CHAPTER 178: BETWEEN DOORS AND UNSPOKEN SMILES

The room was quiet—too quiet for what had just happened. The air still trembled with the aftermath of violence. Abigail’s body lay motionless on the carpet, her once-arrogant face now swollen and bruised, a pitiful reminder of what hate could do when it backfired.

Julie stood there, her breaths low and controlled, though her knuckles still ached from the blow. Her hands were cold despite the heat rising from her chest. Ava stood beside her, equally steady, though her lips twitched upward in a satisfied smirk that spoke volumes of the retribution just delivered.

"Are you alright, sis?" Azazel’s voice came gently, breaking the suffocating silence as he entered the room. His eyes swept over the wrecked space — the overturned vase, the faint scent of spilled perfume mixing with the faint metallic tang of blood. He frowned, his usually playful eyes now shadowed.

Julie gave a small nod, her tone flat. "Yes. But please, carry her out. Your brother needs someone to attend to him."

Azazel turned his gaze toward the bed. Roman lay there, the man who usually commanded every room he entered, now trembling against the sheets. His jaw clenched tight as if fighting something deeper, something foreign clawing its way through his veins. His breath came shallow and uneven.

"Oh... okay," Azazel muttered, his brow furrowing. He could hear the faint growl slipping from Roman’s throat, the kind of sound that made even him uneasy.

Julie’s voice cut through again, calm but firm. "Please inform Lisa and Denovan that he will be fine."

Her words held authority — quiet, unquestionable. She was no longer the fragile girl everyone once thought they could break. She was steady. Untouchable.

Azazel obeyed, moving toward Abigail’s unconscious form. Without gentleness, he hoisted her limp body over his shoulder. Her hair fell like a curtain, covering her battered face as he straightened up.

"I’ll get going, sis," he said simply.

Julie’s eyes flickered with tired gratitude. "Thank you."

Ava, who had been standing at the door, smirked slightly. "All the best," she said, her tone teasing, knowing what she was leaving behind — a woman torn between composure and panic, and a man burning under a drug’s cruel fire.

"Let’s go," Azazel said, tugging Ava’s wrist, but she didn’t move.

Ava lingered at the doorway, one hand still on the frame. Her eyes, full of mischief and curiosity, slid back toward the couple — Julie now near the bed, her expression unreadable.

Azazel noticed the pause, his brows lifting. "Earlier, you looked like you didn’t want to leave the room," he teased as they stepped into the hall. His voice carried the lazy rhythm of someone trying to lighten the tension.

"Or maybe..." He tilted his head toward her, smirking. "You want to see how sis will relieve bro? Or do you want to try?"

"Maybe if you want a try," he added, grin widening, "I’ll have to take the medicine too—"

Ava gasped and slapped a hand over her face before he could finish. Her cheeks burned bright red.

"Hahaha!" Azazel chuckled, his laughter bouncing against the quiet corridor walls. "What? Take down your hands!"

"No!" Ava squeaked behind her palms. "If I do, you’ll say I’m a red tomato again!"

Azazel crossed his arms, his grin playful. "No, not this time. I won’t say it." His lips tugged upward anyway, betraying the smile he was trying to hide.

"Okay, fine," Ava said reluctantly, lowering her hands.

The moment she did, Azazel’s eyes narrowed dramatically. "Wait—what’s that on your face? Huh? Something red and spicy... looks like a fried crab!"

Ava glared daggers at him, her blush deepening. "Cheater!" she snapped before turning on her heel and storming ahead.

Azazel laughed and followed, his steps echoing after hers. "Wait! You didn’t even tell me what exactly happened in there!"

"Find that yourself!" she shouted without turning around, her voice sharp but light — a strange comfort after the storm that had just passed.

Their voices faded down the hall, leaving the door closed behind them.

---

Inside the Room

Silence returned, heavy and almost suffocating. The only sounds now were the slow, strained breaths from the man on the bed.

Julie turned toward him. Her eyes softened, even as the shadows in the room clung to her like smoke. Roman’s skin glistened faintly with sweat. His shirt clung to him, his body tensing as if at war with itself.

She walked toward him quietly, each step deliberate, the hem of her gown whispering against the floor. When she reached the bedside, her heart clenched.

He was burning.

Not from fever — but something more dangerous. Something deeper.

The drug. Abigail’s vile trick.

Roman’s hand gripped the sheet tight enough that his knuckles turned white.

His breath hitched, and when his eyes flicked open, they were hazy — fevered.

He looked at her as if through fog, as if the battle within him was tearing reason apart.

"Julie..." he breathed, voice raw, trembling.

She placed a hand on his arm — gently, not as a lover, but as someone trying to anchor him.

The moment her fingers touched his skin, the heat seared her palm. Her breath caught.

"Roman..." she whispered, "It’s alright. Just breathe."

But it wasn’t alright. His entire body tensed, and a low groan escaped him, unbidden and rough.

He turned his face away, ashamed, fighting against the pull of something primal.

Julie swallowed hard. She had seen him angry, cold, protective — but never like this.

Never so human. Never so vulnerable.

"Roman," she said again, firmer this time, her tone steady even as her pulse raced.

"It’s not your fault. You’re stronger than this."

He didn’t answer — just clenched his jaw tighter, fighting against every wave of heat coursing through him.

And she stayed there. Quietly. Her hand never moved, her gaze locked on him — not in fear, but in quiet defiance of the darkness trying to consume him.

The scent of sweat and faint cologne mixed with the night air from the open window.

The moonlight fell across his face, catching the tension in his jaw, the flicker of his struggle.

Julie inhaled deeply and sat at the edge of the bed, her voice barely above a whisper. "You’ll be fine. Just hold on."

For a moment, he stopped trembling — only a moment — before his eyes fluttered shut again, his breathing easing slightly, the storm receding into a fragile calm.

Julie stayed by his side until his breaths steadied.

And then she looked at her own hands — trembling. Not from fear.

But from everything she refused to feel.

---

[Reader’s Reflection ]

It’s strange how this Chapter makes you feel before it makes you think. The darkness here isn’t just physical — it’s emotional, a mixture of rage, guilt, and tenderness all bleeding into one another. The image of Abigail’s broken body on the floor might be brutal, but it’s not senseless. It’s justice twisted in human form — the kind that doesn’t come clean, but comes raw and trembling.

Julie’s transformation is chilling. The girl who once trembled under cruelty now stands unflinching before chaos. There’s something almost divine about her calm — not coldness, but control born from pain. She’s learning the hardest kind of mercy: the kind that doesn’t seek peace for herself but ensures safety for those she loves. When she tells Azazel to carry Abigail out, her tone isn’t commanding, it’s... empty. Hollow. It’s what happens when strength becomes a necessity rather than a choice.

And Roman — his struggle here is haunting. He’s not just fighting a drug, he’s fighting the loss of himself. That one word — "Julie" — cracked open something deeper than any confession of love could. He’s a man torn between dignity and desire, trying to protect the woman he loves even as his own body betrays him. The writing doesn’t show lust; it shows suffering. A spiritual kind of pain that feels almost sacred — like watching fire consume gold, leaving it purer.

Then there’s the beauty of Azazel and Ava’s exit. Their banter breaks the darkness with laughter, a clever reminder that even in chaos, life insists on breathing. Azazel’s teasing isn’t just comic relief — it’s human contrast. It’s light existing stubbornly beside the dark. Ava’s flushed embarrassment, her quick temper, her innocence — all of it reminds us that outside the room, the world still laughs, still blushes, still moves.

But what stays with you is the silence after they leave. The way the atmosphere thickens, the way Julie’s touch steadies Roman. The reader can feel the heat of his skin, the tremor of restraint, the quiet dignity of her staying without fear. It’s not romance; it’s reverence. She doesn’t love him for his strength here — she loves him in his weakness. That’s what makes this scene almost painfully intimate.

This Chapter, beneath all its violence and tension, whispers one truth — love that’s built on faith, on restraint, on compassion in the midst of desire — that kind of love survives storms.

And as the reader closes this page, they realize something profound: both Roman and Julie are still learning how to protect each other, even from themselves.

It’s dark. It’s raw. It’s human.

And it leaves you both shaken and deeply moved.