CHAPTER 114: 114

I felt the pressure rising in my chest, tightening until it hurt to breathe. Tears gathered hotly behind my eyes, threatening to spill, but I forced them back. I tried desperately to create a distance between us, to step away, to escape the weight of everything pressing between our bodies.

But he wouldn’t let me.

His hands closed around my arms, firm but shaking, holding me in place.

"I’m... I’m not... I’m not.."

The words crawled up my throat like thorns, tearing at me from the inside. Saying them felt like stabbing myself slowly, and deliberately knowing the wound would bleed longer in me than in him.

"I’m not your wi.."

The syllable broke in my mouth, splintering into a whisper. My lips trembled and my voice died. I felt my heart screaming at me but my tongue refused to carry the sound.

His face changed instantly.

"Can you please stop all these lies?" he snapped, his voice cracking with more hurt than anger. "I’m tired of hearing them!"

I flinched, my breath stuttering. That sharp rise in his tone sliced through the fragile composure I’d been holding together with trembling fingers. For a moment I froze, as I was shocked and ready to pull away from him but before I could react, he moved, not backwards but forward.

He stepped into me, closing the tiny space that had existed between us, his presence overwhelmingly warm,and trembling, as desperation filled his eye

His hands slid down my arms and caught both of my hands in his. His grip wasn’t rough but it was pleading. His fingers intertwined with mine like he was terrified I would disappear if he loosened his hold even slightly.

When I finally dared to look up, I was met with his red, teary and glassy eyes that refused to stop overflowing

Tears clung to his lashes, trembling with every breath he fought to draw.

"I... I know you overheard my conversation with Zamiel," he whispered, his voice breaking in the center, "but you misunderstood me."

He swallowed hard, a single tear escaping and trailing down his cheek.

"I’m not going to take Nyxella away from you..."

His voice cracked again, and before I could look away, he lifted one hand and cupped my face gently, reverently forcing my eyes back to his. His thumb brushed my cheek as though he was afraid I would shatter if he touched me too roughly.

"You have every right over her," he said softly, painfully sincere. "As her mother."

His forehead rested against mine, his breath trembling against my skin.

"I want the both of you in my life..."

His voice faded into a hoarse whisper, heavy with fear, hope, and something too raw to name.

"...not one without the other."

"Nix... Nix, please..."

My voice came out in a broken whisper as I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to keep myself from falling apart. But he only shook his head. I felt his forehead press gently against mine a quiet, aching touch that made my chest collapse inward.

Then, suddenly, the warmth disappeared.

He withdrew. His hands left my face. And when I opened my eyes, I found him wiping tears from his cheeks with the back of his hand, almost angrily, like he hated being seen this vulnerable.

"I won’t pressure you," he said quietly. Too quietly.

His voice was strained, shredded with hurt he was trying to swallow.

"I won’t force you to stay. I won’t force you to let me see Nyxella. You can leave if you want to. I’ll..."

He paused, looking away as if the words themselves were knives.

"Just this once... I’ll do as you want. I’ll pretend I never knew. That none of this happened."

His jaw tightened.

"So... do as you want."

My heart dropped.

No it fell. It plummeted, ripping through me so fast I couldn’t breathe.

I felt something inside me give way, like a thin thread finally snapping after being pulled too tight for too long.

My knees buckled.

A choked sound escaped my throat before I could stop it. The room spun, blurring through the sudden burn of tears I could no longer hold back. I collapsed to the floor, my palms hitting the ground as a sob tore itself free, raw, and uncontrollable.

It spilled out of me like everything I’d been holding in for too many nights and too many wounds. My shoulders trembled violently. My vision blurred as tears rushed down my face, soaking into my palms, the sound of my crying broken and uneven.

I felt myself unravel completely.

Everything I had been hiding, the fear, the guilt, the longing, and confusion all crashed over me all at once.

I could barely breathe.

When I lifted my head, my tears dripping down my chin, I found Liam standing there.

He didn’t speak. Not a single word passed between us. But his expression said everything. It showed his concern, understanding, and something else... something gentler.

Quietly, he stepped closer.

Slow and cautiously, as if approaching a wounded animal afraid of being touched.

Then he knelt.

His arms wrapped around me firm but warm, steady but gentle. He pulled me against his chest without asking for permission, without trying to fix or question anything. Just holding me as if he could carry some of the weight I was drowning under.

His hand slid up my back, rubbing slow, grounding circles.

His chin rested lightly on my head and his breathing stayed calm, paced, and steady like he was lending me some of his strength.

And for the first time in a long time, I let myself fall into someone’s embrace.

I let myself cry against him without fighting it, without swallowing the pain.

His shirt grew damp beneath my tears, but he didn’t move away.

He only held me tighter, anchoring me, keeping me from sinking completely.

"He... he thinks of me as a liar..."

My voice quivered as I lifted my face toward Liam, my tears blurring everything. My chest tightened painfully, as if saying the words made them even more true.

He only shook his head slowly. His thumb brushed away the tear trailing down my cheek, as his touch felt steady and warm.

"I didn’t want to lie," I whispered, my voice cracking. "But he’ll hate me if he finds out the truth. So I had no choice. I honestly didn’t have a choice, Liam. I’m not lying..."

"I believe you," he said softly, firm enough to feel real, gentle enough to not break me further.

"But he doesn’t," I breathed, another tear falling. "He already hates me..."

I curled my fingers and hit my hand weakly against his chest more of a helpless push than any real attempt to strike him. Liam’s arms tightened around me instantly, steadying me before I could fall apart again. He pulled me closer, my forehead pressing against the fabric of his shirt as he wrapped both arms securely around my shoulders.

"He doesn’t hate you," he murmured into my hair, his voice low and soothing in a way that made my tears come harder. "He’s just angry, hurt and confused. But he doesn’t hate you, not even close."

I felt his hand slide slowly up and down my back, grounding me with every stroke.

"Nix loves you a lot," he continued, his voice firm with conviction. "And I can assure you of that."

Something inside me trembled. My breath hitched.

"Then why does it feel like I keep hurting him...?"

"You’re both hurting," Liam answered. "You just don’t know how to tell each other without breaking."

I closed my eyes, letting my body sink into the comfort he offered into the warmth of someone who wasn’t demanding anything from me, wasn’t asking questions, and neither was he judging.

Just being there.

Liam lowered his forehead until it rested gently against the top of my head, his voice dropping to a whisper meant only for me.

"You’re not alone in this. You don’t have to carry it by yourself."

My fingers instinctively clutched at his shirt, holding onto him like he was the only steady thing in a world that kept shifting under my feet.

For a moment, the chaos quieted.

Not gone.

But bearable.

Because someone was holding me together while I broke. Liam didn’t rush me. He helped me up slowly, guiding my unsteady steps with a hand pressed supportively against my back. My legs still trembled from crying, but he stayed close, letting me lean on him as much as I needed to.

"Come on," he murmured, "let’s get you inside."

The wind outside the greenhouse felt colder now, brushing against my damp cheeks as he led me down the narrow stone path. The house loomed in the distance, its familiar silhouette softened by the faint evening mist. My steps dragged, my mind still tangled with the pain in my chest.

But the moment we crossed the threshold, I froze.

My breath caught as I realized that the bodies...

The ones I had seen sprawled across the floor, twisted, bleeding, and lifeless were gone.

As though they had never existed.

The floor was perfectly clean. No blood. No overturned furniture. No sign of a struggle. My pulse hammered in my throat, each beat sharper than the last. I felt the panic rise again, clawing up my spine

Liam exhaled softly beside me, and when I turned, he was already watching my face.

"It was all staged," he said calmly.

What?

I stared at him, not breathing.

"He called me," Liam continued, his tone steady, "and told me you had a panic attack. He said he suspected you might still have your memories. So..." He shrugged slightly. "We had to stage the attack to see if you’d react."

My eyes widened, confusion and dread tangling sharply.

"You’re lying..." I whispered though even I wasn’t sure if I meant it or if I was begging for it to be a lie.

But Liam held my gaze steady, and unwavering, almost apologetic.

"Honestly," he said, "if you had just fought your way through and not pulled out the dagger from the painting, his suspicions would’ve been much lower."

The blood drained from my face.

"But the way you did it..." His voice softened, but his words didn’t. "The precision. The instinct. The speed. All of it affirmed your identity."

He turned fully toward me, his expression gentle but firm, the weight of the truth settling between us.