CHAPTER 64: CHAPTER-64. (WHO DID THIS TO YOU?).

The moment I felt that I was left alone, a shadow was cast over me.

It was different. It wasn’t from the sun or a tree.

It felt heavier, almost as if it had been waiting for me.

I stopped moving. My chest tightened, and I could hear my own heartbeat too loud in the quiet.

For a second, I thought about not looking up. Just keeping my eyes fixed on the ground, pretending I didn’t notice. But something inside me twisted, sharp and cruel, urging me to look.

So I did.

And the second my eyes landed on the person standing there, my lips parted on their own. My throat worked, dry and shaky, as the name slipped out before I could stop it.

"D... Dave."

The sound of his name on my tongue felt foreign, heavy.

His face was unreadable at first, but then I caught sight of it.

The storm is building behind his eyes. His jaw clenched, tight enough that I thought his teeth might break.

His hands curled at his sides, fists trembling like he was fighting the urge to smash something right then and there.

He looked at me, but not like he usually did. This wasn’t his casual stare, the kind that carried smugness or calculation. No, this was sharper. Darker. Almost feral.

And the worst part? He wasn’t even trying to hide it.

My stomach dropped. Oh God. Why does he have to come here out of all time?

I instinctively took a step back, as if distance could protect me from that gaze, but his eyes followed me, pinning me in place like I had been caught in a trap.

I forced a shaky laugh, desperate, the kind of laugh you use when you’ve just broken a vase and hope your mom won’t notice. "Uh, hey...?"

My voice cracked like dry wood, and the silence that followed made my stomach twist even tighter.

Jesus, Elena, could you be any more pathetic?

His expression didn’t change. If anything, his eyes narrowed more, scanning me slowly, deliberately, like he was taking inventory of every twitch, every shake, every detail I did not want him to see.

Panic clawed at my throat. My mind scrambled, looking for excuses. Anything.

I could say I got lost.

Or Lily made me come here.

Saw a mouse in the lobby, so I accidentally came here.

Maybe I spilled something over my dress, and came here looking for the bathroom.

The list was endless, but nothing matched the standard of the logical excuse. And that was too fast.

Because I could see the anger rising in him. Not like fire, not loud or wild. No, his anger was quieter, colder.

The kind that sits still until it suddenly lashes out and tears everything apart.

"Elena." His voice was low, almost a growl.

I froze again.

"You are hurt." The tone in which he said those words definitely did not sound like a freaking question but a statement. As if it were a fact.

A fact I could not deny.

But why was he thinking that I got hurt?

The moment the question struck my mind, I looked down at myself.

My hair was now a tangled mess, and my clothes were just as disheveled, creased, sweaty, and clinging to me like they had been through a storm right along with me.

And my fists...God, I hadn’t even realized how tightly I’d been clenching them until the sting registered.

My nails had dug so deeply into my palms that little half-moon marks pressed angrily into my skin that they broke skin, and when I finally loosened my grip, thin streaks of blood trickled down from my hand, dripping slowly to the ground.

My eyes widened at the realization. Holy cow, this was the reason he thought I got hurt.

And that was not even the worst part.

The worst part was the look in his eyes, the way his jaw tightened, as if he had already drawn his own conclusion....about who did this to me.

My lips parted, but no sound came out. I wanted to deny it, say no, laugh it off, but the words stuck in my throat.

He stepped closer. Just one step, but it landed like thunder, rattling through me, shaking the ground beneath my feet.

"Who?" The word cut sharp, not a question but a blade. His tone sliced through the quiet, heavy, and demanding.

"Who did this to you?" His voice was low, controlled, like a dam straining to hold back the flood, as if he was just waiting for the confirmation before the storm inside him tore loose.

My breath caught. The question felt sliced through me.

I blinked rapidly, mind spinning like a broken record. I had seconds. Seconds to decide whether to lie, deflect, or tell the truth.

If I lied, maybe he would have believed me. Maybe. But what if he didn’t? What if he already knew the answer and was just waiting for me to say it?

If I told the truth... then what? His anger wasn’t the kind you could leash. He would explode. And I didn’t know if I wanted to see the world burn just because of me.

"Dave..." I whispered, my voice shaking as badly as my hands. "It’s not..."

"Don’t." His voice cut me off, firm, commanding, the kind that makes your insides twist. "Don’t tell me it’s nothing. I can see it."

He leaned in slightly, his face shadowing mine. The intensity in his eyes was unbearable, a weight pressing down on me until I thought I’d break.

My chest rose and fell too fast, each breath jagged and shallow. My tongue was dry, my words tangled. I hated it.

Hated that he had this effect on me, hated that my brain turned into mush when I needed it to work the most.

His anger wasn’t fading. If anything, it was building, gathering like a storm ready to break.

And the silence between us stretched, pulling tighter and tighter, until I thought it might snap.

I swallowed hard, finally managing to form words. "I... I just—"

But he didn’t let me finish.

"Who did this to you, Elena?" he demanded, his voice colder now, sharper, like steel scraping against steel.

I flinched, my heart stumbling in my chest.