CHAPTER 93: HIS SILENCE HURT MORE THAN HIS WORDS

Josie

I tried hard not to faint on the spot.

One second, it was just me, the quiet hum of the air conditioner, and the thick silence of Varen’s room—and the next, he appeared. Towering in the doorway. Dripping wet. A single white towel slung dangerously low around his waist.

I closed my eyes. Tightly.

Maybe if I shut them long enough, I could make time rewind. Undo everything. His rejection. My accusations. The damn locked door. But it was no use. I could feel his presence like static in the air, the weight of his stare crawling over my skin.

"Josie," he said, voice low and flat, "what the hell are you doing in my room?"

I blinked my eyes open, heart thudding like I’d run a marathon. He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t teasing. He looked cold—so cold it made my stomach turn.

"That’s the tone I get for coming to your room?" I asked, even though my voice trembled more than I wanted it to. I tried to keep my chin up, to pretend I hadn’t almost passed out from seeing him half-naked. It didn’t work.

Varen sighed and rubbed a hand through his wet hair, droplets trickling down his defined torso and across the tattoos that danced over his chest. "I asked what you came here to do, because I wanted to be alone."

That did it.

My heart—whatever was left of it—shredded. It splintered in a way I didn’t think was possible. I didn’t even know how I was still standing.

"I... I have something to say," I murmured.

He turned from me, scoffing. "If it’s nothing important, then leave. I’m not in the mood for games."

"I’m not leaving." My voice cracked, but I stood my ground. "I said I have something to say, Varen."

He let out a breath and turned back slightly, not looking me in the eye. "Why? So you can hallucinate again and accuse me of playing favorites?"

That stung. I reached out on instinct, catching his arm—only for a pulse of something raw and magnetic to slam through my entire body. The spark of our connection, our bond, nearly sent me to my knees.

God.

The warmth of his skin, the firmness of his muscle, the sharp breath he took—it was too much. I quickly let go and took a step back to steady myself, pressing a hand to my temple.

"I’m not going to accuse you of anything," I whispered. "And being this mean... it doesn’t suit you."

Varen’s eyes narrowed. "You don’t know me."

"I do," I said, maybe too quickly. His scoff made my cheeks burn.

"You sure sound confident for someone who doesn’t even know what I do in my spare time."

That made my shoulders sag. He was right. I didn’t. I’d been so focused on my fears, my insecurities, that I hadn’t made space to truly understand him.

"I’m trying to," I said instead. "I’m here. I came here to listen. To apologize. But you—" I stepped forward again "—need to stop throwing jabs. You’re hurt. I get that. But pushing me away won’t fix it."

He jerked away when I touched him again, crossing his arms tightly over his stomach. The shift made every muscle in his body flex.

I fidgeted under his gaze, intimidated by the intensity radiating off him.

"I’m sorry," I finally said, voice so soft I barely recognized it. "I didn’t want to be the person to hurt you. I hate that I did. You’ve been kind to me. Too kind, even when I didn’t deserve it. I acted out of fear. I lashed out because I thought—"

"Save it," Varen interrupted sharply. "I’m tired of your fake apologies and useless thanks. It’s obvious you’re just wasting both our time."

That hit like a punch.

When he moved to sit down on the edge of the bed, I reached for him again—only for my hair to catch on something. I yelped, stumbling as my head jerked sideways.

"Ow—wait!"

We both froze. My hair was tangled in his earring.

"Hold still," he growled.

"I am holding still!" I snapped back, breathless from the awkward angle.

He reached up and carefully tried to untangle the strands. The room felt ten degrees hotter. My skin prickled with tension. Somehow, in the mess of shifting and adjusting, I ended up straddling his thigh to balance myself. I didn’t even realize what had happened until his towel loosened.

My breath caught in my throat.

There were tattoos on his upper thigh—bold, intricate designs that bled into one another like waves and shadow. And then my eyes moved higher. I gasped.

Varen cursed and quickly grabbed a nearby pair of scissors from the nightstand.

"Hold still," he muttered again.

"What are you doing—?"

Snip.

A lock of my hair fell to the ground.

"Hey!" I blinked, stunned.

"Get out," he said coldly, tying his towel tighter around his hips. "Whatever you’re trying to pull—innocent seduction, guilt-driven tears—it won’t work on me. Not anymore."

I clenched my fists. "Shut up."

His eyes widened slightly at my tone.

"You’re right. I overreacted. I messed up. But if this is how you treat someone who owns up to their mistake, then maybe I was right to be scared of you." My voice cracked at the end, but I didn’t care. I was so tired. Tired of apologizing and being punished for it. "Say something, Varen."

He looked away again, jaw clenched.

"Varen," I snapped, and hit his chest—harder than I meant to. "Look at me!"

He groaned, eyes finally locking with mine. The hurt in them made my knees wobble.

"I heard you," he said at last, quiet but firm. "But I still want you to leave."

"Why?" My voice broke. "Why are you doing this?"

He stared at me for a long moment before exhaling heavily and pointing between us.

"Because if you don’t, I won’t be able to control myself."

His words silenced everything else. My breath. My thoughts. My heartbeat.

The truth in his eyes scorched through the last walls I had left.

And I didn’t know if I should run—or stay.