her to respond. Without thinking, I reached for her, pulling her close, my arms wrapping around her, holding her tightly as if to make up for all the years we'd lost.

"I never should have pushed you away," I whispered against her hair, my voice low, desperate. "I should've known. I should've listened."

She clung to me, her breath shaky against my chest. I could feel the weight of her confession, the burden lifting slowly but surely. And in that moment, everything I had kept buried for so long—my own hurt, my own anger, the bitterness of betrayal—seemed to fade, replaced by the overwhelming need to hold her, to make her understand that everything had changed.

Her confession had shattered my walls, but it had also given me something new. A chance to rebuild, together.

Without another thought, my lips found hers, desperate, urgent. The kiss was everything I had been holding back—years of pain, confusion, and longing all poured into that one moment. It was raw, and it was real.

At first, she was stiff, caught off guard by the suddenness of it, but then—slowly—her body softened, and she kissed me back. Her lips moved against mine with the same desperation, the same pent-up emotions she had hidden for so long.

I pulled her closer, not caring about the space between us anymore, not caring about the time we'd lost or the mistakes we had made. She was here now. She was with me.

And for the first time in years, I felt like I could breathe again.

Her fingers tangled in my hair, pulling me deeper into the kiss, and it felt like nothing else mattered. All the hurt, the resentment, the walls we'd built around ourselves—it all melted away in that moment, leaving only us.

I cupped her face gently, feeling the warmth of her skin, the softness of her lips against mine. I didn't know what would happen next, didn't know how we'd move forward, but in that moment, it didn't matter.

For the first time in a long time, everything felt right.

We broke the kiss, both of us breathless, but neither of us ready to let go. I rested my forehead against hers, my hands still holding her close, unwilling to let her slip away again.

Her eyes widened in shock, and for a split second, she didn't say a word. She stood frozen, her breath shallow, and then—without warning—she rushed inside the bedroom, leaving me standing there, bewildered and conflicted. The weight of what had just happened hit me all at once, and I stood in the hallway, still reeling.

My chest tightened, my thoughts a tangled mess. That kiss—everything had shifted in an instant, but now I could feel the awkwardness filling the space between us. What had I done?

I ran a hand through my hair, frustration simmering beneath the surface. I hadn't planned for this to happen. Hell, I hadn't even known what I was doing until my lips had touched hers. But the moment we shared had felt so... right. So urgent. Yet, now that it was over, everything felt fragile, uncertain.

I heard her in the bedroom, moving around, and I could only assume she was processing the same rush of emotions. Or maybe she was as confused as I was.

With a sigh, I walked back toward the living room, not wanting to intrude further. I didn't know what to say, or how to fix what had just happened. All I knew was that the knot I had carried for so long—my own fear, my jealousy, the uncertainty of everything—had loosened up, but it had left me exposed. Uncertain of where we stood now, or if this would break us, or somehow heal us.

I glanced at the door to the bedroom, unsure if I should give her space or if I should go in and try to talk to her. But I stayed quiet, letting her have the time she needed.

I just hoped that we could face whatever came next together, no matter how awkward or complicated it might be.