CHAPTER 223: I MET HER

The door to the Diamond Club shut behind him with a soft thud that echoed louder in his chest than it did in the hallway.

Stefan walked without purpose at first, past the bar, past the pulsing bass and bodies moving like shadows in low light. His hands were in his pockets, but they curled into fists, the sting of fingernails biting into skin. He didn’t know where he was going—just that he had to get out.

Outside, the air hit him like clarity. Cool, indifferent, and laced with the faint scent of rain. He paused near the curb, his breath visible in the night, heart still drumming a beat he couldn’t name.

What did you expect?

The question hit him like a whisper from somewhere deep in his own gut.

He should’ve turned around when he saw her go in. Should’ve respected the distance, the boundaries she’d drawn so clearly between them. But curiosity-no-not just curiosity—something deeper-had—had pulled him forward.

And now he couldn’t unsee it.

Her body. The way she surrendered. The way she didn’t look at any of them like they were people.

Just escape routes.

And when her eyes finally found him, it wasn’t lust or hate that flickered there—it was fear. No, not of him. Of herself. Of what it meant that he was the one who had seen her like that.

God, what have you done to her, Caleb?

But it wasn’t just Caleb, was it?

Stefan sat on a stone bench across from the club entrance, head lowered, elbows on his knees. The street was quiet here, almost reverent. A pause in the chaos. The type of silence that demanded reflection, whether you wanted it or not.

He ran a hand through his hair, then over his face.

He remembered the first time he met Aveline. How sharp her eyes had been. Not guarded—fortified. She didn’t flirt. She didn’t flatter. She sized him up like a puzzle she already knew she wouldn’t waste time solving.

But still, there had been something in her—a crack behind the steel. A softness she worked hard to bury but couldn’t fully kill. He’d seen it once. Maybe twice. And damn it, he hadn’t stopped thinking about it since.

He always told himself he respected her choices. That he’d never try to save someone who didn’t ask to be saved.

But tonight... something had broken.

Not just in how he saw her.

But in how he saw himself.

What kind of man stands there, watching the woman he might’ve loved get used like that—reduced to a performance, and worse, convinced it was all she was worth?

Stefan looked up at the night sky, blinking hard.

She didn’t even look angry.

She looked... empty.

And that, more than anything, made his stomach twist.

He didn’t know what he was going to do. He didn’t have a speech or a plan or any self-righteous fantasy of storming in to rescue her.

—-

Morning had stretched itself quietly across the house, sunlight spilling through the long windows in lazy golden stripes. The scent of fresh bread, eggs, and black coffee curled through the air, familiar and comforting, like the calm after a storm.

Mara padded softly into the dining room, her hair loosely tied, a cardigan wrapped around her shoulders. Her brothers were already gathered around the long table, each with a plate in front of him, though none of them seemed particularly interested in eating.

They looked tired.

Not the usual kind of tired from a night of partying. This was heavier—like whatever they’d left behind at the club had followed them home and now sat quietly between them.

Especially Stefan.

He sat hunched slightly forward, nursing a cup of coffee like it held more answers than heat. His eyes were shadowed, his jaw tense. Mara noticed it instantly.

"Okay..." she began slowly, settling into her seat across from them, "so how was last night?"

Stanley raised a brow, a slow, teasing smile lifting the edge of his lips. "You’re not really asking your big brothers how much fun they had with girls, are you?"

Mara rolled her eyes but smiled back. "God, no. But you all look like you danced with demons and barely made it out alive."

That made Steve chuckle softly, though he quickly coughed into his hand, masking the sound. Stefan didn’t even blink. He just stared into his cup.

Mara’s eyes flicked to him, her voice turning casual—but deliberate. "So, Stefan... a woman came by last night. Left your watch."

He looked up, too fast.

"She said her name was Aveline," Mara continued. "God, she’s beautiful. And she seemed... I don’t know. Gentle. Almost like someone who doesn’t belong in this mess of a world we live in."

Steve shifted in his seat, and Stanley quietly sipped his juice, eyes avoiding the tension beginning to rise like smoke around the table.

Stefan didn’t answer.

Pretended he hadn’t heard.

"Wait—what happened?" Mara asked, brows drawing together, suddenly alert. "Did something happen between you two?"

"Nothing," Stefan said flatly, too fast, too practiced.

Mara’s gaze lingered, uncertain. She knew better than to push. But the room had shifted. Again. Something unsaid was sitting right there between the eggs and toast, and no one was reaching for it.

She cleared her throat, reaching for her own cup instead. "Well, the professor is coming by today. We’re finally going to talk through a proper treatment path for Steve. The foundation and other researchers want us to document everything. It could be... birthing of hope. For all of us."

That broke the silence.

Stefan looked up. "I’m home," he said quickly. Too quickly. Steve glanced at him, surprised—but grateful.

Mara smiled faintly. "Good. I think it’ll help." But her gaze drifted back to Stefan. His phone buzzed silently on the table. Just once. Aveline. He didn’t even look at it. All night she’d been calling. But he hadn’t answered. Couldn’t.

Because no matter how many times he replayed her eyes meeting his in that room, or how many times he tried to convince himself it was her choice, her life—he still couldn’t breathe right when he thought about it.

He didn’t know what he was going to say when he finally did speak to her.

He only knew this: Whatever they’d had, whatever it could have been it wasn’t untouched anymore. And neither was he.