CHAPTER 150: BROKEN {III}

AIDEN – POV

I couldn’t breathe.

Not from the cold air or the weight in my chest—but from the way she looked on the ground, arms wrapped around her shaking frame like a child trying to hold in the pieces of herself that were still left.

Her belongings scattered beside her. A crumpled t-shirt. A journal. One of my shirts, too—stuffed in the corner of her bag like she was torn between leaving and remembering.

And her.

Curled in on herself. Eyes red. Shoulders trembling. Lips cracked from biting back every scream she’d never dared to voice until now.

"I’m sorry..." she kept whispering. "I’m sorry... I’m sorry..."

God.

No.

Not like this.

This wasn’t the girl who used to throw venom-laced words like daggers. This wasn’t the woman who mocked my pain with a smile, who wielded her beauty and cruelty like twin blades. This was someone else. Someone smaller. Someone I’d never really looked at—really looked at—because I was too obsessed with destroying the monster I believed she was.

But now, seeing her like this...

I realized I hadn’t broken her.

She’d already been broken.

Long before me.

And all I’d done was rip open the old scars she’d buried under silk and spite.

I dropped to my knees in front of her, unable to speak, unable to do anything except stare at the wreckage I’d caused. She didn’t even look up. Just kept rocking slightly, repeating over and over—"I’m sorry. You win. You win."

I suddenly remembered.

Her screams when she was half-dead from the infection. When we were fighting to save her life, and she was burning with fever, hallucinating. Crying out for someone—

"Mummy... it hurts. It hurts, Mummy—please—don’t, don’t—"

She was clawing at her own skin back then. Kicking at the nurses. Wailing like she was reliving something the rest of us couldn’t see. I’d watched her shake and sob in her sleep, those words spilling out of her like blood.

And I had forgotten.

The moment she opened her eyes, arrogant and defiant again, I let myself believe it was just the fever. That those cries meant nothing. That she was still the same cold, calculating girl who ruined everything she touched.

But I was wrong.

God, I was so wrong.

"I didn’t..." My voice cracked. "I didn’t want this. Not like this."

She flinched.

I reached out, hesitating before my fingers brushed her shoulder. She tensed under my touch, then went still, like she was too tired to resist anymore.

"I should have seen it," I whispered. "I should’ve remembered..."

The burn mark on her stomach.

The way she shut down whenever someone touched her too quickly.

How she never asked for food, no matter how long it had been.

How she used cruelty as a shield, just like I used vengeance as a sword.

She’d told me in a thousand silent ways. I just didn’t listen. Didn’t want to listen.

I let rage blind me. Let my hurt convince me that hers didn’t matter.

"I thought... you were strong enough to take it," I said softly, hating every word. "Because you always looked untouchable. But I never stopped to ask what made you that way."

She looked at me then.

And I’ve seen blood. I’ve seen death.

But I swear nothing has ever hurt like seeing her eyes in that moment.

Empty.

Not hateful. Not angry.

Just tired.

"I don’t want to fight anymore, Aiden," she said, voice raw, hoarse. "I don’t want to be anything anymore."

The words hit me harder than any punch I’ve ever taken.

And all I could think was—I did this.

Me.

Not with fists or guns or knives.

But with silence. With every time I looked through her instead of at her.

With every cruel word I threw to hurt her, just to feel like I had control.

She was already bleeding when I found her.

And I made her bleed more.

"I’m so sorry, Lex," I said, the nickname slipping from me like a memory I didn’t know I still had. "I didn’t know... I didn’t see it. I should’ve—"

"You didn’t want to see it," she whispered.

And she was right.

I didn’t.

Because if I had, I would’ve seen her pain. And once you see someone’s pain, you can’t hate them the same way.

But I had hated her.

Because it was easier.

Because revenge is simple.

And healing?

Healing’s the hard part.

"I don’t want to be anything anymore."

Those words echoed through my skull like gunshots. Loud. Unforgiving.

She didn’t just want to leave the house. She wanted to vanish.

And I almost let her.

I almost let the only person who ever looked me in the eye without flinching slip through my fingers because I was too busy hating a ghost.

You’re losing her.

That thought alone kicked the breath from my lungs.

No. No, no—God, no.

Not like this.

"Alexia," I whispered, moving closer.

She didn’t respond. Just kept her arms wrapped around herself like the world might tear her apart if she let go.

I knelt beside her and slowly reached out—no force, no anger, no command. Just a hand resting gently on her shoulder.

"Come inside," I murmured.

She shook her head faintly.

I swallowed the knot in my throat and tried again.

"Please."

That made her look at me. Not with fire. Not even with sadness.

Just... surrender.

And that broke me more than any accusation would have.

I slid my arm under her knees and another behind her back, lifting her like she weighed nothing. She didn’t fight. Didn’t flinch. She just laid her head against my chest, her breathing shallow and unsteady.

The front door creaked as I pushed it open. The silence inside felt heavier now. Like the walls themselves were holding their breath.

I carried her to the couch and sat with her still cradled in my lap. Her eyes were open but unfocused, like she wasn’t really here anymore. Like she’d left already, even if her body hadn’t.

I ran a hand through her tangled hair. Held her a little tighter.

"I’m sorry," I said into the silence. "God, Alexia... I’m so sorry."

No reaction.

I kept going anyway.

"I should’ve asked. I should’ve listened. I should’ve seen you. But all I saw was my own damn pain. My anger. My need to make you pay for things you probably didn’t even choose."

I looked down at her, and for the first time in years, I felt the sting of tears behind my eyes.

"I forgot about what you said when you were sick. All those nights you screamed out for your mother. I didn’t connect the dots. I didn’t want to. Because it was easier to believe you were cruel than to believe you were hurting."

Her lips parted slightly, her lashes fluttering—but still no words.

"I hated you," I admitted, voice cracking. "But I think I hated myself more. For loving someone I was supposed to destroy. For needing you when I swore I didn’t need anyone. And I took that hate and threw it at you, hoping it’d push you away before you could hurt me too."

My hand cupped the back of her head.

"You weren’t trying to leave because you hate me," I whispered. "You were leaving because being with me hurts more than being alone."

Her body trembled once, barely perceptible. But I felt it.

"I don’t want to break you, Lex. Not anymore. I just... I want to understand. I want to help, if you’ll let me."

Silence.

Then finally... finally...

"I’m tired," she rasped, barely audible. "I’m so tired, Aiden..."

"I know," I said, pressing my forehead to hers. "But you don’t have to carry it alone anymore."

"I don’t want to be strong."

"You don’t have to be."

Her fingers clutched weakly at my shirt, and a small sob slipped from her lips. Not the kind born from pain—but from release. From letting someone else hold the weight for a second.

And I held her.

Not as her captor.

Not as her punisher.

But as someone just as shattered... trying, for once, not to cause harm—but to heal it.